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Chapter VIII.~P.6o. 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 THE SIXTEEE"TH OEIJ^TUET. 
 
 9 , • «* » •« 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON, 
 
 iBSactf) JFour KUttstratioufl* 
 
 New York : 
 THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 
 
 No. 9 WARREN STREET. 
 

 • • • • • " 
 
 (. • • • • • 
 
 e c • • • • , 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 .AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I HAD not thouglit to write the story 
 of my life ; but the wishes of those 
 who have at all times more right to 
 command than occasion to entreat 
 aught at my hands, have in a man- 
 ner compelled me thereunto. The di- 
 vers trials and the unlooked-for com- 
 forts which have come to my lot during 
 the years that I have been tossed to 
 and fro on this uneasy sea — the world 
 — ^have wrought in my soul an ex- 
 ceeding sense of the goodness of God, 
 and an insight into the meaning of the 
 sentence in Holy Writ which saith, 
 " His ways are not as our ways, nor 
 his thoughts like unto our thoughts." 
 And this puts me in mind that there 
 are sayings which are in every one's 
 mouth, and therefore not to be lightly 
 gainsayed, which nevertheless do not 
 approve themselves to my conscience 
 as wholly just and true. Of these is 
 the common adage, " That misfortunes 
 come not alone." For my own part, 
 I have found that when a cross has 
 been laid on me, it has mostly been a 
 single one, and that other jflrrows 
 
 M1H768 
 
 were oftentimes removed, as if to 
 make room for it And it has been 
 my wont, when one trial has been 
 passing away, to look out for the next, 
 even as on a stormy day, when the 
 clouds have rolled away in one direc- 
 tion and sunshine is breaking over- 
 head, we see others rising in the dis- 
 tance. There has been no portion of 
 my life free from some measure of 
 grief or fear sufficient to recall the 
 words that " Man is born to trouble as 
 the sparks fly upward ;" and none so 
 reft of consolation that, in the midst of 
 suffering, I did not yet cry out, " The 
 Lord is my shepherd; his rod and 
 his staff comfort me." 
 
 I was born in the year 1557, in a 
 very fair part of England, at Sher- 
 wood Hall, in the county of Stafford. 
 For its comely aspect, commodious 
 chambers, sunny gardens, and the 
 sweet walks in its vicinity, it was as 
 commendable a residence for persons 
 of moderate fortune and contented 
 minds as can well be thought of. 
 Within and without this my paternal 
 home notliing was wanting which might 
 please the eye, or minister to tranquil- 
 
Constance. Sherwood, 
 
 lity of mind and healthful recreation. 
 I reckon it amongst the many favors I 
 have received from a gracious Provi- 
 dence, that the earlier years of my life 
 were spent amidst such fair scenes, 
 and in the society of parents who ever 
 took occasion from earthly things to 
 lead my thoughts to such as are im- 
 perishable, and so to stir up in me a 
 love of the Creator, who has stamped 
 Ills image on this visible world in 
 characters of so great beauty ; whilst 
 in the tenderness of those dear parents 
 unto myself I saw, as it were, a type 
 and representation of his paternal 
 love and goodness. 
 
 My father was of an ancient family, 
 and allied to such as were of greater 
 note and more wealthy than his own. 
 He, had not, as is the manner with 
 m3,tiy squires C'f Q^r days, left off re- 
 siding on his o^Vnl estate in order to 
 oeek after the shows and diversions of 
 Loudon ; but had unitdd to a great hu- 
 mility of mind and a bifigiiiar affection 
 for learning a contentedness of spirit 
 which inclined him to dwell in the 
 place assigned to him by Providence. 
 He had married at an early age, and 
 had ever conformed to the habits of 
 his neighbors in all lawful and kindly 
 ways, and sought no other labors but 
 such as were incidental to the care of 
 his estates, and no recreations but 
 those of study, joined to a moderate 
 pursuit of field-sports and such social 
 diversions as the neighborhood afford- 
 ed. His outward appearance was rath- 
 er simple than showy, and his man- 
 ners grave and composed. When I 
 call to mind the singular modesty of 
 his disposition, and the retiredness of 
 his manners, I often marvel how the 
 force of circumstances and the urging 
 of conscience should have forced one 
 so little by nature inclined to an unset- 
 tled mode of life into one which,' albeit 
 peaceful in its aims, proved so full of 
 danger and disquiet. 
 
 My mother's love I enjoyed but for 
 a brief season. Not that it waxed 
 cold toward me, as happens with some 
 parents, who look with fondness on the 
 child and less tenderly on the maiden ; 
 
 but it pleased Almighty God to take 
 her unto himself when I was but ten 
 years of age. Her face is as present 
 to me now as any time of my life. No 
 limner's hand ever drew a more faith- 
 ful picture than the one I have of her 
 even now engraeed on the tablet of my 
 heart. She had so fair and delicate 
 a complexion that I can only liken ifc 
 to the leaf of a white rose with the 
 lightest tinge of pink in it. Her hair 
 was streaked with gray too early for 
 her years ; but this matched well with 
 the sweet melancholy of her eyes, 
 which were of a deep violet color. Her 
 eyelids were a trifle thick, and so were 
 her lips ; but there was a pleasantness 
 in her smile, and the dimples about 
 her mouth such as I have not noticed 
 in any one else. She had a sweet 
 womanly and loving heart, and the 
 noblest spirit imaginable ; a great zeal 
 in the service of God, tempered with 
 so much sweetness and cordiality that 
 she gave not easily offence to any one, 
 of howsoever different a way of think- 
 ing from herself ; and cither won them 
 over to her faith through the suavity 
 of her temper and the wisdom . of her 
 discourse, or else worked in them a 
 personal liking which made them pa- 
 tient with her, albeit fierce with others. 
 When I was about seven years of 
 age I noticed that she waxed thin and 
 pale, and that we seldom went abroad, 
 and walked only in our own garden 
 and orchard. She seemed glad to sit 
 on a bench on the sunny side of the 
 house even in summer, and on days 
 when by reason of the heat I Hked to 
 lie down in the shade. My parents 
 forbade me from going into the vil- 
 lage ; and, through the perverseness 
 common to too many young people, on 
 account of that very prohibition I 
 longed for liberty to do so, and wearied 
 oftentimes of the solitude we Hved in. 
 At a later period I learnt how kind 
 had been their intent in kee])ing me 
 during the early years of childliood 
 from a knowledge of the woful divi- 
 sions which the late changes in reU- 
 gion had wrought in our country; 
 Avhich I might easily have heard from 
 
Consianca Sherwood. 
 
 young companions, and maybe in such 
 sort as to awaken angry feelings, and 
 shed a drop of bitter in the crystal cup 
 of childhood's pure faith. It' we did 
 walk abroad, it was to visit some sick 
 persons, and carry them food or cloth- 
 ing or medicines, which ray mother 
 prepared with her own hands. But 
 as she grew weaker, we went less 
 often outside the gates, and the poor 
 came themselves to fetch away what 
 in her bounty she stored up for them. 
 I did not notice that our neighbors 
 looked unkindly on us when we were 
 seen in the village. Children would 
 cry out sometimes, but half in play, 
 '• Down with the Papists !" but I wit- 
 nessed that their ciders checked them, 
 especially those of the poorer sort; 
 and " God bless you, Mrs. Sherwood !" 
 and " God save you, madam !" was 
 often in their mouths, as she whom I 
 loved with so great and reverent an 
 affection passed alongside of them, or 
 stopped to take breath, leaning against 
 their cottage-pahngs. 
 
 Many childish heartaches I can 
 even nov/ remember when I was not 
 suffered to join in the merry sports of 
 the 1st of May ; for then, as the poet 
 Chaucer sings, the youths and maidens 
 
 " To fetch tlio flowers fresh and branch and bloom, 
 Ana these rejoicing in theii" great dehght, 
 Hke each at other throw the bloasoms bright." 
 
 I watched the merry wights as they 
 passed our door on their way to the 
 groves and meadows, singing mirthful 
 carols, and bent on pleasant pastimes ; 
 and tears stood in my eyes as the 
 sound of their voices died away in the 
 distance. My father found me thus 
 weeping one May-day, and carried me 
 with him to a sweet spot in a wood, 
 where wild-flowers grew like living 
 jewels out of the green carpet of moss 
 on which we sat; and there, as the 
 birds sang from every bough, and the 
 insects hovered and hummed over eve- 
 ry blossom, he entertained me with such 
 quaint and pleasant tales, and moved 
 me to merry laughter by his witty de- 
 vices ; so that I set down that day in 
 
 my book of memory as one of the joy- 
 fullest in all my childhood. At Easter, 
 v/hen the village children rolled pascli 
 eggs down the smooth sides of the 
 green hills, my mother would palr.t me 
 some herself, and adorned them with 
 such bright colors and rare sentences 
 that I feared to break them with rude 
 handling, and kept them by mo 
 throughout the year, rather as pictures 
 to be gazed on than toys to be played 
 with in a wanton fashion. 
 
 On the morning of the Resurrec- 
 tion, when others went to the top of 
 Cannock Chase to hail the rising sun, 
 as is the custom of those parts, she 
 would sing so sweetly the psalm which 
 speaketh of the heavens rejoicing and 
 of the earth being glad, that it grieved 
 me not to stay at home ; albeit I some- 
 times marvelled that we saw so little 
 company, and mixed not more freely 
 with our neighbors. 
 
 When I had reached my ninth birth- 
 day, whether it was that I took better 
 heed of words spoken in my hearing, 
 or else that my parents thought it was 
 time that I should learn somewhat ol 
 the conditions of the times, and so 
 talked more freely in my presence, it 
 so happened that I heard of the 
 jeopardy in which many who held the 
 Catholic faith were, and of the laws 
 which were being made to prohibit in 
 our country the practice of the ancient 
 religion. When Protestants came to 
 our house — and it was sometimes hard 
 in those days to tell who were such at 
 heart, or only in outward semblance 
 out of conformity to the queen's pleas- 
 ure — I was strictly charged not to 
 speak in their hearing of aught that 
 had to do with Catholic faith and wor- 
 ship ; and I could see at such times on 
 my mother's face an uneasy expres- 
 sion, as if she was ever fearing the 
 next words that any one might utter. 
 
 In the autumn of that year we had 
 visitors whose company was so greas 
 an honor to my parents, and the occa- 
 sion of so much delight to myself, that 
 I can call to mind every little circum- 
 stance of their brief sojourn under our 
 roof, even as if it had taken place 1 at 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 yesterday. This visit proved the first 
 step toward an intimacy which greatly 
 affected the tenor of my life, and pre- 
 jiared the way for the direction it was 
 hereafter to take. 
 
 These truly honorable and well-be- 
 loved guests were my Lady Mount- 
 eagle and her son Mr. James Laboum, 
 who were journeying at that time from 
 London, where she had been residing 
 at her son-in-law the Duke of Nor- 
 folk's house, to her seat in the coun- 
 try; whither she was carrying the 
 three children of her daughter, the 
 Duchess of Norfolk, and of that lady's 
 first husband, the Lord Dacre of the 
 North. The eldest of these young 
 ladies was of about my own age, and 
 the others younger. 
 
 The day on which her ladyship was 
 expected, I could not sit with patience 
 at my tambour-frame, or con my les- 
 sons, or play on the virgmals; but 
 watched the hours and the minutes in 
 ray great desire to see these noble 
 wenches. I had not hitherto consorted 
 with young companions, save with Ed- 
 mund and John Genings, of whom I 
 shall have occasion to speak hereafter, 
 who were then my playmates, as at 
 a riper age friends. I thought, in the 
 quaint way in which children couple 
 one idea with another in their fantastic 
 imaginations, that my Lady Mount- 
 eagle's three daughters would be like 
 the three angels, in my mother's mis- 
 sal, who visited i^braham in his tent. 
 
 I had craved from my mother a 
 holiday, which she granted on the 
 score that I should help her that fore- 
 noon in the making of the pasties and 
 jellies, which, as far as her strength 
 allowed, she failed not to lend a hand 
 to ; and also she charged me to set the 
 bed-chambers in fair order, and to 
 gather fresh flowers wherewith to 
 adorn the parlor. These tasks had 
 in them a pleasantness which wliiled 
 away the time, and I alternated from 
 the parlor to the store-room, and the 
 kitchen to the orchard, and the poul- 
 try-yard to the pleasure-ground, j'uu- 
 ning as swiftly from one to the other, 
 and as merrily, aa if my feet were 
 
 keeping time with the glad beatings ci 
 my heart. As I passed along the ave- 
 nue, which was bordered on each side 
 by tall trees, ever and anon, as the 
 wind shook their branches, there fell 
 on my head showers of red and gold- 
 colored leaves, whicft made me laugh ; 
 so easy is it for the young to find occa- 
 sion of mirth in the least trifle when 
 their spirits arc lightsome, as mine 
 were that day. I sat down on a stone 
 bench on which the western sun was 
 shining, to bind together the posies I 
 had made ; the robins twittered around 
 me; and the air felt soft and fresh. It 
 was the eve of Martinmas- day — Ilal- 
 lowtide Summer, as our country folk 
 call it. As the sun was sinking behind 
 the hills, the tread of horses' leet was 
 heard in the distance, and I sprang up 
 on the bench, shading my eyes with 
 my hand to see the approach of that 
 goodly travelling-party, which was 
 soon to reach our gates. My parents 
 came out of the front door, and beck- 
 oned me to their side. 1 held my po- 
 sies in my apron, and forgot to set 
 them down ; for the first sight of my 
 Lady Mounteagle, as she rode up the 
 avenue with her son at her side, and 
 her three grand-daughters with their 
 attendants, and many richly-attired 
 serving-men beside, filled me with awe. 
 I wondered if her majesty had looked 
 more grand on the day that she rodo 
 into London to be proclaimed queen. 
 The good lady sat on her palfry in so 
 erect and stately a manner, as if age 
 Lad no dominion over her limbs and 
 her spirits ; and there was something 
 so piercing and commanding in her 
 eye, that it at once compelled rever- 
 ence and submission. Her son had 
 somewhat of the same nobility of mien, 
 and was tall and graceful in his move- 
 ments ; but behind her, on her pillion, 
 sat a small counterpart of herself, in- 
 asmuch as childliood can resemble old 
 age, and youthful loveliness matronly 
 dignity. This was the eldest of her 
 ladyship's grand-daughters, my sweet 
 Mistress Ann Dacre. This was my 
 first sight of her v/ho was hereafter to 
 hold so great a pla30 in my heart and 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 in my life. As she was lifted from the 
 saddle, and stood in her riding-habit 
 and plumed hat at our door, making a 
 graceful and modest obeisance to my 
 parents, one step retired behind her 
 grandam, with a lovely color tinging 
 her cheeks, and her long lashes veil- 
 ing her sweet eyes, I thought I had 
 never seen so fair a creature as this 
 high-bom maiden of my own age ; and 
 even now that time, as it has gone by, 
 has shown me all that a court can dis- 
 play to charm the eyes and enrapture 
 the fancy, I do not gainsay that same 
 childish thought of mine. Her sisters, 
 pretty prattlers then, four and six 
 years of age, were led into the house 
 by their governess. But ere our guests 
 were seated, my mother bade me kiss 
 my Lady Mounteagle's hand and com- 
 mend myself to her goodness, praying 
 her to be a good lady to me, and over- 
 look, out of her great indulgence, my 
 many defects. At which she patted 
 me on the cheek, and said, she doubted 
 not but that I was as good a child as 
 such good parents deserved to have ; 
 and indeed, if I was as like my mother 
 in temper as in face, I must needs be 
 such as her hopes and wishes would 
 have me. And then she commanded 
 Mistress Ann to salute me ; and I felt 
 ray cheeks flush and my heart beat 
 with joy as the sweet little lady put 
 her arms round my neck, and pressed 
 her lips on my cheek. 
 
 Presently we all withdrew to our 
 chambers until such time as supper 
 was served, at which meal the young 
 ladies were present; and I marvelled 
 to see how becomingly even the young- 
 est of them, who was but a chit, knew 
 how to behave herself, never asking 
 for anything, or forgetting to give 
 thanks in a pretty manner when she 
 >vas helped. For the which my mother 
 greatly commended their good man- 
 ners ; and her ladyship said, " In truth, 
 good Mistress Sherwood, I carry a 
 strict hand over them, never suftering 
 their faults to go unchastised, nor per- 
 mitting such liberties as many do to 
 th3 min of their children." I Vv^as 
 straightway seized with a great confu- 
 
 sion and fear that this was meant as a 
 rebuke to me, who, not being much 
 used to company, and something over- 
 indulged by my father, by whose side 
 I was seated, had spoken to him more 
 than once that day at table, and had 
 also left on my plate some victuals not 
 to my liking; which, as I learnt at 
 another time from Mistress Ann, was 
 an oifence for which her grandmother 
 would have sharply reprehended her. 
 I ventured not again to speak in her 
 presence, and scarcely to raise my eyes 
 toward her. 
 
 The young ladies withdrew early to 
 bed that night, and I had but little 
 speech with them. Before they left 
 the parlor. Mistress Ann took her sis- 
 ters by the hand, and all of them, 
 kneeling at their grandmother's feet, 
 craved her blessing. I could see a 
 tear in her eye as she blessed them ; 
 and when she laid her hand on the 
 head of the eldest of her grand-daugh- 
 ters, it lingered there as if to call down 
 upon her a special benison. The next 
 day my Lady Mounteagle gave pei- 
 mission for Mistress Ann to go with 
 me into the garden, where I showed 
 her my flowers and the young rabbits 
 that Edmund Genings and his brother, 
 my only two playmates, were so fond 
 of; and she told me how well pleased 
 she was to remove from London unto 
 her grandmother's scat, where she 
 would have a garden and such pleas- 
 ant pastimes as are enjoyed in the 
 country. 
 
 "Prithee, Mistress Ann," I said, 
 with the unmannerly boldness with 
 which children arc wont to question 
 one another, " have you not a mother, 
 that you live with your grandam?" 
 
 "I thank God that I have," she an- 
 swered ; " and a good mother she is to 
 me ; but by reason of her having lately 
 married the Duke of Norfolk, my 
 grandmother has at the present time 
 the charge of us." 
 
 '• And do you greatly love my Lady 
 Mounteagle?" I asked, misdoubting in 
 my folly that a lady of so grave aspect 
 and stately carriage should be loved 
 by children. 
 
8 
 
 Cwistance Shei-wood, 
 
 "As greatly as heart can love," was 
 her pretty answer. 
 
 "And do you likewise love the Duke 
 of Norfolk, Mistress Ann?" I asked 
 again. 
 
 " He is my very good lord and fath- 
 er," she answered; " but my knowledge 
 of his grace has been so short, I have 
 scarce had time to love him yet." 
 
 " But I have loved you in no time," 
 I cried, and threw my arms round her 
 neck. " Directly I saw you, I loved 
 you. Mistress Ann." 
 
 "Mayhap, Mistress Constance," she 
 said, " it is easier to love a little girl 
 than a great duke." 
 
 " And who do you affection beside 
 her grace your mother, and my lady 
 your grandam, IVIistress Ann ?" I said, 
 again returning to the charge ; to which 
 she quickly replied : 
 
 "My brother Francis, my sweet 
 Lord Dacre." 
 
 "Is he a child?" I asked. 
 
 " In truth, Mistress Constance," she 
 answered, "he would not be well pleased 
 to be called so ; and yet methinks he 
 is but a child, being not older, but 
 rather one year younger than myself, 
 and my dear playmate and gossip." 
 
 " I wish I had a brother or a sister 
 to play with me," I said ; at which 
 Mistress Ann kissed me and said she 
 was sorry I should lack so great a com- 
 fort, but that I must consider I had a 
 good father of my own, whereas her 
 own was dead ; and that a father was 
 more than a brother. 
 
 In this manner we held discourse all 
 the morning, and, Hke a rude imp, I 
 questioned the gracious young lady as 
 to her pastimes and her studies and the 
 tasks she was set to ; and from her in- 
 nocent conversation I discovered, as 
 children do, without at the time taking 
 much heed, but yet so as to remember 
 it afterward, what especial care had 
 I been taken by her grandmother — that 
 religious and discreet lady — to instil 
 into her virtue and piety, and in using 
 her, beside saying her pmyers, to be- 
 stow alms with her own hands on pris- 
 oners and poor people ; and in particu- 
 lar to apply herself to the cure of dis- 
 
 eases and wounds, wherein she herself 
 had ever excelled. Mistress Ann, in 
 her childish but withal thoughtful way, 
 chid me that in my own garden were 
 only seen flowers which pleased the 
 senses by their bright colors and per 
 fume, and none of the heibs whici 
 tend to the assuagement of pain ana 
 healing of wounds ; and she made me 
 promise to grow some against the time 
 of her next visit. As we went through 
 the kitchen-garden, she plucked some 
 rosemary and lavender and rue, and 
 many other odoriferous herbs ; and sit- 
 ting down on a bench, she invited mc 
 to her side, and discoursed on their 
 several virtues and properties with a 
 pretty sort of learning which was mar- 
 vellous in one of her years. She 
 showed me which were good for pro- 
 moting sleep, and which for cuts and 
 bruises, and of a third she said it eased 
 the heart. 
 
 "Nay, Mistress Ann," I cried, "but 
 that must be a heartsease ;" at which 
 she smiled, and answered : 
 
 " My grandam says the best medi- 
 cines for uneasy hearts are the bitter 
 herb confession and the sweet, flovrer 
 absolution." 
 
 " Have you yet made your first com- 
 munion. Mistress Ann ?" I asked in a 
 low voice, at which question a bright 
 color came into her cheek, and she re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Not yet ; but soon I may. I was 
 confirmed not long ago by the good 
 Bishop of Durham ; and at my grand- 
 mother's seat I am to be instructed by 
 a Cathohc priest who lives there." 
 
 "Then you do not go to Protestant 
 service ?" I said. 
 
 "AYe did," she answered, "for ;i 
 short time, whilst we stayed at the 
 Charterhouse; but my grandam has 
 understood that it is not lawful for 
 Catholics, and she will not be present 
 at it herself, or suffer us any more to 
 attend it, neither in her own house nor 
 at his grace's." 
 
 While we were thus talking, tlic 
 two little ladies, her sisters, came from 
 the house, having cmved leave from 
 the governess to run out into the gar- 
 
Constanc3 SJierwood, 
 
 den. Mistress Mary ^vas a pale deli- 
 cate child, with soft loving blue eyes ; 
 and Mistress Bess, the youngest, a 
 merry imp, whose rosy cheeks and 
 dimpling smiles were full of glee and 
 meriiment. 
 
 " What ugly sober flowers are these, 
 Nan, that thou art playing with ?" she 
 cried, and snatched at the herbs in her 
 sister's lap. " When I marry my Lord 
 William Howard, I'll wear a posy of 
 roses and carnations." 
 
 "When I am married," said little 
 Mistress Mary, " I will wear nothing 
 but liUes." 
 
 " And what shall be thy posy, Nan ?" 
 said the little saucy one again, " when 
 thou dost wed my Lord Surrey?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, madcaps !" cried Mis- 
 tress Ann. " If your grandam was to 
 hear you, I doubt not but the rod would 
 be called for." 
 
 Mistress Mary looked round affright- 
 ed, but little Mistress Bess said in a 
 funny manner, " Prithee, Nan, do rods 
 then travel ?" 
 
 "Ay; by that same token, Bess, 
 that I heard my lady bid thy nurse 
 take care to carry one with her." 
 
 "It was nurse told me I was to 
 marry my Lord William, and Madge 
 my Lord Thomas, and thee, Nan, my 
 Lord Surrey, and brother pretty Meg 
 Howard," said the little lady, pouting ; 
 " but I won't tell grandam of it an it 
 would be like to make her angry." 
 
 " I would be a nun I" Mistress Mary 
 cried. 
 
 " Hush !" her elder sister said ; " that 
 is foolish talliuig, Madge ; my grand- 
 mother told me so when I said the 
 same thing to her a year ago. Chil- 
 dren do not know what Almighty God 
 intends them to do. And now methinks 
 I see Uncle Labourn making as if he 
 would call us to the house, and there 
 are the horses coming to the door. We 
 must needs obey the summons. Prithee, 
 Mistress Constance, do not forget me." 
 
 Forget her ! No. From that day 
 lo this years have passed over our 
 heads and left deep scars on our 
 hearts. Divers periods of our lives 
 have been signalized by many a strange 
 
 passage ; we have rejoiced, and, oftener 
 still, wept together; we have met in 
 trembling, and parted in anguish ; 
 but through sorrow and through jo} , 
 through evil report and good report, 
 in riches and in poverty, in youth and 
 in age, I have blessed the day when 
 first I met thee, sweet Ann Dacre, the 
 fairest, purest flower which ever grew 
 on a noble stem. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A YEAR elapsed betwixt the period 
 of the so brief, but to me so memorable, 
 visit of the welcomest guests our house 
 ever received — to wit, my Lady Mount- 
 eagle and her grand-daughters — and 
 that in which I met with an accident, 
 which compelled my parents to carry 
 me to Lichfield for chirurgical advice. 
 Four times in the course of that yt^ar 
 I was honored with letters writ by 
 the hand of Mistress Ann Dacre ; 
 partly, as the gracious young lady 
 said, by reason of her grandmother'.; 
 de'sire that the bud acquaintanceship 
 which had sprouted in the short-liveci 
 season of the aforesaid visit should, 
 by such intercourse as may be carried 
 on by means of letters, blossom into 
 a flower of true friendship ; and also 
 that that worthy lady and my good 
 mother willed such a correspondence 
 betwixt us as would serve to the sharp- 
 ening of our wits, and the using our 
 pens to be good servants to our 
 thoughts. In the course of this 
 history I will set down at intervals 
 some of the letters I received at divers 
 times from this noble lady; so that 
 those who read these innocent pictures 
 of herself, portrayed by her ovm hand, 
 may trace the beginnings of those 
 virtuous inclinations which at an 
 early age were already working in 
 her soul, and ever after appeared 
 in her. 
 
 On the 15th day of January of the 
 next year to that in which my eyes 
 had feasted on this creature so em- 
 bellished with rare endowmeats and 
 
lO 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 accomplished gracefulness, the first 
 letter I had from her came to my 
 hand ; the first link of a chain which 
 knit together her heart and mine 
 through long seasons of absence and 
 sore troubles, to the great comforting, 
 as she was often pleased to say, of 
 . herself, who was so far above me in 
 'rank, whom she chose to call her 
 friend, and of the poor friend and 
 servant whom she thus honored 
 beyond her deserts. In as pretty a 
 handwriting as can well be thought 
 of, she thus wrote : 
 
 "My sweet Mistress Constance, 
 — Though I enjoyed your company 
 but for the too brief time during 
 which we rested under your honored 
 parents' roof, I retain so great a sense 
 of the contentment I received there- 
 from, and so lively a remembrance of 
 the converse we held in the grounds 
 adjacent to Sherwood Hall, that I am 
 better pleased than I can well express 
 that my grandmother bids me sit down 
 and write to one whom to see and to 
 converse with once more would be to 
 me one of the chiefest pleasures in 
 life. And the more welcome is this 
 command by reason of the hope it 
 raises in me to receive in return a 
 letter from my well-beloved Mistress 
 Constance, which will do my heart 
 more good than anything else that 
 can happen to me. 'Tis said that 
 marriages are made in heaven. Wlien 
 I asked my grandam if it were so, she 
 said, ' I am of opinion. Nan, they are 
 made in many more places than one ; 
 and I would to God none were made 
 but such as are agreed upon in so 
 good a pl^ce.' But methinks some 
 friendships are likewise made in hea- 
 ven ; and if it be so, I doubt not but that 
 when we met, and out of that brief 
 meeting there arose so great and sud- 
 den a liking in ray heart for you, 
 Mistress Constance, — which, I thank 
 God, you were not slow to reciprocate, 
 — that our angels had met where we 
 hope one day to be, and agreed to- 
 gether touching that matter. 
 
 *' It suits ill a bad pen like mine to 
 
 describe the fair seat we reside in at 
 this present time — the house of Mr. 
 James Labourn, which he has lent 
 unto my grandmother. 'Tis most 
 commodious and pleasant, and after 
 long sojourn in London, even in 
 winter, a terrestrial paradise. But, 
 like the garden of Eden, not without 
 dangers ; for the too much delight I 
 took in out-of-doors pastimes — and 
 most of all on the lake when it was 
 frozen, and we had merry sports upon 
 it, to the neglect of my lessons, not 
 heeding the lapse of time in the pur- 
 suit of pleasure — ^brought me into 
 trouble and sore disgrace. My grand- 
 mother ordered me into confinement 
 for three days in my own chamber, 
 and I saw her not nor received her 
 blessing all that time; at the end of 
 which she sharply reproved me for 
 my fault, and bade me hold in mind 
 that 'twas when loitering in a garden 
 Eve met the tempter, and threatened 
 further and severe punishment if I 
 appHed not dihgently to my studies. 
 When I had knelt down and begged 
 pardon, promising amendment, she 
 drew me to her and kissed me, which 
 it was not her wont often to do. 
 * Nan,' she said, * I would have thee 
 use thy natural parts, and improve 
 thyself in virtue and learning; for 
 such is the extremity of the times, 
 that ere long it may be that many 
 first shall be last and many last shall 
 be first in this realm of England. But 
 virtue and learning are properties 
 which no man can steal from another ; 
 and I would fain see thee endowed 
 with a goodly store of both. That 
 great man and true confessor. Sir 
 Thomas More, had nothing so much 
 at heart as his daughter's instmction ; 
 and Mistress Margaret Roper, once 
 my sweet friend, though some years 
 older than my poor self, who still 
 laments her loss, had such fine things 
 said of her by the greatest men of' 
 this age, as would astonish thee to 
 hear ; but they were what she had a 
 right to and veiy well deserved. And 
 the strengthening of her mind through 
 study and religious disciplhie served 
 
Constance Sherwood* 
 
 II 
 
 her well at the time of her groat 
 trouble; for where other women 
 v/ould have lacked sense and courage 
 how to act, she kept her wits about 
 her, and ministered such comfort to 
 her father, remaining near him at the 
 last, and taking note of his wishes, 
 and finding means to bury hun in jj 
 Christian manner, which none other 
 durst attempt, that she had occasion 
 to thank God who gave her a head as 
 well as a heart. And who knows. 
 Nan, what may befal thee, and what 
 need thou mayst have of the hke 
 advantages ? ' 
 
 " My grandmother looked so kindly 
 on me then, that, albeit abashed at the 
 remembrance of my fault, I sought to 
 move her to further discourse; and 
 knowing what great pleasure she had 
 in speaking of Sir Thomas More, at 
 whose house in Chelsea she had often- 
 times been a visitor in her youth, I 
 enticed her to it by cunning questions 
 touching the customs he observed in 
 his family. 
 
 " ' Ah, Nan !' she said, ' that house 
 was a school and exercise of the 
 Christian rehgion. There was neither 
 man nor woman in it who was not 
 employed in liberal discipline and 
 fniitful reading, although the principal 
 study was religion. There was no 
 quarrelHng, not so much as a peevish 
 word to be heard ; nor was any one 
 seen idle; all were in their several 
 employs : nor was there wanting sober 
 mirth. And so well-managed a gov- 
 ernment Sir Thomas did not maintain 
 by severity and chiding, but by gen- 
 tleness and kindness.' 
 
 "Methought as she said this, that 
 my dear grandam in that matter of 
 chiding had not taken a leaf out of 
 Sir Thomas's book ; and there was no 
 doubt a transparency in my face which 
 revealed to her this thought of mine ; 
 for she straightly looked at me and 
 .said, ' Nan, a penny for thy thoughts !' 
 at the which I felt myself blushing, 
 but knew nothing would serve her but 
 the truth ; so I said, in as humble a 
 manner as I could think of, 'An if 
 you will excuse me, grandam,! thought 
 
 if Sir Thomas managed so well with- 
 out chiding, that you manage well 
 with it.' At the which she gave me .a 
 light nip on the forehead, and said, 
 ' Go to, child ; dost thmk that any but 
 saints can rule a household without 
 chiding, or train children without whip- 
 ping ? Go thy ways, and mend them 
 too, if thou wouldst escape chastise- 
 ment; and take with thee. Nan, the 
 words of one whom we shall never 
 again see the like of in this poor 
 country, which he used to his wife or 
 any of his children if they were dis- 
 eased or troubled, " We must not look 
 at our pleasures to go to heaven in 
 feather-beds, or to be carried up thither 
 even by the chins." ' And so she dis- 
 missed me ; and I have here set down 
 my fault, and the singular goodness 
 showed me by my grandmother when 
 it was pardoned, not thinking I can 
 write anything better worth notice than 
 the virtuous talk with which she then 
 favored me. 
 
 "There is in this house a chapel 
 very neat and rich, and an ancient 
 Catholic priest is here, who says mass 
 most days ; at the which we, with my 
 grandmother, assist, and such of her 
 servants as have not conformed to the 
 times ; and this good father instructs 
 us in the principles of Catholic re- 
 ligion. On the eve of the feast of 
 the Nativity of Christ, my lady stayed 
 in the chapel from eight at night till 
 two in the morning ; ' but sent us to bed 
 at nine, after the litanies were said, 
 until eleven, when there was a ser- 
 mon, and at twelve o'clock three mass- 
 es said, which being ended we broke 
 our fast with a mince-pie, and went 
 agam to bed. And all the Christmas- 
 time we were allowed two hours after 
 each meal for recreation, instead of 
 one. At other times, we play not at 
 any game for money ; but then we 
 had a shilling a-piece to make us 
 merry ; which my grandmother says is 
 fitting in this time of mirth and joy 
 for his birth who is the sole origin 
 and spring of true comfort. Aiid 
 now, sweet Mistress Constance, I must 
 bid you farewell ; for the greatest of 
 
12 
 
 Constance Sucricood, 
 
 joys lias befallen me, and a whole 
 holiday to enjoy it. My sweet Lord 
 Dacre is come to pay his duty to my 
 lady and tarry some days here, on his 
 way to Thetford, the Duke of Norfolk's 
 seat, where his grace and the duchess 
 my good mother have removed. He 
 is a beauty, Mistress Constance ; and 
 nature has so profusely conferred on 
 him privileges, that when her majesty 
 the queen saw him a short time back 
 on horseback, in the park at Rich- 
 mond, she called him to her carriage- 
 door and honored him with a kiss, and 
 the motto of the finest boy she ever 
 beheld. But I may not run on in 
 this fashion, letting my pen outstrip 
 modesty, like a foolish creature, mak- 
 ing my brother a looking-glass and 
 continual object for my eyes ; but 
 learn to love him, as my grandam says, 
 in God, of whom he is only borrowed, 
 and not so as to set my heart wholly 
 on him. So beseeching God bless 
 you and yours, good Mistress Con- 
 stance, I ever remain your loving 
 riend and humble servant, 
 
 " Ann Dacre." 
 
 Oh, how soon were my Lady Mount- 
 eagle's words exalted in the event! 
 and what a sad brief note was penned 
 by that affectionate sister not one 
 month after she writ those lines, so 
 full of hope and pleasure in the pros- 
 pect of her brother's sweet company ! 
 For the fair boy that was the continu- 
 al object of her eyes and the dear 
 comfort of her heart was accidentally 
 slain by the fall of a vaulting horse 
 upon him at the duke's house at Thet- 
 ford. 
 
 " Mt good Mistress Constance" 
 (she wrote, a few days after his la- 
 mentable death), — "The lovingest 
 brother a sister ever had, and the 
 most gracious creature ever born, is 
 dead ; and if it pleased Gt)d I wish I 
 were dead too, for my heart is well- 
 nigh broken. But I hope in God his 
 soul is now in heaven, for that he was 
 so young and innocent ; and when 
 here, a short time ago, my grand- 
 
 mother procured that ho should for the 
 first, and as it has pleased God also 
 for the only and the last, time, confess 
 and be absolved by a Catholic pries', 
 in the which the hand of Provide iic' 
 is visible to our great comfort, a::d 
 reasonable hope of his salvat:o;i. 
 Commending him and your poor friend, 
 who has great need of them, to your 
 good prayers, I remain your affection- 
 ate and humble servant, 
 
 " Ann Dacre." 
 
 In that year died also, in childbirth, 
 her grace the Duchess of Norfolk, 
 Mistress Ann's mother; and she then 
 wrote in a less passionate, but withal 
 less comfortable, grief than at her 
 brother's loss, and, as I have heard 
 since, my Lady Mounteagle had her 
 death-blow at that time, and never 
 lifted up her head again as heretofore. 
 It was noticed that ever after she 
 spent more time in prayer and gave 
 greater alms. Her daughter, the 
 duchess, who at the instance of her 
 husband had conformed to the times, 
 desired to have been reconciled on her 
 deathbed by a priest, who for that end 
 was conducted into the garden, yel 
 could not have access unto her by 
 reason of the duke's vigilance to hin- 
 der it, or at least of his continual 
 presence in her chamber at the time. 
 And soon after, his grace, whose wards 
 they were, sent for his three step- 
 daughters to the Charterhouse; the 
 parting with which, and the fears she 
 entertained that he would have them 
 carried to services and sermons in the 
 public churches, and hinder them in 
 the exercise of Catholic faith and 
 worship, drove the sword yet deeper 
 through my Lady Mounteagle's heart, 
 and brought down her gray hairs with 
 sorrow to the grave, notwithstanding 
 that the duke greatly esteemed and 
 respected her, and was a very moral 
 nobleman, of exceeding good tempo 
 and moderate disposition. But o' 
 this more anon, as 'tis my own liiston- 
 I am writing, and it is meet I shou! 1 
 relate in the order of time what even ." 
 came under my notice whilst in Licli- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 13 
 
 field,.wliither my mother carried me, 
 as has been aforesaid, to be treated by 
 a famous physician for a severe hurt I 
 had received. It was deemed con- 
 venient that I should tarry some time 
 under his care ; and Mr. Genings, a 
 Ivinsman of her own, who with his 
 wife and children resided in that town, 
 one of the chiefest in the county, 
 offered to keep me in their house as 
 long as was convenient thereunto — a 
 kindness which my parents the more 
 readily accepted at his hands from 
 their having often shown the like unto 
 his children when the air of the coun- 
 try was desired for them. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Genings were of the 
 religion by law established. He was 
 thought to be Catholic at heart; 
 albeit he was often heard to speak 
 very bitterly against all who obeyed 
 not the queen in conforming to the 
 new mode of worship, with the ex- 
 ception, indeed, of my mother, for 
 whom he had always a truly great 
 affection. This gentleman's house 
 was in the close of the cathedral, and 
 had a garden to it well stored with 
 iair shrubs and flowers of various 
 sorts. As I lay on a low settle near 
 the window, being forbid to walk for 
 the space of three weeks, my eyes 
 were eVer straying from my sampler 
 to the shade and sunshine out of 
 doors. Instead of plying at my nee- 
 dle, I watched the bees at their sweet 
 labor midst the honeysuckles of the 
 porch, or the swallows darting in and 
 out of the eaves of the cathedral, or 
 the butterflies at their idle sports over 
 the beds of mignonette and heliotrope 
 under the low wall, covered with ivy, 
 betwixt the garden and the close. 
 Mr. Genings had two sons, the eldest 
 of which was some years older and 
 the other younger than myself. The 
 first, whose name was Edmund, had 
 been weakly when a child, and by 
 reason of this a frequent sojourner at 
 Sherwood Hall, where he was carried 
 for change of air after the many ill- 
 nesses incident to early age. My 
 mother, who was some years married 
 before she had a child of her own, 
 
 conceived a truly maternal afFectiou 
 for this young kinsman, and took 
 much pains with him both as to the 
 care of his body and the training of 
 his mind. He was an apt pupil, and 
 she had so happy t, manner of im- 
 parting knowledge, that he learnt 
 more, as he has since said, in those 
 brief sojourns in her house than at 
 school from more austere masters. 
 After I came into the world, he took 
 delight to rock me in my cradle, or 
 play with me as I sat on my mother's 
 knee ; and when I first began to walk, 
 he would lead me by the hand into the 
 garden, and laugh to see me clutch 
 marigolds or cry for a sunflower. 
 
 " I warrant thou hast an eye to gold. 
 Con," he would say ; " for 'tis the yel- 
 low flowers that please thee best." 
 
 There is an old hollow tree on the 
 lawn at Sherwood Hall where I often 
 hid from him in sport, and he would 
 make pretence to seek mo elsewhere, 
 till a laugh revealed me to him, and a 
 chase ensued down the approach or 
 round the maze. He never tired of 
 my petulance, or spoke rude words, as 
 boys are wont to do ; and had a more 
 serious and contemplative spirit than 
 is often seen in young people, and like- 
 wise a singular fancy for gazing at 
 the sky when glowing with sunset 
 hues or darkened by stoiTQs, and most 
 of all when studded at night with 
 stars. On a calm clear night I have 
 noticed him for a length of time, for- 
 getting all things else, fix his eyes on 
 the heavens, as if reading the glory of 
 the Lord therein revealed. 
 
 My parents did not speak to him of 
 Catholic faith an^ worship, because 
 Mr. Genings, before he suffered his 
 sons to stay in their house, had made 
 them promise that no talk of religion 
 should be ministered to them in their 
 childhood. It was a sore trial to my 
 mother to refrain, as the Psalmist saith, 
 from good words, which were ever 
 rising from her heart to her lips, as 
 pure water from a deep spring. But 
 she instructed him in many things 
 which belong to gentle learning, and 
 in French, which she knew vrell ; and 
 
H 
 
 Conslance Sherwood. 
 
 taught him mnsic, in which he made 
 great progress. And this wrought 
 with his father to the furtherance of 
 these his visits to us. I doubt not but 
 that, when she told him the names of 
 the heavenly luminaries, she inwardly 
 prayed he might one day shine as a 
 star in the kingdom of God ; or when 
 she discoursed of flowers and their 
 properties, that he should blossom as a 
 rose in the wilderness of this faithless 
 world ; or whilst guiding his hands to 
 play on the clavichord, that he might 
 one day join in the glorious harmony 
 of the celestial choirs. Her face itself 
 was a preachment, and the tones of 
 her voice, and the tremulous sighs she 
 breathed when she kissed him or gave 
 him her blessing, had, I ween, a privi- 
 lege to reach his heart, the goodness of 
 which was readable in his countenance. 
 Dear Edmund Genings, thou wert in- 
 deed a brother to me in kind care and 
 companionship whilst I stayed in Lich- 
 field that never-to-be-forgotten year! 
 How gently didst thou minister to the 
 sick child, for the first time tasting the 
 cup of suffering ; now easing her head 
 with a soft pillow, now strewing her 
 couch with fresh-gathered flowers, oc 
 feeding her with fruit which had the 
 bloom on it, or taking her hand and 
 holding it in thine own to cheer her to 
 endurance ! Thou wert so patient and 
 so loving, both with her who was a 
 great trouble to thee and oftentimes 
 fretful with pain, and likewise with 
 thine own little brother, an angel in 
 beauty and wit, but withal of so petu- 
 lant and froward a disposition that 
 none in the house durst contradict him, 
 child as he was ; for his parents were 
 indeed weak in their fondness for him. 
 In no place and at no time have I seen 
 a boy 80 indulged and so caressed as 
 this John Genings. He had a pretty 
 wilfulness and such playful ways that 
 his very faults found favor with those 
 who should have corrected them, and 
 he got praise where others would have 
 met with chastisement. Edmund's 
 love for this fair urchin wae such as 
 is seldom seen in any save in a parent 
 for a child. It was laughable to see 
 
 the lovely imp governing or.e who 
 should have been his master, but 
 through much love was his slave, and 
 in a thousand cunning ways, and by 
 fanciful tricks, constraining him to do 
 his bidding. Never was a more way- 
 ward spirit enclosed in a more win- 
 some form than in John Genings. 
 Never did childish gracefulness rule 
 more absolutely over superior age, or 
 love reverse the conditions of ordinary 
 supremacy, than in the persons of these 
 two brothers. 
 
 A strange thing occurred at that 
 time, which I witnessed not myself, 
 and on which I can give no opinion, 
 but as a fact will here set it down, and 
 let such as read this story deem of it 
 as they please. One night that, by 
 reason of the unwonted chilliness of 
 the evening, such as sometimes occura 
 in our climate even in summer, a fire 
 had been lit in the parlor, and the 
 family were gathered round it, Ed- 
 mund came of a sudden into the room, 
 and every one took notice that his face 
 was very pale. He seemed in a great 
 fear, and whispered to his mother, 
 who said aloud — " Thou must have 
 been asleep, and art still dreaming, 
 child." Upon which he was very ur- 
 gent for her to go into the garden, and 
 used many entreaties thereunto. Upon 
 X^hich, at last, she rose and followed 
 him. In another moment she called 
 for her husband, who went out, and 
 with him three or four other persons 
 that were in the room, and I remained 
 alone for the space of ten or fifteen 
 minutes. When they returned, I heard 
 them speaking with great fear and 
 amazement of what they had seen ; and 
 Edmund Genings has often since de- 
 scribed to me what he first, and after- 
 ward all the others, had beheld in the 
 sky. He was gazing at the heavens, 
 as was his wont, when a strange spec- 
 tacle appeared to him in the air. As 
 it were, a number of armed men with 
 weapons, kilhng and murdering others 
 that were disarmed, and great store of 
 blood running everywhere about them. 
 His parents and those with them wit- 
 nessed the same thing, and a great 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 15 
 
 fear foil upon tfiem all. I noticed 
 that all that evening they seemed 
 scared, and could not speak of this 
 appearance in the sky without shud- 
 dering. But one that was more bold 
 than the rest took heart, and cried, 
 " God send it does not forbode that 
 the Papists will murder us all in our 
 beds !" And Mistress Genings, whose 
 mother was a French Huguenot, said, 
 " Amen !'* I marked that her hus- 
 band and one or two more of the 
 company groaned, and one made, as 
 if unwittingly, the sign of the cross. 
 There were some I know in that town, 
 nay and in that house, that were at 
 heart of the old religion, albeit, by 
 reason of the times, they did not give 
 over attending Protestants' worship. 
 
 A few days later I was sitting alone, 
 and had a long fit of musing over the 
 many new thoughts that were crowd- 
 ing into my mind, as yet too childish 
 to master them, when Edmund came 
 in, and I saw he had been weeping. 
 He said nothing at first, and made 
 believe he was reading ; but I could 
 see tears trickling down through his 
 fingers as he covered his face with 
 his hands. Presently he looked up 
 and cried out, 
 
 " Cousin Constance, Jack is going 
 away from us." 
 
 " And if it please God, not for a 
 long time," I answered; for it grieved 
 me to see him sad. 
 
 "Nay, but he is going for many 
 years, I fear," Edmund said. "My 
 uncle, Jean de Luc, has asked for him 
 to be brought up in his house at La 
 Rochelle. He is his godfather, and 
 has a great store of money, which he 
 says he will leave to Jack. Alack! 
 cousin Constance, I would that there 
 was no such thing in the world as 
 money, and no such country as Fraace. 
 I wish we were all dead." And then 
 he fell to weeping again very bitterly. 
 
 I told him in a childish manner 
 what my mother was wont to say to 
 me when any little trouble fell to my 
 lot — ^that we should be patient, and 
 offer up our sufferings to God. 
 
 " But I can do nothinnj now for 
 
 Jack," he cried. " It was my first 
 thought at waking and my last at 
 night, how to please the dear urchin ; 
 but now 'tis all over." 
 
 " Oh, but Edmund," I cried, " an if 
 you were to be as good as the blessed 
 saints in heaven, you could do a gi'eat 
 deal for Jack." 
 
 " How so, cousin Constance ?" he 
 asked, not comprehending my mean- 
 ing ; and thereupon I answered : 
 
 " When once I said to my sweet 
 mother, *It grieves me, dear heart, 
 that I can give thee nothing, who 
 gives me so much,' she bade me take 
 heed that every prayer we say, every 
 good work we do, howsoever imper- 
 fect, and every pain we suffer, may be 
 offered up for those we love ; and so 
 out of poverty, and weakness, and 
 sorrow, we have Avherewith to make 
 precious and costly and cheerful gifts." 
 
 I spoke as a child, repeating what I 
 had heard; but he listened not as a 
 child. A sudden light came into his 
 eyes, and metliinks his good angel 
 showed him in that hour more than 
 my poor lips could utter. 
 
 "If it be as your sweet mother 
 says," he joyfully cried, "we are rich 
 indeed ; and, even though we be sin- 
 ners and not saints, we have some- 
 what to give, I ween, if it be only our 
 heartaches, cousin Constance, so they 
 be seasoned with prayers." 
 
 The thought which in my simplicity 
 I had set before him took root, as it 
 were, in his mind. His love for a 
 little child had prepared the way for 
 it; and the great brotherly affection 
 wliich had so long dwelt in his heart 
 proved a harbinger of the more per- 
 fect gift of charity ; so that a heaven- 
 ly message was perchance conveyed 
 to him that day by one who likewise 
 was a child, even as the word of tho 
 Lord came to the prophet through the 
 lips of the infant Samuel. From that 
 time forward he bore up bravely 
 against his grief; which was the 
 sharper inasmuch that he who was the 
 cause of it showed none in return, but 
 rather joy in the expectancy of the 
 change which was to part them. He 
 
i6 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 would still be a-prattling on it, and 
 telling all who came in his way that 
 he was going to France to a good 
 uncle ; nor ever intended to return, for 
 his mother was to carry him to La 
 Rochelle, and she should stay there 
 with him, he said, and not come back 
 to ugly Lichfield. 
 
 " And art thou not sorry, Jack," I 
 asked him one day, " to leave poor Ed- 
 mund, who loves thee so well ?" 
 
 The little madcap was coursing 
 round the room, and cried, as he ran 
 past me, for he had more wit and 
 spirit than sense or manners : 
 
 " Edmund must seek after me, and 
 take pains to find me, if so be he would 
 have me." 
 
 These words, which the boy said in 
 his play, have often come back to my 
 mind since the two brothers have at- 
 tained unto a happy though dissimilar 
 end. 
 
 When the time had arrived for Mis- 
 tress Genings and her youngest son 
 to go beyond seas, as I was now im- 
 proved in health and able to walk, my 
 father fetched me home, and prevailed 
 on Mr. Genings to let Edmund go 
 back with us, with the intent to divert 
 his mind from his grief at his brother's 
 departure. 
 
 I found my parents greatly dis- 
 turbed at the news they had had 
 touching the imprisonment of thirteen 
 priests on account of religion, and of 
 Mr. Orton being likewise arrested, 
 who was a gentleman very dear to 
 them for liis great virtues and the 
 steadfast friendship he had ever shown 
 to them. 
 
 My mother questioned Edmund as 
 to the sign he had seen in the heavens 
 a short time back, of which the report 
 had reached them ; and he confirming 
 the truth thereof, she clasped her 
 hands and cried : 
 
 " Then I fear me much this fore- 
 bodes the death of these blessed con- 
 fessors. Father Weston and the rest." 
 
 Upon which Edmund said, in a 
 humble manner : 
 
 " Good Mistress Sherwood, my dear 
 mother thought it signified that those 
 
 of your religion would murder in their 
 beds such as are of the queen's re- 
 ligion ; so maybe in both cases there 
 is naught to apprehend." 
 
 " My good child," my mother an- 
 swered, " in regard of those now in 
 durance for their faith, the danger is 
 so manifest, that if it please not the 
 Almighty to work a miracle for their 
 dehverance, I see not how they may 
 escape." 
 
 After that we sat awhile in silence ; 
 my father reading, my mother and I 
 working, and Edmund at the window 
 intent as usual upon the stars, which 
 were shining one by one in the deep 
 azure of the darkening sky. As one 
 of greater brightness than the rest 
 shone through the branches of the old 
 tree, where I used to hide some years 
 before, he pointed to it, and said to me, 
 who was sitting nearest to him at the 
 window : 
 
 " Cousin Constance, think you the 
 Star of Bethkhem showed fairer in 
 the skies than yon bright star that has 
 just risen behind your favorite oak? 
 What and if that star had a message 
 for us !" 
 
 My father heard him, and smiled. 
 " I was even then," he said, " reading 
 the words of one who was led to the 
 true rehgion by the contemplation of 
 the starry skies. In a Southern chme, 
 where those fair luminaries shine with 
 more splendor than in our Northern 
 heavens, St. Augustine wrote thus ;" 
 and then he read a few sentences in 
 Latin from the book in his hand, — 
 " Raising ourselves up, we passed by 
 degrees through all things bodily, even 
 the very heavens, whence sun and 
 moon and stars shine upon the earth. 
 Yea, we soared yet higher by inward 
 musing and discourse and admiring of 
 God's works, and we came to our own 
 minds and went beyond them, so as to 
 arrive at that region of never-failing 
 plenty where thou feedest Israel for 
 ever with the food of truth." These 
 words had a sweet and solemn force in 
 them which struck on the car hkc a 
 strain of unearthly music, such as the 
 wind-harji wakes in the silence of the 
 
Constance Shenoood, 
 
 1/ 
 
 night. In a low voice, so low that it 
 vras like the breathing of a sigh, I 
 heard Edmund saj, " What is truth?" 
 But when he had uttered those words, 
 straightway turning toward mc as if to 
 divert his thoughts from that too pithy- 
 question, he cried : " Prithee, cousin 
 Constance, hast thou ended reading, I 
 warrant for the hundredth time, that 
 letter in thine hand ? and hast thou not 
 a mind to impart to thy poor kinsman 
 the sweet conceits I doubt not are 
 therein contained ?" I could not choose 
 but smile at his speech ; for I had 
 indeed feasted my eyes on the hand- 
 writing of my dear friend, now no 
 longer Mistress Dacre, and learnt off, 
 as it were by heart, its contents. And 
 albeit I refused at first to comply with 
 his request, which I had secretly a 
 mind to ; no sooner did he give over 
 the urging of it than I stole to his 
 Bide, and, though I would by no means 
 let it out of my hand, and folded down 
 one side of the sheet to hide what was 
 private in it, I offered to read such 
 parts aloud as treated of matters 
 which might be spoken of without 
 hindrance. 
 
 With a smiling countenance, then, 
 he set himself to listen, and I to be the 
 mouthpiece of the dear writer, whose 
 wit was so far in advance of her years, 
 as I have since had reason to observe, 
 never having met at any time with one 
 in v/hom wisdom put forth such early 
 shoots. 
 
 " Dear Mistress Constance " 
 (thus the sweet lady wrote), — 
 " Wherefore this long silence and neg- 
 lect of your poor friend ? An if it be 
 true, which pains me much to hear, 
 that the good limb which, together 
 with its fellow, like tvv^o trusty foot- 
 men, carried you so well and nimbly 
 along the alleys of your garden this 
 time la?t year, has, like an arrant 
 loiave, x^layed fast and loose, and failed 
 in its good service, — wherein, I am 
 told, you have suffered much incon- 
 venience, — is it just that that other ser- 
 vant, your hand, should prove rebel- 
 lious too, refuse to perform its office, 
 
 and write no more letters at your bid- 
 ding? For I'll warrant 'tis the hand 
 is the culprit, not the will ; which nev- 
 ertheless should be master, and com- 
 pel it to obedience. So, an you love 
 me, chide roundly that contumacious 
 hand, which fails in its duty, which 
 should not be troublesome, if you bur 
 had for me one-half of the affection I 
 have for you. And indeed, Mistress 
 Constance, a letter from you would be 
 to me, at this time, the welcomest 
 thing I can think of; for since we left 
 my grandmother's seat, and came to 
 the Charterhouse, I have new friends, 
 and many more and greater than I de- 
 serve or ever thought to have; but, 
 by reason of difference of age or of 
 religion, they are not such as I can 
 well open my mind to, as I might to 
 you, if it pleased God we should meet 
 again. The Duke of Norfolk is ;i 
 very good lord and father to me ; bu" 
 when there are more ways of thinking 
 than one in a house, 'tis no easy mat- 
 ter to 2^1ease all which have a right to 
 be considered ; and, in the matter of 
 religion, 'tis very hard to avoid giving 
 offence. But no more of this at pres- 
 ent; only I would to God Mr. Fox 
 were beyond seas, and my lady of 
 Westmoreland at her home in th(^ 
 North ; and that we had no worse com- 
 pany in this house than Mr. Martin, 
 my Lord Surrey's tutor, who is a gentle- 
 man of great learning and knowledge, 
 as every one says, andof extraordinaiy 
 modesty in his behavior. My Lord 
 Surrey has a truly great regard for 
 him, and profits much in his learning 
 by his means, I notice he is Catholic 
 in his judgment and affections ; and 
 my lord says he will not stay with him, 
 if his grace his father procures minis- 
 ters to preach to his household and 
 family, and obliges all therein to fre- 
 quent Protestant service. I wish my 
 grandmother was in London ; for I am 
 sometimes sore troubled in my mind 
 touching Catholic religion and con- 
 formmg to the times, of which an 
 abundance of talk is ministered unto 
 us, to my exceeding gi'cat discomfort, 
 by my Lady Westmoreland, his grace's 
 
18 
 
 Consianc2 S'lerwoo d. 
 
 sister, and othsrs also. An if I say 
 aught thereon to Mistress Fawcett (a 
 grave and ancient gentlewoman, who 
 had the care of my Lord Surrey du- 
 ring his infancy, and is now set over 
 us his grace's wards), and of mlsliking 
 the duke's ministers and that pestilent 
 Mr. Fox — (I fear me. Mistress Con- 
 stance, I should not have writ that un- 
 beseeming word, and I will e'en draw 
 a line across it, but still as you may 
 read it — for indeed 'tis what he is ; 
 but 'tis from himself I learnt it, who 
 in his sermons calls Catholic religion a 
 pestilent idolatry, and Catholic priests 
 pestilent teachers and servants of An- 
 tichrist, and the holy Pope at Rome 
 the man of sin) — she grows uneasy, 
 and bids me be a good child to her, and 
 not to bring her into trouble with his 
 grace, who is inde«d a very good lord 
 to us in all matters but that one of 
 eompelling us to hear sermons and the 
 like. My Lord Surrey mislikes all 
 kinds of sermons, and loves Mr. Mar- 
 tin so well, that he stops his ears when 
 Mr. Fox preaches on the dark mid- 
 night of papacy and the dawn of the 
 gospel's restored light. And it angers 
 him, as well it should, to hear him 
 eall his majesty King Philip of Spain, 
 who is his own godfather, from whom 
 he received his name, a wicked popish 
 tyrant and a son of Antichrist. My 
 Lady Margaret, his sister, who is a 
 year younger than himself, and has a 
 most admirable beauty and excellent 
 good nature, is vastly taken with what 
 she hears from me of Catholic reli- 
 gion ; but methinks this is partly by 
 reason of her misliking Mr. Fulk and 
 Mr. Clarke's long preachments, which 
 we are compelled to hearken to ; and 
 their fashion of spending Sunday, 
 which they do call the Sabbath-day, 
 wherein we must needs keep silence, 
 and when not in church sit still at 
 home, which to one of her lively dis- 
 I)osition is heavy penance. Methinks 
 when Sunday comes wc be all in dis- 
 grace ; 'tis so like a day of correction. 
 My Lord Surrey has more liberty; 
 for Mr. Martin carries him and his 
 brothers after service into the pleasant 
 
 fields about WesimlnsLer Abbey and 
 the village of Charing Cross, and suf- 
 fers them to play at ball under the 
 trees, so they do not quarrel amongst 
 themselves. My Lord Henry How- 
 ard, his grace's brother, always main- 
 tains and defends the Catholic religion 
 against his sister of Westmoreland; 
 and he spoke to my uncles Leonard, 
 Edward, and Francis, and likewise to 
 my aunt Lady Montague, that they 
 should write unto my grandmother 
 touehing his grace bringing us up ai 
 Protestants. ""But the Duke of Nor- 
 folk, Mrs. Fawcett says, is our guar- 
 dian, and she apprehends he is re- 
 solved that we shall conform to the 
 times, and that no liberty be allowed 
 us for the exercise of Catholic reli- 
 gion." 
 
 At this part of the letter I stopped 
 reading ; and Edmund, turning to my 
 father, who, though he before had 
 perused it, was also listening, said: 
 " And if this be liberty of conscience, 
 which Protestants speak of, I see no 
 great liberty and no great conscience 
 in the matter." 
 
 His cheek flushed as he spoke, and 
 there was a hoarseness in his voice 
 which betokened the working of strong 
 feelings within him. My father smiled 
 with a sort of pitiful sadness, and 
 answered : 
 
 '• My good boy, when thou art some- 
 Avhat further advanced in years, thou 
 wilt learn that the two words thou art 
 speaking of arc such as men have 
 abused the meaning of more than any 
 others that can be thouglit of; and I 
 pray to God they do not continue to do 
 so as long as the -svorld lasts. It seem^ 
 to me that they mostly mean by ' lib- 
 erty' a freedom to compel others to 
 think and to act as they have theln- 
 selves a mind to ; and by ' conscience,' 
 the promptings of their own judgments 
 moved by their own passions.'i 
 
 " But ''tis hard," Edmund said, "'tis 
 at times very hard, Mr. Sherwood, 
 to know whereunto conscience points, 
 in the midst of so many inward clam- 
 ors as are raised in the soul by con- 
 flicting passions of dutiful affection 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 9 
 
 and filial reverence struggling for the 
 masterj. Ay, and no visible token of 
 God's will to make that darkness light. 
 *Tis that," he cried, more moved as he 
 went on, " that makes me so often gaze 
 upward. Would to God 1 might see 
 n sign in the skies ! for there are no 
 sign-posts on life's path to guide us on 
 OLir way to the heavenly Jerusalem, 
 which our ministers speak of." 
 
 " If thou diligently seekest for sign- 
 posts, my good boy," my father an- 
 swered, "fear not but that he who 
 said, ' Seek, and you shall find,' v/ill 
 furnish thee with them. He has not 
 left himself without witnesses, or his 
 religion to be groped after in hopeless 
 darkness, so that men may not discern, 
 even in these troublous times, where 
 the truth lies, so they be in earnest in 
 their search after it. But I will not 
 urge thee by the cogency of arguments, 
 or be drawn out of the reserve I have 
 hitherto observed in these matters, 
 which be nevertheless the mightiest 
 that can be thought of as regards the 
 soul's health." 
 
 And so, breaking off this discourse, ' 
 he walked out upon the terrace ; and 
 I withdrew to the table, where my 
 inother was sitting, and once more 
 conned over the last pages of m^ lady's 
 letter, which, when the reader hath 
 read, he will perceive the writer's rank 
 and her right to be thus titled. 
 
 "And now, Mistress Constance, I 
 must needs inform you of a matter I 
 would not leave you ignorant of, so 
 that you should learn from strangers 
 what so nearly concerns one whom you 
 have a friendship to — and that is my 
 betrothal with my Lord Surrey. The 
 ceremony was public, inasmuch as was 
 needful for the solemnising of a con- 
 tract which is binding for life — ' until 
 death us do part,' as the marriage ser- 
 vice hath it. . How great a change this 
 lias wrought in my thoughts, none 
 knows but myself ; for though I be but 
 twelve years of age (for his grace 
 would have the ceremony to take 
 l)lac3 on my birthday), one year older 
 than yourself, and so lately a child 
 that not a very long tmie ago my 
 
 grandmother would chastise me with 
 her own hands lor my faults, I now am 
 wedclcd to my youiig lord, and by lil.s 
 grace and all the household titled 
 Countess of Surrey ! And I thank 
 God to be no worse mated ; for my 
 lord, who is a few months younger thim 
 me, and a very child for fi-olicksoine 
 spirits and wild mirth, has, notwith- 
 standing, so great a pleasantness of 
 manners and so forward a v/it, that one 
 must needs have pleasure in his com- 
 pany ; and I only wish I had more of it. 
 Whilst we were only friends and play- 
 mates, I used to chide and withstand 
 him, as one older and one more staid 
 and discreet than himself; but, ah me ! 
 since we have been wedded, 'tis grand 
 to hear him discourse on the duty of 
 wives, and quote the Bible to show they 
 must obey their husbands. He carries 
 it in a very lordly fashion ; and if I 
 comply not at once with his commands, 
 he cries out what he has heard at tlic 
 play-house : 
 
 * Such duty as the subject ovres the priaco 
 Even such a woman oweth to her husband ; 
 And when she's froward, peevish sullen, soT-.r. 
 And not obedient to his honest will. 
 What is she but a foul contending rebel 
 And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? 
 I am ashamed that women are so simple 
 To offer war where thoy should kneel for peacs ; 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, or sway, 
 Where they are bound to ssrve, love, and obey.' 
 
 He has a most excellent memory. 1/ 
 lie has but once heard out of any En- 
 glish or Latin book so much read as i.; 
 contained in a leaf, he will forthwith 
 perfectly repeat it. My Lord Henry, 
 his uncle, for a trial, invented twenty 
 long and difficult words a few daya 
 back, which he had never seen or heard 
 before ; yet did he recite them readily, 
 every one in the same order as they 
 were written, having only once read 
 th^m over. But, touching that matter 
 of obedience, which I^care not to gain- 
 say, 'tis not easy at present to obey my 
 lord my husband, and his grace his 
 father, and Mistress Fawcett, too, who 
 holds as strict a hand over the Coun:- 
 ess of Surrey as over Mistress Ann 
 Dacre ; for the commands of these 
 my rulers do not at all times accord : 
 but I pray to God I may do my duty, 
 and be a good wife to my lord ; and I 
 
20 
 
 Cjn3'.a;iC'3 Sherwood. 
 
 wish, as I said before, my graiidmolhcr 
 had been here, and that I had been 
 favored with her good counsel, and 
 iiad had the benefit of shrift and 
 spiritual advice ere I entered on this 
 stage of my life, which is so new to me, 
 who was but a cliild a few weeks ago, 
 and am yet treated as such irj more 
 respects than one. 
 
 " My lord has told me a secret which 
 Higford. his father's servant, let out to 
 him; and 'tis something so weighty 
 and of so great import, that since he 
 left me my thoughts have been truants 
 from my iDooks, and Monsieur Sebas- 
 tian, who comes to practice us on the 
 lute, stoi:>ped his ears, and cried out 
 that the Signora Contessa had no mer- 
 cy on him, so to murther his composi- 
 tions. 'Tis not the part of a true wife 
 to reveal her husband's secrets, or else 
 I would tell you, Mistress Constance, 
 this great news, which I can with 
 trouble keep to myself; and I shall 
 not be easy till I have seen my lord 
 again, v/hich should be when we walk 
 in the garden tliis evening ; but I pray 
 to God he may not be off instead to 
 the Mall, to play at kittlepins ; for then 
 I have small chance to get speech with 
 him to-day. Mr. Martin is my very 
 good friend, and reminds the earl of 
 his duty to his lady; but if my lord 
 comes at his bidding, when he would 
 be elsewhere than in my company, 'tis 
 little contentment I have in his visits. 
 " 'Tis yesterday I writ thus much, 
 and now 'tis the day to send this let- 
 ter; and I saw not my lord last night 
 by reason of his grandfather my Lord 
 Arundel sending to fetch me unto his 
 house in the Strand. His goodness to 
 me is so great, that nothing more can 
 be desired ; and his daughter my Lady 
 Lumley is the greatest comfort I have 
 in the world. She showed me a fair 
 picture of my lord's mother, who died 
 the day he was born, not then full 
 seventeen years of age. She was of 
 so amiable a disposition, so prudent, 
 virtuous, and religious, that all who 
 knew her could not but love and es- 
 leem hei-. And I read a letter whic-i 
 this sweet lady had writtei: ii. Latin 
 
 to lier father on his birthday, to his 
 great contentment, who had procured 
 her to bo well instructed in that lan- 
 guage, as well as in her own and ia 
 all commendable learning. Then I 
 played at primero with my Lord Arun- 
 del and my Lady Lumley and my 
 uncle Francis. The knave of hearts 
 Avas fixed upon for the quinola, and I 
 won the flush. My uncle Francis 
 cried the winning card should be titled 
 Dudley. ' Not so,' quoth the earl ; 
 ' the knave that Avoiild match with the 
 queen in the suit of hearts should 
 never win the game.' And further 
 talk ensued ; from which I learnt that 
 my Lord Arundel and the Duke of 
 Norfolk mislikc my Lord Leicester, 
 and would not he should marry the 
 queen ; and my uncle laughed, and 
 said, *My lord, no good Enghshman 
 is there but must be of your lord- 
 ship's mind, though none have so good 
 reason as yourself to hinder so base a 
 contract ; for if my Lord of Leicester 
 should climb unto her majesty's thront?. 
 beshrev,^ me if he v/ill not remember 
 the box on the car your lordship min- 
 istered to him some time since;' at 
 v/hich the carl laughed, too ; but my 
 Lady Lumley cried, ' I Avould to God 
 my brother of Norfolk were rid of my 
 Lord Leicester's friendship, which has, 
 I much fear me, more danger in it 
 than his enmity. God send he does 
 not lead his grace into troubles greater 
 than can well be thought of I' Alack, 
 Mistress Constance, what uneasy times 
 are these v.^hich we have fallen on ! for 
 methinks 'troubles' is the word in 
 every one's mouth. As I was about 
 to step into the chair at the hall-door 
 at Arundel House, I heard one of my 
 lord's guard say to another, 'I trust 
 the white horse will be in quiet, and so 
 W3 shall be out of trouble.' I have 
 asked Mr. Martin what these words 
 should mean ; whereupon he told 
 mo the white horse, which indeed I 
 might have known, was the Earl of 
 Arundel's cognisance; and that th;' 
 times were very troublesome, and plots 
 were spoken of in the North anent 
 the Queen of S^ots, her majesty (hj 
 
Constance Sheyncood. 
 
 21 
 
 (jUGon's cousin, who is at Chates- 
 wortli ; and when he said that, all of a 
 sudden I grew red, and my cheeks 
 l)urned like two hot coals ; but he took 
 no heed, and said, *A true servant 
 ] night well wish his master out of 
 trouble, when troubles were so rife/ 
 And now shame take me for taking 
 up so much of yo.ur time, which should 
 be spent in more profitable ways than 
 the reading of my poor letters ; and I 
 must needs beg you to write soon, and 
 hold me as long as I have held you, 
 and love me, sweet one, as I love you. 
 My Lady Margaret, who is in a sense 
 twice my sister, says she is jealous of 
 Mistress Constance Sherwood, and 
 would steal away my heart from her ; 
 but, though she ia a winsome and cun- 
 ning thief in such matters, I warrant 
 you she shall fail therein. And so, 
 commending myself to your good 
 prayers, I remain 
 
 "Your true friend and loving ser- 
 vant, "Ann Surrey." 
 
 As I finished and was folding up my 
 letter the clock struck nine. It was 
 waning darker without by reason of a 
 cloud which had obscured the moon. 
 I heard my father still pacing up and 
 down the gravel-walk, and ever and 
 anon staying his footsteps awhile, as if 
 watching. After a short space the 
 moon shone out again, and I saw the 
 shadows of two persons against the 
 wall of the kitchen garden. Presently 
 the hall-door was fastened and bolt- 
 ed, as I knew by the rattling of the 
 cliain which hung across it. Then 
 my lather looked in at the door and 
 said, " 'Tis time, goodwife, for young 
 folks to be abed." Upon which my 
 mother rose and made as if she 
 was about to withdraw to her bed- 
 chamber. Edmund followed us up 
 stairs, and, wishing us both good- 
 night, went into the closet where he 
 slept. Then my mother, taking me 
 by the hand, led me into my father'* 
 gtudy. 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As I entered the library, which my 
 father used for purposes of business 
 as well as of study, I saw a gentleman 
 who had often been at our house before, 
 and whom I knew to be a priest, though 
 lie was dressed as a working-man of 
 the better sort and had on a riding 
 coat of coarse materials. He beck- 
 oned me to him, and I, kneeling, re- 
 ceived his blessing. 
 
 " What, up yet, little one ?" he said ; 
 " and yet thou must bestir thyself be- 
 times to-morrow for prayers. These 
 are not days in which priests may 
 play the sluggard and be found abed 
 when the sun rises." 
 
 " At what hour must you be on foot, 
 reverend father?" my mother asked, 
 as sitting down at a table by his side 
 she filled his plate with whatever might 
 tempt him to eat, the which he seemed 
 little inclined to. 
 
 " Before dawn, good Mrs. Sherwood," 
 he answered ; " and across the fields 
 into the forest before ever the laboring 
 men are astir; and you know best when 
 that is." 
 
 "An if it be so, which I fear it 
 must," my father said, " we must e'en 
 have the chapel ready by two o'clock. 
 And, goodwife, you should presently 
 get that wench to bed." 
 
 *-Nay, good mother," I cried, and 
 threw my arms round her waist, 
 " prithee let me sit up to-night ; I can lie 
 abed all to-morrow." So wistfully and 
 urgently did I plead, that she, who had 
 grown of late somewhat loth to deny 
 any request of mine, yielded to my en- 
 treaties, and only willed that I should 
 lie down on a settle betwixt her chair 
 and the chimney, in which a fagot was 
 
 blazing, though it was summer-time^ 
 but the weather was chilly. I gazed 
 by turns on my mother's pale face and 
 my father's, which was thoughtful, and 
 on the good priest's, who was in an 
 easy-chair, wherein they had compelled 
 him to sit, opposite to me on the other 
 side of the chimney. He looked, as I 
 remember him then, as if in body and 
 in mind he had suffered more than 
 he could almost bear. 
 
 After some discourse had been min- 
 istered betwixt him and my father of 
 the journey he had been taking, and 
 the friends he had seen since last he 
 had visited our house, my mother said, 
 in a tremulous voice, " And now, good 
 Mr. Mush, an if it would not pain you 
 too sorely, tell us if it be true that your 
 dear daughter in Christ, Mrs. Clithe- 
 row, has indeed won the martyr's 
 crown, as some letters from York re- 
 ported to us a short time back ?" 
 
 Upon this Mr. Mush raised his head, 
 which had sunk on his breast, and said, 
 " She that was my spiritual daughter 
 in times past, and now, as I humbly 
 hope, my glorious mother in heaven, 
 the gracious martyr Mrs. Clitherow, 
 has overcome all her enemies, and 
 passed from this mortal life with rare 
 and marvellous triumph mto the peace- 
 able city of God, there to receive a 
 worthy crown of endless immortality 
 and joy." His eye, that had been bt^ 
 fore heavy and dim, now shone with 
 sudden light, and it seemed as if the 
 cord about his heart was loosed, and 
 his spirit found vent at last i:i words 
 after a long and painful silence. More 
 elo(iuent still was his countenance than 
 his words as he exclaimed, " Torments 
 overcame her not, nor the sweetness of 
 life, nor her vehement affection for bus- 
 
Cous'a.icc ^Acrwood, 
 
 23 
 
 liand and cliildrcn, nor tlic flattering 
 allurements and deceitful promises of 
 the persecutors. Finally, the world, 
 the flesh, and the devil overcame her 
 not. She, a woman, with invincible 
 courage entered combat against them 
 all, to defend the ancient faith, wherein 
 both she and her enemies were bap- 
 tized and gave their, promise to God to 
 keep the same until death. O sacred 
 martyr !" and, with clasped hands and 
 streaming eyes, the good father went 
 on, "remember mc, I beseech thee 
 humbly, in thy perfect charity, whom 
 thou hast left miserable behind thee, 
 in time past thy unworthy father and 
 now most unworthy servant, made ever 
 joyful by thy virtuous life, and now 
 lamenting thy death and thy absence, 
 and yet rejoicing in thy glory." 
 
 A sob burst from my motiier's breast, 
 and she hid her face against my father's 
 shoulder. There was a brief silence, 
 during which many quickly - rising 
 thoughts passed through my mind. Of 
 Daniel in the lions' den, and the Mach- 
 abees and the early Christians ; and of 
 the great store of blood which had been 
 shed of late in this our country, and of 
 which amongst the slain were truly mar- 
 tyrs, and which were not ; of the vision 
 in the sky which had been seen at Lich- 
 field ; and chiefly of that blessed wo- 
 man Mrs. Ciitherow, whose virtue and 
 good works I had often before heard of, 
 such as serving the poor and harbor- 
 ing priests, and loving God's Church 
 with a wonderful affection grcator than 
 can be thought of. Then I heard my 
 father say, "How was it at the last, 
 good Mr. Mush r" I oped my eyes, 
 and hung on the lips of the good priest 
 even as if to devour his words as ho 
 gave utterance to them. 
 
 " She refused to be tried by tlio 
 country," he answered, in a tremulous 
 voice ; " and go they murtlicrcd her." 
 
 " How so ?" my molher asked, shad- 
 ing her eyes with her hand, as if to 
 exclude the mental sight of that which 
 she yet sought to knovv\ 
 
 " They pressed her to death," he 
 sidfvdy uttered ; " and the last words 
 she was heard to say were ' Jesu, Jcsu, 
 
 Jcsu ! have mercy on me 1' She v.as 
 in dying about a quarter of an hour, 
 and then her blessed spirit was iv- 
 leased and took its flight to heaven. 
 May v/e die the death of the right- 
 eous, and may our last end be Lkt? 
 hers !" 
 
 Agam my mother hid her face in my 
 father's bosom, and methought she said 
 not " Amen" to that jjrayer ; but turn- 
 ing to Mr. Mush with a flushed cheek 
 and troubled eye, she asked, "And 
 why did the blessed Mrs. Ciitherow 
 refuse to be tried by the country, rev- 
 erend father, and thereby subject her- 
 self to that lingering death ?" 
 
 " These were her words when ques- 
 tioned and urged on that point," he an- 
 swered, " which sufficiently clear her 
 from all accusation of obstinacy or 
 desperation, and combine the rare dis- 
 cretion and charity which were in her 
 at all times : ' Alas !' quoth she, ' if I 
 should have put myself on the country, 
 evidence must needs have come against 
 me touching my harboring of prieslr 
 and the holy sacrifice of the mass in 
 my house, which I know none coukl 
 give but only my children and ser- 
 vants ; and it would have been to nie 
 more grievous than a thousand dcathn 
 if I should have seen any of them 
 brought forth before me, to give evi-? 
 dence against me in so good a cause 
 and bo guilty of my blood ; and, sec- 
 ondly,' quoth she, ' I know well the 
 country must needs have found mc 
 guilty to please the council, -who so 
 earnestly seek my blood; and then all 
 they had been accessory to my death 
 and damnably offended God. I there- 
 fore thmk, in the way of charity, for 
 my part to hinder the country from 
 ouch a sin ; and seeing it must need.^ 
 be done, to cause as fev/ to do it as 
 might be ; and that v/as the judge him- 
 self.' So she thought, and thereupon 
 oho acted, with that single view to 
 God's glory and the good of men'; 
 souls that was ever the passion of h :• 
 fervent spirit." 
 
 "Her cliildrcn?" my mother mur- 
 mured in a faint voice, still hidmg her 
 face from him. " That httle Agnes 
 
24 
 
 C'jno'ancc Shcnoood. 
 
 you used to tell us of, that was so dear 
 to her poor mother, how has it fared 
 with her?"' 
 
 Mr Mush answered, " Her happy 
 mother sent her hose and shoes to her 
 (laugliter at the last, signifying tliat 
 f.hc should serve God and follow her 
 steps of virtue. She was committed 
 lo ward because she would not betray 
 lier mother, and there whipped and 
 extremely used for that she would not 
 go to the church and hear a sermon. 
 AVhen her mother was murthered, the 
 lieretics came to her and said that un- 
 less she would go lo the church, her 
 mother should be put to death. The 
 child, thinking to save the life of her 
 who had given her birth, went to a 
 sermon, and thus they deceived her." 
 
 " God forgive them !" my father 
 <*jaculated ; and I, creeping to my 
 mother's side, threw my arms about 
 lier neck, upon which she, caressing 
 me, said : 
 
 " Now thou wilfc be up to their de- 
 ceits, Conny, if they should practice 
 the same arts on thee." 
 
 *' Mother," I cried, clinging to her, 
 '• I will go with thee to prison and to 
 death ; but to their church I will not 
 go who love not our Blessed Lady." 
 
 "So help thee God!" my father 
 cried, and laid his hand on my head. 
 
 "Take heart, good Mrs. Sherwood," 
 Mr. Mush said to my mother, who was 
 weeping ; " God may spare you such 
 trials as those which that sweet saint 
 rejoiced in, or he can give you a like 
 strength to hers. We have need in 
 these times to bear in mind that com- 
 fortable saying of holy writ, ' As your 
 day shall your strength be.* " 
 
 " 'Tis strange," my father observed, 
 *• how these present troubles seem to 
 awake the readiness, nay the wash, to 
 suffer for truth's sake. It is like a 
 new sense in a soul heretofore but too 
 prone to eschew suffering of any sort : 
 'tis even as the keen breezes of our 
 own Cannock Chase stimulate timeframe 
 to exertions which it would shrink 
 from in the duller air of the Trent 
 Valley." 
 
 •' Ah ! and is it even so with you, 
 
 my friend ?'' exclaimed Mr. Mush. 
 " From my heart I rojolcc at it : such 
 thoughts are oftentlniGs forerunners of 
 God's call to a soul marked out for 
 his special service." 
 
 My mother, agahist whom I was 
 leaning since mention had been made 
 of Mrs. Clitherow's daughter, began to 
 tremble ; and rising said she would go 
 to the chapel to prepare for confession. 
 Taking me by the liand, she mounted 
 the stairs to the room which was used 
 as such since the ancient faith had 
 been proscribed. One by one that 
 night we knelt at the feet of tlie good 
 shepherd, who, like his Lord, waa 
 ready to lay down his life for his sheep, 
 and were shriven. Then, at two of 
 the clock, mass was said, and my pa- 
 rents and most of our scsrvants re- 
 ceived, and likewise some neighbors 
 to whom notice had been sent in se- 
 cret of Mr. Mush's coming. When 
 my mother returned from the altar to 
 her seat, I marvelled at the change in 
 her countenance. She who had been 
 GO troubled before the coming of the 
 Heavenly Guest into her breast, wore 
 now so serene and joyful an aspect, 
 that the looking upon her at that time 
 wrought in me a new and comfortable 
 sense of the greatness of that divine 
 sacrament. I found not the thought 
 of death frighten me then ; for albeit 
 on that night I for the first time fully 
 arrived at the knowledge of the peril 
 and jeopardy in wliich the Catholics of 
 this land do live ; nevertheless this 
 knowledge awoke in me more exulta- 
 tion than fear. I had seen precautions 
 used, and reserves maintained, of which 
 I now perceived the cause. For some 
 time past my parents had prepared the 
 way for this no-longer-to-be-deferred 
 enlightenment. The small account 
 they had taught me to make of the 
 wealth and comforts of this perishable 
 world, and the histories they had re- 
 counted to me of the sufferings of 
 Christians in the early times of the 
 Church, had been directed unto this 
 end. They had, as it were, laid the 
 wood on the altar of my heart, which 
 they prayed might one day burn into 
 
Constance SJierwoodL 
 
 a flame. And now when, by reason 
 of the discourse I had heard touching 
 Mrs. CUthe row's blessed but painful 
 end for harboring of priests in her 
 house, and the presence of one under 
 our roof, I took heed that the danger 
 liad come nigh unto our own doors, my 
 lieart seemed to beat with a singular 
 joy. Childhood sets no great store on 
 life : the passage from this world to 
 the next is not terrible to such as have 
 Iiad no shadows cast on their paths by 
 their own or others' sins. Heaven is 
 not a far-off region to the pure in 
 heart ; but rather a home, where God, 
 ;i.s St. Thomas sings, 
 
 "Vitam sine termino 
 Nobis donet in patria." 
 
 But, ah me! how transient are 
 the lights and shades which flit across 
 Ihe childish mind ! and how mutable 
 the temper of youth, never long im- 
 ])resscd by any event, however grave ! 
 Not many days after Mr. Mush's visit 
 to our house, another letter from the 
 Countess of Surrey came into my 
 hand, and drove from my thoughts for 
 t!ie time all but the matters therein 
 disclosed. 
 
 '• Sweet Mistress Constance'* 
 (my lady wrote), — "In my last letter 
 I made mention, in an obscure fashion, 
 of a secret which my lord had told 
 me touching a matter of great weight 
 which Higford, his grace's steward, 
 had let out to him ; and now that the 
 whole world is speaking of what was 
 tlien in hand, and that troubles have 
 came of it, I must needs relieve my 
 mind by writing thereof to her who is 
 the best friend I have in the world, if 
 I may judge by the virtuous counsel 
 and loving words her letters do con- 
 tain. 'Tis lilie you have heard some- 
 what of that same matter, Mistress 
 Constance; for much talk has been 
 ministered anent it since I wrote, 
 amongst people of all sorts, and with 
 various intents to the hindering or the 
 I)ronj^ting thereof. I mean touching 
 the marriage of his grace the Duke of 
 Norfolk with the Queen of Scots, 
 
 which is much desired by some, and 
 very little wished for by others. My 
 lord, as is reasonable in one of his 
 years and of so noble a spirit, and his 
 sister, who is in all things the counter- 
 part of her brother, have set their 
 hearts thereon since the first inkling 
 they had of it ; for this queen had so 
 noted a fame for her excellent beauty 
 and sweet disposition that it has 
 wrought in them an extraordinary 
 passionate desire to title her mother, 
 and to see their father so nobly mated, 
 though not more than he deserves ; 
 for, as my lord says, his grace's estate 
 in England is worth little less than the 
 whole realm of Scotland, in the ill 
 state to which the wars have reduced 
 it ; and when he is in his own tennis-' 
 court at Norwich, he thinks himself as 
 great as a king. 
 
 "As a good wife, I should wish 
 as my lord does; and indeed this 
 marriage. Mistress Constance, would 
 please me well; for the Queen of 
 Scots is Catholic, and methinks if his 
 grace were to wed her, there might 
 arise some good out of it to such as 
 are dependent on his grace touching 
 matters of religion; and since Mr. 
 Martin has gone beyond seas, 'tis very 
 little I hear in this house but what is 
 contrary to the teaching I had at my 
 grandmother's. My lord saith this 
 queen's troubles will be ended if she 
 doth marry his grace, for so Higford 
 has told him ; but when I spoke there- 
 of to my Lady Lumley, she prayed 
 God his grace's might not then begin, 
 but charged me to be silent thereon 
 before my Lord Arundel, who has 
 greatly set his heart on this match. 
 She said words were in every one's 
 mouth concerning this marriage which 
 should never have been spoken of but 
 amongst a few. ' Nan,' quoth she, * if 
 Phil and thou do let your children's 
 tongues wag anent a matter which 
 may well be one of life and death, 
 more harm may come of it than can 
 well be thought of.' So prithee, Mis- • 
 tress Constance, do you be silent as 
 the grave on what I have herein 
 written, if so be you have not heard 
 
26 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 of it but from mc. My lord had a 
 quarrel with my Lord Essex, who is 
 about his own age, an cut the Queen 
 of Scots, a few days since, when he 
 came to spend his birthday with him ; 
 for my lord was twelve years old last 
 week, and I gave him a fair jewel to 
 set in his cap, for a love-token and for 
 remembrance. My lord said that the 
 Queen of Scots was a lady of so great 
 virtue and beauty that none else could 
 be compared with her; upon which 
 my lord of Essex cried it was high, 
 treason to the queen's majesty to 
 say so, and that if her grace held so 
 long a time in pnson one who was her 
 near kinswoman, it v/as by reason of 
 her having murthered her husband 
 and fomented rebellion in tliis king- 
 dom of England, for the which she 
 did deserve to be extremely used. 
 My lord was very wroth at this, and 
 swore he was no traitor, and that the 
 Queen of Scots was no murtheress, 
 and he would lay down his head on 
 the block rather than suffer any should 
 style her such ; upon which my lord 
 of Essex asked, ' Prithee, my Lord 
 Surrey, were you at Thomham last 
 week when the queen's majesty was 
 on a visit to your grandfather, my 
 Lord Arundel ?' * No,' cried my lord, 
 * your lordship being there yourself in 
 my Lord Leicester's suite, must needs 
 have noticed I was absent; for if I 
 had been present, methinks 'tis I and 
 not your lordship would have waited 
 behind her majesty's chair at table 
 and held a napkin to her.' ' And if 
 you had, my lord,' quoth my Lord 
 Essex, waxing hot in his speech, * you 
 would have noticed how her grace's 
 majesty gave a nip to his grace your 
 father, who was sitting by her side, 
 and &aid she would have him take 
 heed on what pillow he rested his 
 head.' ' And I would have you take 
 heed,' cries my lord, * how you suffer 
 j^our tongue to wag in an unseemly 
 manner anent her grace's majesty and 
 liis grace my father and the Queen of 
 Scots, who is kinswoman to both, and 
 even now a prisoner, which should 
 make men careful how they speak of 
 
 her who cannot speak in her own 
 cause ; for it is a very inhuman part, 
 my lord, to tread on such as misfor- 
 tune has cast down.' There . was a 
 nobleness in these words such as I have 
 often taken note of in my lord, thougli 
 so young, and which his playmat<' 
 yielded to ; so that nothing more was 
 said at that time anent those ma- 
 ters, which indeed do seem too weighly 
 to be discoursed upon by young foik-^. 
 But I have thought since on the linens 
 which 'tis said -lie queen's majesty 
 v/rote when she v/as herself a prisoner, 
 which begin, 
 
 O Fortune! liov/ thy r33ilG33, wavering stat j 
 Uitli Iraugiit with cires my troubled wit ; 
 Witness this present prison, wliitlier fate 
 Coald boar nic, and tho joys I quit '— 
 
 and wondered she should have no 
 greater pity on those in the same 
 plight, as so many be at this time. Ah 
 me ! I would not keep a bird in a cage 
 an I could help it, and 'tis sad men 
 are not more tender of such as are of 
 a like nature with themselves ! 
 
 " My lord was away some days af- 
 ter this at Oxford, whither he had 
 been carried to be present at the 
 queen's visit, and at the play of Pa- 
 lamon and Arcite, which her majesty 
 heard in the common hall of Christ's 
 Church. One evening, as my lady 
 Margaret and I (like two twin cher- 
 ries on one stalk, my lord would say, 
 for he is mightily taken with tli' 
 stage-plays he doth hear, and hath a 
 trick of framing his speech from them) 
 were sitting at the window near unto 
 the garden practising our lutes and 
 singing madrigals, he surprised us 
 with his sweet company, in which ] 
 find an ever increasing content, and 
 cried out as he approached, 'Ladies, 
 I hold this sentence of the poet as 
 a canon of my creed, that whom 
 God loveth not, they love not music' 
 And then he said that albeit Italian 
 was a very harmonious and sweet lan- 
 guage which pleasantly tickle th the 
 ear, he for his part loved English 
 best, even in singing. Upon which, 
 finding him in the humor for discreet 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 27 
 
 and sensible conversation, which, al- 
 beit he hath good parts and a ready 
 wit, is not always the case, by reason 
 of his being, as boys mostly are, prone 
 to wagging, I took occasion to relate 
 what I had heard my Lord of Arun- 
 del say touching his visit to the court 
 of Brussels, when the Duchess of 
 Parma invited hmi to a banquet to 
 meet the Prince of Orange and most 
 of the chief courtiers. The discourse 
 was carried on in French; but my 
 lord, albeit he could speak well in that 
 language, nevertheless made use of an 
 interpreter. At the which the Prince 
 of Orange expressed his surprise to 
 Sir John "Wilson, who was present, 
 that an English nobleman of so great 
 birth and breeding should be ignorant 
 of the French tongue, which the earl 
 presently liearing, said, ' Tell the prince 
 that I like to speak in that language 
 in wliich I can best utter my mind 
 and not mistake.' * And I perceive, 
 my lord,' I said, ^ that you are of a 
 like mind with his lordship, and no 
 lover of new-fangled and curious 
 terms.' 
 
 " Upon which my dear earl laughed, 
 and related unto us how the queen 
 had been pleased to take notice of 
 him at Oxford, and spoke merrily to 
 him of his marriage. *And prithee, 
 Phil, what were her highness's words?' 
 quoth his prying sister, like a true 
 daughter of Eve. At which my lord 
 stroked his chin, as if to smooth his 
 beard which is still to come, and said 
 her majesty had cried, ' God's pity, 
 child, thou wilt tiro of thy wife afore 
 you have both left the nursery.' 
 * Alack,' cried Meg, ' if any but her 
 highness had said it, thy hand would 
 have been on thy sword, brother, and 
 I'll warrant thou didst turn as red as 
 a turkey-cock, when her majesty thus 
 titled thee a baby. Nay, do not frown, 
 but be a good lord to us, and tell Nan 
 and me if the queen said aught else.' 
 Then my lord cleared his brow, and 
 related how in the hunting scene in 
 tlie plijy, when the cry of the hounds 
 was heard outside the stage, which 
 was excellently vrell imitated, some 
 
 scholars who were seated near him, 
 and he must confess liimself also, did 
 shout, ' There, there — he's caught, 
 he's caught !' upon which her grace's 
 majesty laughed, and merrily cried out 
 from her box, ' Those boys in very troth 
 are ready to leap out of the windows ! ' 
 'And had you such pleasant sport-' 
 each day, brother ?' quoth our Meg. 
 ' No, by my troth,' my lord answered ; 
 * the more's the pity ; for the next day 
 there was a disputation held in physic 
 and divinity from two to seven ; and Dr. 
 Westphaling held forth at so great 
 length that her majesty sent word to him 
 to end his discourse without delay, to 
 the great relief and comfort of all pres- 
 ent. But he would not give over, lest, 
 having committed all to memory, he 
 should forget the rest if he omitted 
 any part of it, and bo brought to 
 shame before the university and the 
 court.' ' What said her highness when 
 she saw he heeded not her com- 
 mands ?' Meg asked. ' She was an- 
 gered at first,' quoth my lord, ' that he 
 durst go on with his discourse when 
 she had sent him word presently to 
 stop, whereby she had herself been 
 prevented from speaking, which the 
 Spanish Ambassador had asked her 
 to do; but when she heard the reason 
 it moved her to laughter, and she titled 
 him a parrot.' 
 
 '• ' And spoke not her majesty at all r' 
 I asked ; and my lord said, ' She 
 would not have been a woman. Nan, 
 an she had licld her tongue after being 
 once resolved to use it. She made 
 the next day an oration in Latin, and 
 stopped in the midst to bid my Lord 
 Burleigh be seated, and not to stand 
 painfully on his gouty feet. Beshrew 
 me, but I think she did it to show the 
 poor dean how much better her mem- 
 ory served her than his had done, for 
 she looked round to where he was 
 standing cro she resumed her dis- 
 course. And now, Meg, clear thy 
 throat and tunc Ihy pipe, for not an- 
 other word vrill I speak till thou hast 
 sung that ditty good Mr. Martin set to 
 music for thee.' I have set it down here, 
 Mistress Constance, with the notes as 
 
2S 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 she sung it, that you may sing it also ; 
 and not like it the less that my quaint 
 fancy pictures the maiden the poet sings 
 of, in her * frock of frolic green,' hke 
 unto my sweet friend who dwells not 
 far from one of the fair rivers therein 
 named. 
 
 A knight, as antique stories tell, 
 A daughter had named Dawsabel, 
 
 A maiden fair and free ; 
 She wore a frock of frolic green, 
 Might well become a maiden queen, 
 
 Which seemly was to see. 
 
 The silk well could she twist and twine. 
 
 And make the fine March pine, 
 
 And with the needle work ; 
 
 And she could help the priest to say 
 
 His matins on a holy day. 
 
 And sing a psalm in kirk. 
 
 Her features all as fresh above 
 As is the grass that grows by Dove, 
 And lythe as lass of Kent ; 
 Her skin as soft as Leinster wool. 
 And white as snow on Penhisk Hull, 
 Or swan that swims on Trent. 
 
 This maiden on a mom betime 
 
 Goes forth when May is in its prime. 
 
 To get sweet setywall. 
 
 The honeysuckle, the hurlock. 
 
 The lily and the lady-smock, 
 
 To deck her father's hall. 
 
 " ' Ah,' cried my lord, when Meg had 
 ended her song, * beshrew me, if Mon- 
 8ieur Sebastian's madrigals are one- 
 half so dainty as this English piece of 
 liarmony.' And then, — -for his lord- 
 ship's head is at present running on 
 pageants such as he witnessed at 
 Nonsuch and at Oxford, — ^he would 
 have me call into the garden Madge 
 and Bess, whilst he fetched his brothers 
 to take part in a May game, not in- 
 deed in season now, but which, he 
 says, is too good sport not to be fol- 
 lowed all the year round. So he must 
 needs dress himself as Robin Hood, 
 with a wreath on his head and a sheaf 
 of arrows in his girdle, and me as Maid 
 Marian ; and Meg, for that she is taller 
 by an inch than any of us, though 
 younger than him and me, he said 
 should play Little John, and Bess 
 Friar Tuck, for that she looks so glee- 
 some and has a face so red and round. 
 ' And Tom,' he cried, ' thou needst not 
 be at pains to change thy name, for we 
 will dub thee Tom the piper.' * And 
 what is Will to be ?' asked my Lady 
 Bess, who, smce I be titled Countess 
 
 of Surrey, must needs be styled My 
 Lady William Howard.' 'Why, 
 there's only the fool left,' quoth my 
 lord, ' for thy sweetheart to play, Bess.' 
 At the which her ladyship and his 
 lordsliip too began to stamp and cry, 
 and would have sobbed outright, but 
 sweet Madge, whose face waxes so 
 white and her eyes so large and blue 
 that methinks she is more like to an 
 angel than a child, put out her little 
 thin hands with a, pretty gesture, and 
 said, ' I'll be the fool, brother Surrey, 
 and Will shall be the dragon, and Bess 
 ride the hobby-horse, an it will please 
 her.' < Nay, but she is Friar Tuck,' 
 quoth my lord, ' and should not ride.' 
 ' And prithee wherefore no ?' cried the 
 forward imp, who, now she no more 
 fears her grandam's rod, has grown 
 very saucy and bold; 'why should 
 not the good friar ride, an it doth 
 pleasure him ?' 
 
 " At the which we laughed and fell 
 to acting our parts with no little mer- 
 riment and noise, and sundry repre- 
 hensions from my lord when we mis- 
 took our postures or the lines he 
 would have us to recite. And at the 
 end he set up a pole on the grass-plat 
 for the Maying, and we danced and 
 sung around it to a merry tune, which 
 set our feet flying in time with the 
 music : 
 
 Now in the month of maying, 
 When the merry lads ^re i)laying. 
 
 Fa, la, la. 
 
 Each with his bonny lassc, 
 Upon the greeny grasse. 
 
 Fa. la, la. 
 
 Madge was not strong enough to dance, 
 but she stole away to gather white and 
 blue violets, and made a fair garland 
 to set on my head, to my lord's great 
 content, and would have me unloose 
 my hair on my shoulders, whicli fell 
 nearly to my feet, and waved in the 
 wind in a wild fashion ; which he said 
 was beseeming for a bold outlaw's bride, 
 and what he had seen in the Maid Ma- 
 rian, who had played in the pageant 
 at Nonsuch. Mrs. Fawcett misdoubt- 
 ed that this sport of ours shoiihl be 
 approved by Mr. Charkc, who cuUs all 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 29 
 
 stage-playing Satan's recreations, and 
 a sure road unto hell ; and that we 
 shall hear on it in his next preach- 
 ment ; for he has held forth to her at 
 length on that same point, and up- 
 braided her for that she .did suffer 
 such foohsh and profane pastimes to 
 be carried on in his grace's house. Ah 
 me ! I see no harm in it ; and if, when 
 my lord visits me, I play not with him 
 as he chooses, 'tis not a thing to be ex- 
 pected that he will come only to sing 
 psalms or play chess, which Mr. Charke 
 holds to be the only game it befits 
 Christians to entertain themselves with. 
 'Tis hard to know what is right and 
 wrong when persons be of such differ- 
 ent minds, and no ghostly adviser to be 
 liad, such as I was used to at my 
 grandmother's house. 
 
 " All, Mistress Constance ! when I 
 last wrote unto you I said troubles 
 vv^as the word in every one's mouth, 
 and crc I had finished this letter — 
 v/hich I was then writing, and have 
 kept by me ever since — what, think 
 you, has befallen us ? 'Tis anent the 
 marriage of his grace with the Queen 
 of Scots ; which I now do wish it had 
 pleased God none had ever thought 
 of. Some weeks since my lord had 
 told me, with great glee, that, the 
 Spanish ambassador was about to pe- 
 tition her majesty the queen for the 
 release of her highness's cousin ; and 
 Higford and Bannister, and the rest 
 of liis grace's household — whom, since 
 Mr. Martin went beyond seas, my 
 lord spends much of his time with, and 
 more of it methinks than is beseeming 
 or to the profit of liis manners and ad- 
 vancement of his behavior — have told 
 him that this would prepare the way 
 for the greatly-to-be-desired end of 
 his grace's marriage with that queen ; 
 and my lord was reckoning up all the 
 fine sports and pageants and noble en- 
 tertainments would be enacted at Ken- 
 ninghall and Thetford when that right 
 princely wedding should take place ; 
 and hoAV he should himself carry the 
 train ^ the queen-duchess when she 
 went into church ; v/ho was the fair- 
 est woman, he said, in the whole 
 
 world, and none ever seen to be com-' 
 pared with her since the days of Gre- 
 cian Helen. But when, some dayd 
 ago, I questioned my lord touching tli;* 
 success of the ambassador's suits, and 
 the queen's answer thereto, he sa'd : 
 ^ By my troth. Nan, I understand thai 
 her highness sent away the gooseman . 
 for so she entitled Senor Guzman, 
 with a flea in his ear ; for she said 
 he had come on a fool's errand, and 
 gave him for her answer that she 
 would advise the Queen of Scots to 
 bear her condition with less impa- 
 tience, or she might chance to find 
 some of those on whom she relied 
 shorter by a head.' * Oh, my lord,' I 
 cried ; * my dear Phil ! God send she 
 was not speaking of his grace your 
 father !' ' Nan,' quoth he, * she looked 
 at his grace the next day with looks 
 of so great anger and disdain, that 
 my lord of Leicester — that false and 
 villainous knave — gave signs of so 
 great triumph as if his grace was 
 even on his way to the Tower. Be- 
 shrew me, if I would not run my ra- 
 pier through his body if I could !' 
 ' And where is his grace at present ?' 
 I asked. * He came to to^vn last 
 night,' quoth my lord, ' with my Lord 
 Arundel, and this morning went to 
 Kenninghall.' After this for some 
 days I heard no more, for a new tutor 
 came to my lord, who suffers him not 
 to stay in the waiting-room with his 
 grace's gentlemen, and keeps so strict 
 a hand over him touching his studies, 
 that in his brief hours of recreation he 
 would rather play at quoits, and other 
 active pastimes, than converse with his 
 lady. Alack ! I wish he were a few 
 years older, and I should have more 
 comfort of him than now, when I must 
 needs put up vAih his humors, which 
 be as changeful, by reason of his great 
 youth, as the lights and shades on the 
 grass 'neath an aspen-tree. I must be 
 throwing a ball for hours, or learning 
 a stage-part, when I would fain speak 
 of the weighty matters which be on 
 hand, such as I have told you of. 
 Howsoever, as good luck would have it, 
 my Lady Lmnley sent for me to spend 
 
30 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 the day with her ; and from her lady- 
 ship I learnt that his grace had written 
 to the queen that he had withdrawn 
 from the court because of the pain he 
 felt at her displeasure, and his mortifi- 
 cation at the treatment he had been sub- 
 jected to by the insolence of his foes, by 
 whom he has been made a common ta- 
 ble talk ; and that her majesty had laid 
 upon him her commands straightway 
 to return to court. That was all was 
 known that day ; but at the very time 
 that I was writing the first of these wo- 
 ful tidings to you, Mistress Constance, 
 his grace — whom I now know that I 
 do love dearly, and with a true daugh- 
 ter's heart, by the dreadful fear and 
 pain I am in — was arrested at Burn- 
 ham, where he had stopped on his road 
 to Windsor, and committed to the Tow- 
 er. Alack ! alack ! what will follow ? 
 I will leave this my letter open until I 
 have further news to send. 
 
 " His grace was examined this day 
 before my Lord-keeper Bacon, and my 
 Lords Northampton, Sadler, Bedford, 
 and Cecil ; and they have reported to 
 her majesty that the duke had not put 
 himself under penalty of the law by 
 any overt act of treason, and that it 
 would be difficult to convict him with- 
 out this. My Lord of Arundel, at 
 whose house I was when these tidings 
 came, said her majesty was so angered 
 at this judgment, that she cried out in 
 a passion, ' Away ! what the law fails 
 to do my authority shall effect ;' and 
 straightway fell into a fit, her passion 
 was so great ; and they were forced to 
 apply vinegar to restore her. I had a 
 wicked thought come into my mind. 
 Mistress Constance, that I should not 
 have been concerned if the queen's 
 majesty had died in that fit, which I 
 befear me was high treason, and a 
 mortal sin, to wish for one to die in a 
 state of sin. But, alack ! since I have 
 left going to shrift I find it hard to 
 fight against bad thoughts and naughty 
 tempers ; and when I say my prayers, 
 and the old words come to my lips, 
 which the preachments I hear do con- 
 tradict, I am sometimes well-nigh 
 tempted to give over praying at all.. 
 
 But I pray to God I may never be so 
 wicked ; and though I may not have 
 my beads (which were taken from 
 me), that the good Bishop of Durham 
 gave me when I was confirmed, I use 
 my fingers in their stead ; and whilst 
 his grace was at the Tower I did say 
 as many ^ Hail Maries' in one day 
 as I ever did in my life before ; and 
 promised him, who is God's own dear 
 Son and hers, if his grace came out 
 of prison, never to be a day of my 
 life without saying a prayer, or giving 
 an alms, or doing a good turn to those 
 which be in the same case, near at hand 
 or throughout the world ; and I ween 
 there are many such of all sorts at this 
 time. 
 
 " Your loving servant to command, 
 whose heart is at present heavier than 
 her pen, 
 
 " Ann Sukkey.'*' 
 
 " P. S. My Lord of Westmoreland 
 has left London, and his lady is in a 
 sad plight. I hear such things said on 
 all sides touching Papists as I can 
 scarce credit, and I pray to God they 
 be not true. But an if they be so bad 
 as some do say, why does his grace 
 run his head into danger for the sake 
 of the Popish queen, as men do style 
 her? They have arrested Higford 
 and Bannister last night, and they are 
 to taste of the rack to-day, to satisfy 
 the queen, who is so urgent on it. My 
 lord is greatly concerned thereat, and 
 cried when he spoke of it, albeit he 
 tried to hide his tears. I asked him 
 to show me what sort of pain it was ; 
 whereupon he twisted my arm till I 
 cried out and bade him desist. God 
 help me ! I could not have endured 
 the pain an instant longer ; and if they 
 have naught to tell anent these plots 
 and against his grace, they needs must 
 speak Avhat is fake when under the 
 rack. Oh, 'tis terrible to think what 
 men do suffer and cause others to 
 suffer !" 
 
 This letter came into my hand on a 
 day when my father had gone into 
 Lichfield touching some business ; and 
 
Constance S'lcr 
 
 31 
 
 lie brought with it the news of a rising 
 in the north, and that his Grace of 
 Northumberland and my Lord of West- 
 moreland had taken arms on hearing 
 of the Dnke of Norfolk's arrest ; and 
 tlie Catholics, under Mr. Ricliard Nor- 
 ton and Lord Latimer, had joined their 
 standard, and were bearing the cross 
 before the insurgents. My father was 
 t;ore cast down at these tidings ; for 
 lie looked for no good from what was 
 rcbelHon against a lawful sovereign, 
 and a consorting with troublesome 
 spirits, swayed by no love of our holy 
 rehgion but rather contrary to it, as 
 ray Lord of Westmoreland and some 
 others of those leading lords. And he 
 hence foreboded fresh trials to all such 
 jis were of the ancient faith all over 
 England ; which was not long in ac- 
 tTuing even in our own case ; for a 
 short time after, vv^e were for the first 
 time visited by pursuivants, on a day 
 and in such a manner as I will now 
 briefly relate. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the Sunday morning which fol- 
 lowed the day on which the news had 
 reached us of the rising in Northum- 
 berland, I went, as was my wont, into 
 my mother's dressing-room, to crave 
 her blessing, and I asked of her if the 
 priest who came to say mass for us 
 most Sundays had arrived. She said 
 he had been, and had gone away again, 
 and that she greatly feared we should 
 have no prayers that day, saving such 
 as we might offer up for ourselves ; " to- 
 gether," she added after a pause, " with 
 a bitter sacrifice of tears and of such 
 sufferings as we have heard of, but 
 as yet not known the taste of our- 
 selves." 
 
 Again I felt in my heart a throbbing 
 feeling, which had in it an admixture 
 of pain and joy — ^made up, I ween, of 
 eonfiicting passions — such as curiosity 
 i Seeding on the presentment of an ap- 
 j)roaching change ; of the motions of 
 grace in a soul which faintly discerns 
 
 the happiness of suffering for con- 
 science sake ; and the fear of suffer- 
 ing natural to the human heart. 
 
 "Why are we to have no mass, 
 sweet mother T' I asked, encircHng her 
 v/aist in my arms ; " and wherefore 
 has good Mr. Bryan gone away ?" 
 
 " We received advice late last even- 
 ing," she answered, " that the queen's 
 pursuivants have orders to search this 
 day the houses of the most noted le- 
 cusants in this neighborhood ; and 'tis 
 likely • they may begin with us, who 
 have never made a secret of our faith, 
 and never will." 
 
 "And will they kill us if they 
 come ?" I asked, with that same trem- 
 bling eagerness I have so often known 
 since when danger was at hand. 
 
 " Not now, not to-day, Conny," she 
 answered ; " but I pray to God they 
 do not carry us away to prison ; for 
 since this rising in the north, to be a 
 Catholic and a traitor is one and the 
 same in their eyes who have to judge 
 us. We must needs hide our books 
 and church furniture ; so give me thy 
 beads, sweet one, and the cross from 
 thy neck." 
 
 I waxed red when my mother bade 
 me unloose the string, and tightly 
 clasped the cross in both my hands. 
 " Let them kill me, mother," I cried ; 
 " but take not off" my cross." 
 
 "Maybe," she said, "the queen's 
 officers would trample on it, and so 
 injure their own souls in dishonoring 
 a holy symbol." And as she spoke 
 she took it from me, and hid it in a 
 recess behind the chimney ; which no 
 sooner was done, than we heard a 
 sound of horses' feet in the approach ; 
 and going to the window, I cried out, 
 " Here is a store of armed men on 
 horseback !" Ere I had uttered the 
 words, one of them had dismounted 
 and loudly knocked at the door with 
 his truncheon ; upon which my mother, 
 taking me by the hand, went down 
 stairs into the parlor v/here my 
 father was. It seemed as if those 
 knocks had struck on her heart, so 
 great a trembling came over her. 
 My father bade the servants throw 
 
^2 
 
 Gons'amc Sliervjood. 
 
 open the door; and the sheriff came 
 in, with two pursuivants and some 
 more men with him, and produced a 
 warrant to search the house; which 
 my father having read, he bowed his 
 head, and gave orders not to hinder 
 them in their duty. He stood himself 
 the while in the hall, his face as white 
 as a smock, and his teeth almost run- 
 ning through his lips. 
 
 One of the men came into the 
 library, and pulling down the books, 
 scattered them on the floor, and cried : 
 
 " Look ye here, sirs, what Popish 
 ^tuff is this, fit for the hangman's 
 burning ! " At the which another an- 
 swered : 
 
 " By my troth, Sam, I misdoubt 
 that thou canst read. Methinks thou 
 dost hunt Popery as dogs do game, by 
 the scent. Prithee spell me the title 
 of this volume." 
 
 " I will have none of thy gibing. 
 Master Sevenoaks," returned the 
 other. "Whether I be a scholar or 
 not, I'll warrant no honest gospeller 
 wrote on those yellow musty leaves, 
 which be two hundred years old, if 
 they be a day." 
 
 " And I'll warrant thee in that cre- 
 dence. Master Samuel, by the same 
 token that the volume in thy hand is a 
 treatise on field-sports, writ in the days 
 of Master Caxton ; a code of the laws 
 to be observed in the hunting and 
 killing of deer, which I take to be no 
 Popish sport, for our most gracious 
 queen — God save her majesty! — 
 slew a fat buck not long ago in Wind- 
 sor Forest with her own hand, and 
 remembered his grace of Canterbury 
 with half her prey;" and so saying, he 
 drew Ids comrade from the room; I 
 ween with the intent to save the books 
 from his rough handling, for he seemed 
 of a more gentle nature than the rest 
 and of a more moderate disposition. 
 
 When they had ransacked all the 
 rooms below, they went upstairs, and 
 my father followed. Breaking from my 
 mother's side, who sat pale and still as 
 a statute, unable to move from her 
 seat, I ran after him, and on the land- 
 ing-place I heard the sheriff say 
 
 somewhat touching the harboring of 
 priests; to the which he made answer 
 that he was ready to swear there wa:5 
 no priest in the house. "Nor has 
 been?" quoth the sheriff; upon which 
 my father said : 
 
 " Good sir, this house was built iii 
 the days of her majesty's grandfatlicr. 
 King Henry VII.; and on one occa- 
 sion his majesty was pleased to resi, 
 under my grandfather's roof, and to 
 hear mass in that room," he said, 
 pointing to what was now the chapel, 
 " the church being too distant for his 
 majesty's convenience: so priests have 
 been within these walls many times 
 ere I was bom." 
 
 The sheriff said no more at that 
 time, but went into the room, where 
 there were only a few chairs, for that 
 in the night the altar and all that 
 appertained to it had been removed. 
 He and his men were going out again, 
 when a loud knocking was heard 
 against the wall on one side of the 
 chamber; at the sound of which my 
 father's face, which was white before, 
 became of an ashy paleness. 
 
 "Ah !" cried one of the pursuivants, 
 " the lying Papist ! The egregious 
 Roman ! an oath is in his mouth that 
 he has no priest in his house, and here 
 is one hidden in his cupboard." 
 
 "Mr. Sherwood!" the sheriff 
 shouted, greatly moved, "lead the 
 way to the hiding-place wherein a 
 traitor is concealed, or I order the 
 house to be pulled down about your 
 cars." 
 
 My father was standing like one 
 stunned by a sudden blow, and I 
 heard him muraiur, " 'Tis the devil's 
 own doing, or else I am stark, staring 
 mad." 
 
 The men ran to the wall, and 
 knocked against it with their sticks, 
 crying out in an outrageous manner 
 to the priest to come out of his liolo. 
 " We'll unearth the Jesuit fox," cried 
 one; "we'll give him a belter lod;;- 
 ing in Lichfield gaol," shouSeJ 
 another; and the "hr rtiBi'ihQit threa.- 
 cning to set fire to the Iiouscw- Stiil IhL' 
 knocking from within went on, ;i.3 ii' 
 
C<msta7iC3 Sherwood* 
 
 33 
 
 answering that outside, and then a 
 voice cried out, " I cannot open : I am 
 shut in." 
 
 "'Tis Edmund!" I exclaimed; 
 " 'tis Edmund is in the hiding-place." 
 And then the words were distinctly 
 heard, "'Tis I; 'tis Edmund Gen- 
 ings. For God's sake, open ; I am 
 Guut in." Upon which my father drew 
 a deep breath, and hastening for- 
 ward, pressed his finger on a, place in 
 the wall, the panel slipped, and Ed- 
 mund came out of the recess, looking 
 scared and confused. The pursuivants 
 seized him ; but the sherift* cried out, 
 suqmsed, " God's death, sirs ! but 'tis 
 the son of the worshipful Mr. Gen- 
 ings, whose lady is a mother in Israel, 
 and M. Jean do Lue's first cousin ! 
 And how came ye, Mr. Edmund, to 
 be concealed in this Popish den? 
 Have these recusants imprisoned you 
 v/ith some foul intent, or perverted 
 you by their vile cunning ?" Edmund 
 was addressing my father in an agi- 
 tated Yolce. 
 
 ' " I fear me, sir," he cried, clasping 
 his hands, " I befear me much I have 
 affrighted you, and I have been my- 
 self sorely affrighted. I was passmg 
 through this room, which I have never 
 before seen, and the door of which 
 was open tliis mom. By chance I 
 drew my hand along the wall, where 
 there was no apparent mark, when the 
 panel sHpped and disclosed this recess, 
 into which I stepped, and straight- 
 way the opening closed and I re- 
 mained in darkness. I was afraid no 
 one might hear me, and I should die 
 of hunger." 
 
 My father tried to smile, but could 
 not. " Thank God," he said, " 'tis no 
 worse ;" and sinking down on a chair 
 he remained silent, whilst the sheriff 
 and the pursuivants examined the 
 recess, which was deep and narrow, 
 i and in which they brandished their 
 I swords in all directions. Then they 
 went round the room, feeling the walls ; 
 but though there was anotUer recess 
 with a similar mode of aperture, they 
 hit not on it, doubtless through God's 
 mercy j for in it w^ere concealed the 
 
 altar furniture and our books, with 
 many other things besides, which tliey 
 would have seized on. 
 
 Before going away, the sheriff ques- 
 tioned Edmund concerning his faith, 
 and for what reason he abode in a Po- 
 pish house and consorted with recu- 
 sants. Edmund answered he was no 
 Papist, but a kinsman of Mrs. Sher- 
 wood, unto Y/hosc house his father had 
 oftentimes sent liim. Upon which he 
 was counselled to take heed unto him- 
 self and to eschew evil company, which 
 leads to horrible defections, and into 
 the straight road to perdition. AYhere- 
 upon they departed; and the officer 
 who had enticed his companion from 
 the hbrary smiled as he passed me, 
 and said : 
 
 "And wherefore not at pi*ayers, lit- 
 tle mistress, on the Lord's day, as all 
 Christian folks should be ?" 
 
 I ween he was curious to see hov,^ 
 I should answer, albeit not moved 
 thereunto by any malicious intent. 
 But at the time I did not bethink my- 
 self that he spoke of Protestant ser- 
 vice ; and being angered at what had 
 passed, I said : 
 
 " Because we be kept ^ix>ta praycro 
 by the least welcome visit ever made 
 to Christian folks on a Lord's day 
 morning." Ho laughed and cried : 
 
 " Thou hast a ready tongue, young 
 mistress ; and when tried for recu- 
 sancy I warrant thou'lt give the judge 
 a piece of thy mind." 
 
 " And if I ever bo in such a pres- 
 ence, and for such a cause," I an- 
 swered, " I pray to God I may say to 
 my lord on the bench what the blessed 
 apostle St. Peter spoke to his judges : 
 * If it be just in the sight of God to 
 hear you rather than God, judge ye.' '* 
 At which he cried : 
 
 " Why, here is a marvel indeed — a 
 Papist to quote Scripture !" And laugh- 
 ing again, he went his way ; and the 
 house was for that time rid of these 
 troublesome guests. 
 
 Then Edmund again sued for par- 
 don to my father, that through his rash 
 conduct he had been the occasion of 
 so great fear and trouble to him. 
 
34 
 
 Cons'.anco SJicrwood, 
 
 "I warrant thco, my' good boy," 
 quoth my father, " thou didst cause me 
 the most keen anguish, and the most 
 sudden rehef from it, which can well be 
 thought of; and so no more need be 
 said thereon. And as thou must needs 
 be going to the public church, 'tis time 
 that thou bestir thyself; for 'tis a long 
 v/alk there and back, and the sun wax- 
 ing hot." 
 
 AYhen Edmund was gone, and I 
 alone with him, my father clasped me 
 in his arms, and cried : 
 
 " God send, my wench, thou mayest 
 justify thy sponsors who gave thee thy 
 name in baptism ; for 'tis a rare con- 
 stancy these times do call for, and 
 such as is not often seen, saving in 
 such as be of a noble and religious 
 spirit ; which I pray to God may be 
 the case with thee." 
 
 My mother did not speak, but v/ent 
 away vrith her hand pressed against 
 her heart ; which was what of late I 
 had often seen her to do, as if the pain 
 was more than she could bear. 
 
 One hour later, as I was crossing 
 the court, a man met me suited as a 
 farmer ; who, when I passed him, laid 
 his hand on my shoulder; at the 
 which I Gtarted, and turning round 
 saw it vfas Father Bryan ; who, smil- 
 ing as I caught his hand, cried out : 
 
 "Dost knov/ the shepherd in his 
 wolfs clothing, little mistress?" and 
 hastening on to the chapel he said 
 mass, at the v/hicli only a fev/ assisted, 
 as my parents durst not send to the 
 Catholics so late in the day. As soon 
 as mass wa3 over, Mr. Bryan said he 
 must leave, for there was a warrant 
 issued for his apprehension ; and our 
 house famed for recusancy, so as he 
 might not stay in it but with great 
 peril to hlmsoU" and to its owners. We 
 stood at the door as he was mounting 
 his horse, and my father said, patting 
 its neck : 
 
 " 'Tis a faithful servant this, rever- 
 end father ; many a mile he lias car- 
 ried thee to the homes of the sick and 
 dying since our troubles began." 
 
 "Ah! good Mr. Sherwood," Mr. 
 Bryan replied, as he gathered un the 
 
 bridle, " thou hast indeecl warrant to 
 style the poor beast faithful. If I were 
 to shut my eyes and let him go, no 
 doubt but he would find his way to the 
 doors of such as cleave to the an- 
 cient faith, in city or in hamlet, across 
 moor or through thick wood. If a 
 pursuivant bestrode him, he might dis- 
 cover through his means who be re- 
 cusants a hundred miles around. But 
 I bethink me he would not budge with 
 such a burthen on his back ; and that 
 he who made the prophet's ass to speak, 
 would give the good beast more sense 
 than to turn informer, and to carry the 
 wolf to the folds of the lambs. And 
 prithee, Mistress Constance," said the 
 good priest, turning to me, " canst keep 
 a secret and be silent, when men's 
 lives are in jeopardy ?" 
 
 "Aye," cried my father quickly, 
 " 'tis as much as worthy Mr. Bryan's 
 life is worth that none should know he 
 was here to-day." 
 
 " More than my poor life is worth," 
 he rejoined ; " that were little to think 
 of, my gaod friends. For five years I 
 have made it my prayer that the day 
 may soon come — and I care" not how 
 soon — when I may lay it down for his 
 sake who gave it. But we must e'en 
 have a care for those who are so rash 
 as to harbor priests in these evil 
 times. So Mistress Constance must 
 e'en study the virtue of silence, and 
 con the meaning of the proverb whicli 
 teacheth discretion to be the best part 
 of valor." 
 
 "If Edmund Genings askelh mc, 
 reverend father, if I have heard mass 
 to-day, what must I answer ?" 
 
 " Say the queen's majesty has for- 
 bidden mass to be said in this her 
 kingdom ; and if he pi*csseth thee more 
 closely thereon, why then tell him th(r 
 last news from the poultry -yard, and 
 that the hares have eat thy mignon- 
 ette ; whicli they be doing even now, 
 if my eyes deceive me not," said the 
 good father, pointing with his wliii) to 
 the flower-garden. 
 
 So, smiling, he gave us a last bless- 
 ing, and rode on toward the Cliase, 
 and I went to drhc the hares awav 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 35 
 
 from the flower-beds, and then to set 
 the chapel in fair order. And ever 
 and anon, that day and tlie next, I 
 took out of my pocket my sweet .Lady 
 Surrey's last letter, and pictured to 
 myself all the scenes therein related ; 
 so that I seemed to live one-half of my 
 life with her m thought, so greatly was 
 my fancy set upon her, and my heart 
 concerned in her troubles. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 l^OT many days after the sheriff and 
 the pursuivants had been at our house, 
 and Mr. Bryan, by reason of the 
 bloody laws which had been enacted 
 against Papists and such as harbor 
 priests, had left us, — though mtending 
 to return at such times as might serve 
 our commodity, and yet not affect our 
 safety, — I was one morning assisting 
 my mother in the store-room, wherein 
 fihe was setting aside such provisions as 
 were to be distributed to the poor tliat 
 week, together with salves, medicines, 
 and the like, which she also gave out 
 of charity, when a spasm came over 
 her, so vehement and painful, that for 
 the moment she lost the use of speech, 
 and made signs to me to call for help. 
 I ran affrighted into the library for my 
 father, and brought him to her, upon 
 which, in a little time, she did some- 
 what recover, but desired he would 
 assist her to her own chamber, whither 
 she went leaning on his arm. When 
 laid on her bed she seemed easier; 
 and smiling, bade me leave them for 
 awhile, for that she desired to have 
 speech with my father alone. 
 
 For the space of an hour I walked 
 m the garden, with so oppressive a 
 grief at my heart as I had never be- 
 fore experienced. Me thinks the great 
 stillness in the air added thereunto 
 some sort of physical disorder ; for 
 the weather was very close and heavy ; 
 and it' a leaf did but stir, I started as 
 if danger was at hand; and the noise 
 of the chattering pies over my head 
 workodjn me an apprehensive melan- 
 
 choly, foreboding, I doubt not, what 
 was to follow. At about eleven 
 o'clock, hearing the sound of a horse's 
 feet in the avenue, I turned round, 
 and saw Edmund riding from the 
 house ; upon which I ran across the 
 grass to a turning of the road where he 
 would pass, and called to him to sto;), 
 which he did ; and told me he wa:3 
 going to Lichfield for his father, 
 whom my mother desired presently 
 to see. "Then thou shouldst not 
 tarry," I said ; and he pushed on and 
 left me standing where I was ; but the 
 bell then ringing for dinner, I went 
 back to the house, and, in so domg, 
 took notice of a bay-tree on the lawn 
 which was withered and dried-up, 
 though the gardener had been at pains 
 to preserve it by sundry appliances and 
 frequent watering of it. Then it came 
 to my remembrance what my nurse 
 used to say, that the dying of that 
 sort of tree is a sure omen of a death 
 in a family ; which thought sorely dis- 
 turbed me at that time. I sat dov/r. 
 with my father to a brief and silent 
 meal; and soon after the physician he 
 had sent for came, whom he con- 
 ducted to my mother's chamber, 
 whereunto I did follow, and slipped in 
 unperceived. Sitting on one side of 
 the bed, behind the curtains, I heard 
 her say, in a voice which sounded 
 hollow^ and weak, " Good Master 
 Lawrenson, my dear husband was 
 fain to send for you, and I cared not 
 to v/ithstand him, albeit persuaded 
 that I am hastening to my journey's 
 end, and that naught that you or any 
 other man may prescribe may stay 
 w^hat is God's v/ill. And if this bo 
 visible to you as it is to me, I pray 
 you keep it not from me, for it will bo 
 to my much comfort to be assured 
 of it." 
 
 When she had done speaking, hv 
 did feel her pulse; and the while ra}' 
 heart beat so quick and, as it seemed 
 to me, so loud as if it must needs im- 
 pede my hearing ; but in a moment I 
 heard him say : " God defend, good 
 madam, I should deceive you. While* 
 there is life, there is hope. Greater 
 
36 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 comfort I dare not urge. If llicre be 
 any temporal matter on your mind, 
 'twere better settled now, and likewise 
 of your soul's health, by such pious 
 exercises as are used by those of 
 your way of thinking." 
 
 At the hearing of these his words, 
 my father fetched a deep sigh; but 
 she, as one greatly relieved, clasped 
 her hands together, and cried, " My 
 God, I thank thee !" 
 
 Then, steahng from behind the cur- 
 tain, I laid my head on the pillow nigh 
 unto hers, and whispered, " Sweet 
 mother, prithee do not die, or else take 
 me with thee." 
 
 But she, as one not heeding, ex- 
 claimed, with her hands uplifted, " O 
 faithless heart ! O selfish heart ! to 
 be so glad of death !" 
 
 The physician was directing the 
 maids what they should do for her 
 relief when the pain came on, and he 
 himself stood compounding some med- 
 icine for her to take. My father asked 
 of him when he next would come ; 
 and he answered, " On the morrow ;" 
 but methinks 'twas even then his be- 
 lief that there would be no mon-ow 
 for her who was dying before her 
 time, like the bay-tree in our garden. 
 She bade him farewell in a kindly 
 fashion ; and when we were alone, I 
 lying on the bed by her side, and my 
 i'ather sitting at its head, she said, 
 in a low voice, *' How wonderful be 
 God's dealings with us, and how fath- 
 erly his care ; in that he takes the 
 weak unto himself, and leaves behind 
 the strong to fight the battle now at 
 hand! My dear master, I had a 
 dream yesternight which had some- 
 what of horror in it, but more me- 
 thinks of comfort." My father break- 
 ing out then in sighs and tears as if 
 his heart would break, she said, " Oh, 
 but thou must hear and acknowledge, 
 my loved master, how gracious is 
 God's providence to thy poor wife. 
 When thou knowcst what I have suf- 
 fered — not in body, though that has 
 been sharp too, but in my soul — it 
 will reconcile thine own to a parting 
 which has in it so much of mercy. 
 
 Thou dost remember the night when 
 Mr. Mush was here, and what his dis- 
 course did run. on ?" 
 
 *' Surely do I, sweet wife," he an- 
 swered ; " for it v/as such as the mind 
 doth not easily lose the memory of; 
 the sufferings and glorious end of the 
 blessed martyr Mrs. Ciithcrow. I 
 perceived what sorrowful heed thou 
 didst lend to his recital; but has it 
 painfully dwelt in thy mind since ? ' 
 
 " By day and by night it hath not 
 left me ; ever recurring to my 
 thoughts, ever haunting ray dreams, 
 and working in me a fearful apprehen- 
 sion lest in a lilvc trial I should be 
 found wanting, and prove a traitor to 
 God and his Church, and a disgraco 
 and heartbreak to thee who hast so 
 truly loved me far beyond my deserts. 
 I have bragged of the dangers of the 
 times, even as cowards are wont to 
 speak loud in the dark to still by the 
 sound of their own voices the terrors 
 they do feel. I have had before my 
 eyes the picture of that cruel death, 
 and of the children extremely used for 
 answering as their mother had taught 
 them, till cold drops of sweat have 
 stood on my brow, and I have knelt 
 in my chamber wringing my hands 
 and praying to be spared a like trial. 
 And then, maybe an hour later, sit- 
 ting at the table, I spake merrily or 
 the gallows, mocking my own fears, as 
 when Mr. Bryan was last here ; and 
 I said that priests should be more 
 welcome to me than ever they were, 
 now that virtue and the Catholic cause 
 were made felony ; and the same would 
 be in God's sight more meritorious 
 than ever before : upon which, ' Then 
 you must prepare your neck for tlie 
 rope,' quoth he, in a pleasant buo 
 withal serious manner ; at the which a 
 cold chill overcame me, and I very 
 well-nigh fainted, though constraining 
 my tongue to say, ' God's will bo 
 done ; but I am far unworthy of so 
 great an honor.' The cowardly hear; 
 beUcd the confident tongue, and fear 
 of my own weakness affrighted nic, 
 by the which I must needs have 
 offended God, who helps such as trust 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 37 
 
 in him. But I hope to be forgiven, 
 inasmuch as it has ever been the wont 
 of my poor thoughts to picture evils 
 beforehand in such a form as to scare 
 the soul, which, when it came to meet 
 with them, was not shaken from its 
 constancy. When Conny was an 
 infant I have stood nigh unto a win- 
 dow with her in my arms, and of a 
 sudden a terror would seize me lest I 
 should let her fall out of my hands, 
 which yet clasped her ; and me thinks 
 'twas somewhat of alike feeling which 
 worked in me touching the denying of 
 jny faith, which, God is my witness, 
 is dearer io mc than aught upon 
 cardi." 
 
 " 'Tis even so, sweet wife," quoth 
 my father ; " the edge of a too keen 
 conscience and a sensitive apprehen- 
 sion of defects visible to thine own 
 eyes ^ and God's — never to mine, who 
 was ever made happy by thy love and 
 virtue — have worn cut the frame 
 v;hlch enclosed them, and will rob 
 me of the dearest cozafbrt of my life, if 
 I must lose thee." 
 
 She looked upon him v/Ith so much 
 Gweetness, as if the approach of death 
 had brought her greater peace and 
 joy than life had ever done, and she 
 replied : " Death comes to me as a 
 compassionate angel, and I fain would 
 have thee v/elcome with mc the kindly 
 messenger who brings so great relief 
 to the poor heart thou hast so long 
 cherished. Now, thou art called to 
 another task ; and when the bruised, 
 broken reed is removed from thy side, 
 thou wilt follow the summons v/hlch 
 even no^v sounds in thine cars.'' 
 
 " Ah," cried my father, clasping her 
 hand, " art thou then already a saint, 
 sweet wife, that thou hast read the 
 vow slowly registered as yet in the 
 depths of a riven heart?" Then his 
 eyes turned on me; and she, who 
 ceemed to know his thoughts, that 
 sv/eet soul who had been so silent in 
 life, but Avas now spending her last 
 breath in never-to-be-forgotten words, 
 answered the question contained in 
 that glance as if it had been framed in 
 a set sp^ch. 
 
 " Fear not for her," she said, laying 
 her cheek close unto mine. " As her 
 days, so shall her strength be. Me- 
 thinks Almighty God has given her 
 a spirit meet for the age in which her 
 lot is cast. The early training thou 
 hast had, my wench ; the lack of such 
 memories as make the present twofold 
 bitter ; the familiar mention round thy 
 cradle of such trials as do beset Catho- 
 lics in these days, have nurtured in 
 thee a stoutness of heart which will 
 stand thee in good stead amidst the 
 rough waves of this troublesome 
 world. The iron will not enter into 
 thy soul as it hath done into mine." 
 Upon which she fell back exhausted ; 
 and for a wliile no sound was heard 
 in or about the house save the barking 
 of our great dog. 
 
 My father had sent a lessenger to 
 a house where we had had notice some 
 days before Father Ford was staying, 
 but with no certain knowledge he v/as 
 sdll there, or any other priest in tho 
 neighborhood, which occasioned him 
 no small disquietude, for my moihei''o 
 sii'ength ceemed to bo visibly sinking, 
 which vv^as what the doctor's words had 
 led him to expect. The man he had 
 sent returned not till the evening ; but 
 in the afternoon Mr. Genlngs and his 
 son came from Lichfield, which, when 
 my mother heard, she said God was 
 gracious to permit her once more to 
 see John, which was Mr. Genings' 
 name. They had been reared in the 
 same house ; and a kindness had al- 
 ways continued betvrixt them. For 
 some time past he had conformed to 
 the times ; and since his marriage with 
 the daughter of a French Hugueno' 
 who lived in London, and who v/as a 
 lady of very commendable character 
 and manners, and strenuous in her 
 own way of thinking, he had left oS 
 practising his own religion in secret, 
 which for a while he used to do. When 
 he came in, and saw death plainly v/rit 
 in his cousin's face, he was greatly 
 moved, and knelt down by her side 
 with a very sorrowful countenance ; 
 upon which she straightly looked at 
 him, and said : *• Cousin John, my 
 
38 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 breatli is very short, as my time is also 
 like to be. But one word I would 
 fain say to thee before I die. I was 
 always well pleased with my religion, 
 which was once thine and that of all 
 Christian people one hundred years 
 ago ; but I have never been so well 
 pleased with it as now, when I be about 
 to meet my Judge." 
 
 Mr. Genings' features worked with 
 a strange passion, in which was more 
 of grief than displeasure, and grasping 
 his son's shoulder, who was likewise 
 kneeling and weeping, he said : " You 
 have wrought with this boy, cousin, to 
 make him a Catholic." 
 
 "As heaven is my witness," she 
 answered, "not otherwise but by my 
 prayers." 
 
 " Hast thou seen a priest, cousin 
 Constance ?" he then asked : upon 
 which my mother not answering, the 
 poor man burst into tears, and cried : 
 " Oh, cousin — cousin Constance, dost 
 count me a spy, and at thy death-bed ?" 
 
 He seemed cut to the heart ; where- 
 upon she gave him her hand, and said 
 she hoped God would send her such 
 ghostly assistance as she stood in need 
 of; and praying God to bless him and 
 his wife and children, and make them 
 his faithful servants, so she might meet 
 them all in perpetual happiness, she 
 spoke with such good cheer, and then 
 bade him and Edmund farewell with 
 so pleasant a smile, as deceived them 
 into thinking her end not so near. 
 And so, after a while, they took their 
 leave ; upon which she composed her- 
 self for a while in silence, occupying 
 her thoughts in prayer ; and toward 
 evening, through God's mercy, albeit 
 the messenger had returned with the 
 heavy news that Father Ford had left 
 the county some days back, it hap- 
 pened that Mr. Watson, a secular priest 
 who had lately arrived in England, 
 and was on his way to Chester, stopped 
 at our house, whereunto Mr. Orton, 
 whom he had seen in prison at London, 
 had directed him for his own conven- 
 ience on the road, and likewise our 
 commodity, albeit little thinking how 
 great our need would bo at that time 
 
 of so opportune a guest, through whose 
 means that dear departing soul had 
 the benefit of the last sacraments with 
 none to trouble or molest her, and such 
 ghostly aid as served to smooth her 
 passage to what has proved, I doubt 
 not, the beginning of a happy eternity, 
 if we may judge by such tokens as the 
 fervent acts of contrition she made 
 both before and after shrift, such as 
 might have served to v/ash away ten 
 thousand sins through his blood who 
 cleansed her, and her great and peace- 
 able joy at receiving him into her 
 heart whom she soon trusted to behold. 
 Her last Avords were expressions of 
 wonder and gratitude at God's singu- 
 lar mercy shown unto her in the quiet 
 manner of her death in the midst ol' 
 such troublesome times. And me- 
 thinks, when the silver cord vra.3 
 loosed, and naught v/as left of her on 
 earth save the fair coq^sc which re- 
 tained in death the semblance it had 
 had in life, that together with the nat- 
 ural grief v/hlch ibund vent in tear^, 
 there remained in the hearts of sucli 
 as loved her a comfortable sense of the 
 Divine goodness manifested in-thls her 
 peaceable removal. 
 
 How great the change v/jiich tha. 
 day wrought in me may be judged or" 
 by such who, at the age I had then 
 reached to, have met Avith a like afflic- 
 tion, coupled with a sense of duties to 
 be fulfilled, such as then fell to my lot, 
 both as touching household cares, and 
 in respect to the cheering of my father 
 in his solitary hours during the time 
 we did yet continue at Sherwood Hall, 
 which was about a year. It waxed 
 very hard then for priests to make 
 their way to the houses of Catholics, 
 as many now found it to their interest 
 to inform against them and such as 
 harbored them ; and mostly in our 
 neighborhood, wherein there were at 
 that time no recusants of so great rank 
 and note that the sheriff would not be 
 lief to meddle with them. We had 
 oftentimes had secret advices to beware 
 of such and such of our servants who 
 might betray our hidden conveyances 
 of safety ; and my father scai'cely dui*st 
 
Constance S!ierwood, 
 
 39 
 
 be sharp with them when they offend- 
 ed by slackhig then* duties, lest tliey 
 might bring us into danger if they re- 
 vealed, upon any displeasure, priests 
 liaving abided with us. Edmund we 
 saw no more since my mother's death ; 
 and after a v/hile the news did reach 
 113 that Mr. Genings had died of the 
 small-pox, and left his wife in so dis- 
 tressed a condition, against all expec- 
 tation, owing to debts he had incurred, 
 that she had been constrained to sell 
 her house and furniture, and was living 
 in a small lodging near unto the school 
 where Edmund continued his studies. 
 
 I noticed, as time went by, how 
 heavily it weighed on my father's heart 
 to see so many Catholics die without 
 the sacraments, or fall away from their 
 faith, for lack of priests to instruct 
 Ihem, like so many sheep without a 
 shepherd ; and I guessed by words h3 
 let fall on divers occasions, that the in- 
 tent obscurely shadowed forth in his 
 discourse to my mother on her death- 
 bed was ripening to a settled purpose, 
 and tending to a change in his state 
 ■jf life, -which only his love and care 
 for mo caused him to defer. What I 
 did apprehend must one day needs 
 occur, was hastened about this time by 
 a warning he did receive that on an 
 approaching day he would be appre- 
 hended and carried by the sheriff be- 
 fore the council at Lichfield, to be ex- 
 amined touching recusancy and har- 
 bormg of priests ; which was w^hat he 
 had long expected. This message was, 
 as it were, the signal he had been 
 waiting for, and an indication of God's 
 will in his regard. He made instant 
 provision for the placing of his estate 
 in the hands of a friend of such singu- 
 lar honesty and so faithful a friendship 
 toward himself, though a Protestant, 
 that he could wholly trust him. And 
 next he set himself to dispose of her 
 whom he did term his most dear earth- 
 ly treasure, and his sole tie to this 
 ])erishable world, which he resolved to 
 do by straightway sending her to Lon- 
 don, unto his sister Mistress Congleton, 
 who had oftentimes offered, since his 
 wife's death, to take charge of this 
 
 daughter, and to whom he now de- 
 spatched a messenger v/ith a letter, 
 wherein he wrote that the times were 
 now so troublesome, he must needs 
 leave his home, and take advantage of 
 the sisterly favor she had willed to 
 show him in the care of his sole child, 
 whom he now ^vould forthwith send to 
 London, commending her to her good 
 keeping, touching her safety and re- 
 ligious and virtuous training, and that 
 he should be more beholden to her 
 than ever brother was to sister, and, as 
 long as he lived, as he was bound to 
 do, pray for her and her good husband. 
 When this letter was gone, and order 
 had been taken for my journey, which 
 was to be on horseback, and in the 
 charge of a maiden gentlewoman who 
 had been staying some months in our 
 neighborhood, and w^as now about in 
 tw^o days to travel to London, it seemed 
 to me as if that which I had long ex- 
 pected and pictured unto myself had 
 now come upon mo of a sudden, and 
 in such wise as for the first time to 
 taste its bitterness. For I saw, with- 
 out a doubt, that this parting was but 
 the forerunner of a change in my fath- 
 er's condition as great and weighty as 
 could w^ell be thought of. But of this, 
 howbeit our thoughts were full of it, 
 no talk was ministered between us. 
 lie said I should hear from him in 
 London ; and that he should now travel 
 into Lancashire and Cheshire, changing 
 his name, and often shifting his quar- 
 ters whilst the present danger lasted. 
 The day which was to be the last to 
 see us in the house wherein himself 
 and his fathers for many centuries 
 back, and I his unworthy child, had 
 been born, was spent in such fashion 
 as becometh those w^ho suffer for con- 
 science sake, and that is with so much 
 sorrow as must needs be felt by a 
 loving father and a dutiful child in a 
 first and doubtful partmg, with so much 
 regret as is natm*al in the abandon- 
 ment of a peaceful earthly home, 
 wherein God had been served in a 
 jCatholic manner for many generations 
 and up to that time without discontinu- 
 ance, only of late years as it were by 
 
40 
 
 ConstcuicG Sherwood. 
 
 Tiiglit and stealth, which was linked 
 in tlieir memories with sundry in- 
 nocent joys and pleasures, and such 
 griefs as do hallow and endear the 
 visible scenes wherewith they he 
 connectod, but withal with a stout- 
 ness of heart in him, and a youth- 
 ful steadiness in her whom he had 
 infected with a like courage unto 
 his own, Avhich wrought in them so 
 as to be of good cheer, and shed no 
 more tears on so moving an occa- 
 sion tlian tlie debility of her nature 
 and the tenderness of his paternal 
 care extorted from their eyes when 
 lie placed her on her horse, and the 
 bridle in the hand of the servant 
 who was to accompany her to Lon- 
 don. Their last parting was a 
 brief one, and such as I care not to 
 be minute in describing ; for think- 
 ing upon it even now 'tis like to 
 make me weep ; which I would not 
 do whilst writing this history, in 
 the recital of which there should 
 be more of constancy and thank- 
 ful rejoicing in God's great mercies 
 than of womanish softness in look- 
 ing back to past trials. So I will 
 even break off at this point ; and in 
 the next chapter relate the course 
 of the journey which was begun 
 on that day. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I WAS to travel, as had been 
 ordered for our mutual conveni- 
 ence and protection, with Mistress 
 Ward, a gentlewoman who resided 
 some months in our vicinity, and 
 had heard Mass in our chapel on 
 such rare occasions as of late had 
 occurred Avhen a priest was at our 
 house, and Ave had commodity to 
 give notice thereof to such as were 
 Catholic in the adjacent villages. 
 We had with us on the journey two 
 serving-men and a waiting-woman, 
 who had been my mother's cham- 
 bermaid ; and so accompanied, we 
 
 set out on our way, singing as Ave 
 Avent, for greater safety, the litanies 
 of our Lady, to AA^hom Ave did com- 
 mend ourselves, as my father had 
 Avilled us to do, Avith many fervent 
 prayers. The gentlcAvoman to 
 Avhose charge I was committed Avas 
 a lady of singular zeal and discre- 
 tion, as well as great virtue ; albeit, 
 Avhere religion Avas not concerned, 
 of an exceeding timid disposi- 
 tion, which, to my no small diver- 
 sion then, and great shame since, I 
 took particular notice of on this 
 journey. Much talk had been 
 ministered in the county touching 
 the number of rogues and vaga- 
 bonds Avhich infested the public 
 roads, of Avhich sundry had been 
 taken up and Avhipped during the 
 last months, in Lichfield, Stafford, 
 and other places. I did perceive 
 that good Mistress Ward glanced 
 uneasily as we rode along at every 
 foot-passenger or horseman that 
 came in sight. Albeit my heart 
 Avas heavy, and may be also that 
 Avhen the affections are .inclined 
 to tears they be likewise prone 
 to laughter, I scarce could re- 
 strain from smiling at these her 
 fears and the manner of her show- 
 ing them. 
 
 " Mistress Constance," she said at 
 last, as Ave came to the foot of a 
 steep ascent, " methinks you haA^e 
 a great heart concerning the dan- 
 gers which may befall us on the 
 road, and that the sight of a rob- 
 ber would move you not one A\^hit 
 more than that of an honest ped- 
 lar or haAvker, such as I take those 
 men to be who are mounting the 
 hill in advance of us. Doth it 
 not seem to you that the box AA'hich 
 they do carry betokens them to 
 be such Avorthy persons as I Avish 
 them to prove ?" 
 
 " Now surely," I answered, "good 
 Mistress Ward, 'tis my oi)inion 
 that they be not such lionest 
 knaves as you do suppose. I per- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 41 
 
 ceivc somewhat I mislike in the 
 shape of that box. What an if it 
 be framed to entice travellers to 
 their ruin by such disj^lays and 
 shows of rare ribbons and gew- 
 gaws as may prove the means of 
 detaining them on the road, and 
 a-robbing of them in the end ?" 
 
 Mistress Ward laughed, and 
 commended my jesting, but was 
 yet ill at ease; and, as a mis- 
 chievous and thouglitless creature, 
 I did somewhat excite and main- 
 tain her fears, in order to set her 
 on asking questions of our atten- 
 dants touching the perils of the 
 road, which led them to relate 
 such fearful stories of what they 
 had seen of this sort as served to 
 increase her apprehensions, and 
 greatly to divert me, who had not 
 the like fears; but rather enter- 
 tained myself w^ith hers, in a man- 
 ner Buch as I have been since 
 ashamed to think of, Avho should 
 have kissed the ground on which 
 she had trodden. 
 
 The fairness of the sky, the 
 beauty of the field and hedges, the 
 motion of the horse, stirred up my 
 spirits; albeit my heart was at 
 moments so brimful of sorrows that 
 I hated my tongue for its wanton- 
 ness, my eyes for their curious 
 gazing, and my fancy for its eager 
 thoughts anent London and the 
 new scenes I should behold there. 
 What mostly dwelt in them was 
 the hope to see my Lady Surry, of 
 whom I had had of late but brief 
 and scanty tidings. The last letter 
 I had from her was w^rit at the time 
 when the Duke of Norfolk was for 
 the second time thrown in the 
 Tower, which she said was the 
 greatest sorrow that had befallen 
 her since the death of my Lady 
 Monteagle, which had happened at 
 his grace's house a few months 
 back, with all the assistance slie 
 desired touching her religion. She 
 had been urged, my Lady Surry 
 
 said, by the duke some time before 
 to do something contrary to her 
 faith; but though slie much es- 
 teemed and respected him, her an- 
 swer was so round and resolutf 
 that he never mentioned the like t«> 
 her any more. Since then I h;i<l 
 no more tidings of her, who was 
 dearer to me than our brief ac- 
 quaintance and the slender tie of 
 such correspondence as had taken 
 place between us might in most 
 cases warrant ; but whether owing 
 to some congeniality of mind, or 
 to a presentiment of future friend- 
 ship, 'tis most certain my heart 
 was bound to her in an extra- 
 ordinary manner; so that sin- 
 was the continual theme of my 
 thoughts and mirror of my fancy. 
 The first night of our journey 
 we lay at a small inn, Avhich was 
 held by persons Mistress Ward 
 was acquainted with, and by whom 
 we were entertained in a decent 
 chamber, looking on unto a little 
 garden, and with as much comfoi t 
 as the fashion of the place miglit 
 afford, and greater cleanliness than 
 is often to be found in larger hos- 
 telries. After supper, being some- 
 what weary with travel, but not 
 yet inclined for bed, and the even- 
 ing fine, w^e sat out of doors in a 
 bower of eglantine near to some 
 bee-hives, of which our hostess had 
 a great store ; and methinks she 
 took example from them, for we 
 could see her through the window 
 as busy in the kitchen amongst her 
 maids as the queen-bee amidst her 
 subjects. Mistress Ward took oc- 
 casion to observe, as we watched 
 one of these little commonwealths 
 of nature, that she admired how 
 they do live, laboring and swarm 
 ing, and gathering honey to- 
 gether so neat and finely, tliai 
 they abhor nothing so mucli 
 as uncleanliness, drinking puic 
 and clear water, even the de^- 
 drops on the leaves and flowers. 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 and delighting in sweet music, which 
 if tliey hear but once out of tune they 
 fly out of sight. 
 
 " Tiiey live," she said, " under a 
 law, and use great reverence to their 
 elders. Every one hath his office ; 
 some trimming the honey, another 
 framing hives, another the combs. 
 When they go forth to work, they mark 
 the wind and the clouds, and whatso- 
 ever doth threaten their ruin ; and 
 having gathered, out of every flower, 
 honey, they return loaded in their 
 mouths and on their wings, whom they 
 that tarried at home receive readily, 
 easing their backs of their groat 
 burthens with as great care as can be 
 thought of." 
 
 " Methinks," I answered, " that if it 
 be as you say, Mistress Ward, the bees 
 be wiser than men." 
 
 At the which she smiled ; but withal, 
 sighing, made reply : 
 
 " One might have wished of late 
 years rather to be a bee than such as 
 we see men sometimes to be. But, 
 Mistress Constance, if they are indeed 
 so wise and so happy, 'tis that they 
 are fixed in a condition in which they 
 must needs do the will of him who 
 created them ; and the like wisdom 
 and happiness in a far higher state we 
 may ourselves enjoy, if we do but 
 choose of our free will to live by the 
 same rule." 
 
 Then, after some further discourse 
 on the habits of these little citizens, I 
 inquired of Mistress Ward if she were 
 acquainted with mine aunt, Mistress 
 Congleton ; at the which question she 
 seemed surprised, and said, 
 
 "Methought, my dear, you had 
 known my condition in your aunt's 
 family, having been governess for 
 many years to her three daughters, 
 and only by reason of my sister's 
 sickness having stayed away from 
 them for some time." 
 
 At the which intelligence I greatly 
 rejoiced ; for the few hours we had rode 
 together, and our discourse tliat even- 
 ing, had wrought in me a liking for 
 this lady as great as could arise in so 
 short a period. But I minded me then 
 
 of my jests at her fears anent robbers, 
 and also of having been less dutiful in 
 my manners than I should have been 
 toward one who was like to be set 
 over me ; and I likewise bethought 
 me this might be the cause that she 
 had spoken of the bees having a rev- 
 erence for their elders, and doubted if 
 I should crave her pardon for my want 
 of it. But, like many good thoughts 
 which we give not entertainment to by 
 reason that they be irksome, I changed 
 that intent for one which had in it 
 more of pleasantness, though less of 
 virtue. Kissing her, I said it was the 
 best news I had heard for a long time 
 that I should live in the same house 
 with her, and, as I hoped, under her 
 care and good government. And she 
 answered, that she was well pleased 
 with it too, and would be a good 
 friend to me as long as she lived. 
 Then I asked her touching my cousins, 
 and of their sundry looks and qualities. 
 She answered, that the eldest, Kate, 
 was very fair, and said nothing further 
 concerning her. Polly, she told me, 
 was marvellous witty and very pleas- 
 ant, And could give a quick answer, 
 full of entertaining conceits. . 
 
 " And is she, then, not fair ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Neither fair nor foul," was her 
 reply ; " but well favored enough, and 
 has an excellent head." 
 
 " Then," I cried, letting my words 
 exceed good behavior, " I shall hke 
 her better than the pretty fool her sis- 
 ter." For the which speech I received 
 the first, but not the last, chiding I ever 
 had from Mistress Ward for foohsh 
 talking and pert behavior, which was 
 what I very well deserved. When 
 she had done speaking, I put my arm 
 round her neck — ^for it put me in mind 
 of my mother to be so gravely yet so 
 sweetly corrected — and said, '' Forgive 
 me, dear Mistress Ward, for my saucy 
 words, and tell me somewhat I beseech 
 you touching my youngest cousin, who 
 must be nearest to mine own ago." 
 
 " She is no pearl to hang at one's 
 car," quoth she, "yet so gifted with a 
 well-disposed mind that in her grace 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 43 
 
 seems almost to supersede nature. 
 Muriel is deformed in body, and slow- 
 in speech ; but in behavior so honest, 
 in prayer so devout, so noble in all her 
 dealings, that I never heard her speak 
 anything that either concerned not 
 good instruction or godly mirth." 
 
 " And doth she not care to be ugly ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " So little doth she value beauty," 
 quoth Mistress Ward, " save in the 
 admiring of it in others, that I have 
 known her to look into a glass and 
 smiling cry out, ' This face wer^ fair if 
 it were turned and every feature the 
 opposite to what it is;' and so jest 
 pleasantly at her own deformities, and 
 would have others do so too. Oh, she 
 is a rare treasure of goodness and 
 piety, and a true comfort to her 
 friends !" 
 
 With suchlike pleasant discourse 
 we whiled away the time until going 
 to rest ; and next day were on horse- 
 back betimes on our way to Coventry, 
 where we were to lie that night at the 
 house of Mr. Page, a Catholic, albeit 
 not openly, by reason of the times. 
 This gentleman is for his hospitality so 
 much haunted, that no news stirs but 
 comes to his ears, and no gentlefolks 
 pass his door but have a cheerful wel- 
 come to his house ; and 'tis said no 
 music is so sweet to his ears as deserved 
 thanks. He vouchsafed much favor to 
 us, and by his merry speeches procured 
 us much entertainment, provoking me 
 to laughter thereby more than I de- 
 sired. He took us to see St. Mary's 
 Hall, which is a building which has 
 not its equal for magnificence in any 
 town I have seen, no, not even in 
 London. As we walked through the 
 streets he showed us a window in which 
 was an inscription, set up in the reign 
 of King Richard the Second, which 
 did run thus : 
 
 " I, Luriche, for the love of thee 
 Do make Coventry toll free." 
 
 And further on, the figure of Peeping 
 Tom of Coventry, that false knave I 
 was so angry with when my father 
 (ah, me ! how sharp and sudden was 
 
 the pain which went through my hsarl 
 as I called to mind the liours I was 
 wont to sit on his knee hearkening to 
 the like tales) told me the story of the 
 Lady Godiva, who won mercy for her 
 townsfolk by a ride which none had 
 dared to take but one so holy as her- 
 self. And, as I said before, being then 
 in a humor as prone to tears at one 
 moment as laughter at another, I fell 
 to weeping for the noble lady who had 
 been in so sore a strait that she must 
 needs have chosen between complying 
 with her savage lord's conditions or the 
 misery of her poor clients. When Mr. 
 Page noticed my tears, which flowed 
 partly for myself and partly for one 
 who had been long dead, but yet lived 
 in the hearts of these citizens, he sought 
 to cheer me by the recital of tho lair 
 and rare pageant which doth take place 
 every year in Coventry, and is of the 
 most admii;;able beauty, and such as is 
 not witnessed in any other city in the 
 world. He said I should not weep if 
 I were to see it, which he very much 
 desired I should ; and he hoped he 
 might be then alive, and ride by my 
 side in the procession as my esquire ; 
 at the which I smiled, for the good 
 gentleman had a face and figure such 
 as would not grace a pageant, and 
 methought I might be ashamed some 
 years hence to have him for my knight ; 
 and I said, " Good Mr. Page, be the 
 shutters closed on those days as when 
 the Lady Godiva rode ?" at the which 
 he laughed, and answered, 
 
 " No ; and that for one Tom who 
 then peeped, there were a thousand 
 eyes to gaze on the show as it passed." 
 
 " Then if it please you, sir, when the 
 time comes," I said, " I would hke to 
 look on and not to ride ;" and he re- 
 plied, it should be as I pleased ; and 
 with such merry discourse we spent 
 the time till supper was ready. And 
 afterward that good gentleman slack- 
 ened not his efibrts in entertaining us ; 
 but related so many laughable stories, 
 and took so great notice of me, that I 
 was moved to answer him sometimes 
 in a manner too forward for my years. 
 He told us of the queen's visit to that 
 
44 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 city, and that the mayor, \vho had 
 heard her grace's majesty considered 
 poets, and herself wrote verses, thouglit 
 to commend himself to her favor by 
 such rare rhymes as these, wherewith 
 he did greet her at her entrance into 
 the town : 
 
 " We, the men of Coventry, 
 Be pleased to see your majesty, 
 Good Lord I how fair you be !" 
 
 at the which her highness made but an 
 instant's pause, and then straightway 
 replied, 
 
 " It pleaseth well her majesty 
 To see the men of Coventry. 
 Good Lord ! what fools you be I" 
 
 " But," quoth Mr. Page, " the good 
 man was so well pleased that the 
 Queen had answered his compliment, 
 that 'tis said he has had her majesty's 
 speech framed, and hung up in his 
 parlor." 
 
 " Pity 'tis not in the town-hall," I 
 cried ; and he laughing commended 
 me for sharpness ; but Mistress Ward 
 said: 
 
 " A sharp tongue in a woman's head 
 was always a stinghig weapon ; but in 
 a queen's she prayed God it might 
 never prove a murtherous one." 
 Which words somewhat checked our 
 merriment, for that they savored of 
 rebuke to me for forward speech, and 
 I ween awoke in Mr. Page thoughts 
 of a graver sort. 
 
 When we rode through the town 
 next day, he went with us for the space 
 of some miles, and then bade us fare- 
 well with singular courtesy, and pro- 
 fessions of good will and proffered 
 service if we should do him the good 
 at any time to remember his poor 
 house; which we told him he had 
 given us sufficient reason not to forget. 
 Toward evening, when the sun was 
 setting, we did see the towers of War- 
 wick Castle ; and I would fain have 
 discerned the one which doth bear the 
 name of the great earl who in a poor 
 pilgrim's garb slew the giant Colbrand, 
 and the cave 'neath Guy's Cliff where 
 he spent his last years in prayer. 
 But the light was dechuin!? as we rode 
 
 into Leamington, where we lay that 
 night, and darkness hid from us 
 that fair country, which methought 
 was a meet abode for such as would 
 lead a hermit's life. 
 
 The next day we had the longest ride 
 and the hottest sun avc had yet met 
 w^ith ; and at noon we halted to rest in 
 a thicket on the roadside, which we 
 made our pavilion, and from which our 
 eyes did feast themselves on a delight- 
 ful prospect. There were heights on 
 one side garnished with stately oaks, 
 and a meadow betwixt the road and 
 the hill enamelled with all sorts of 
 pleasing flowers, and stored with sheep, 
 which were feeding in sober security. 
 Mistress Ward, who was greatly tired 
 with the journey, fell asleep with her 
 head on her hand, and I pulled from 
 my pocket a volume with which Mr. 
 Page had gifted me at parting, and 
 which contained sundry tales anent 
 Amadis de Gaul, Huon de Bordeaux, 
 Palmerin of England, and suchlike 
 famous knights, which he said, as I 
 knew how to read, for which he greatly 
 commended my parents' care, I should 
 entertain myself with on the road. So, 
 one-half sitting, one-half lying on the 
 grass, I reclined in an easy posture, 
 with my head resting against the 
 trunk of a tree, pleasing my fancy with 
 the writers' conceits; but ever and 
 anon lifting my eyes to the blue sky 
 above ray head, seen through the green 
 branches, or fixed them on the quaint 
 patterns the quivering light drew on 
 the grass, or else on the valley refreshed 
 with a silver river, and the ftiir hills 
 beyond it. And as I read of knights 
 and ladies, and the many perils Avliich 
 befel them, and passages of love 
 betwixt them, which Avas new to me, 
 and what I had not met with in any of 
 the books I had yet read, I fell into a 
 fit of musing, wondering if in London 
 the folks I should see would discourse 
 in the same fashion, and the gentle- 
 men have so much bravery and the 
 ladies so great beauty as those my 
 book treated of. And as I noticed it 
 was cliiefly on the high-roads they did 
 come into such dangerous adventures, 
 
Constance Sherwood* 
 
 45 
 
 I gazed as far as I could discern on 
 the one I had in view before me with 
 a foolish kind of desire for some rob- 
 bers to come and assail us, and then a 
 great nobleman or gallant esquire to 
 ride up and fall on them, and to deliver 
 us from a great peril, and may be to 
 be wounded in the encounter, and I to 
 bind up those wounds as from my 
 mother's teaching I knew how to do, 
 and then give thanks to the noble 
 gentleman in such courteous and well- 
 picked words as I could think of. But 
 Jbr all my gazing I could naught per- 
 ceive save a wain slowly ascending the 
 hill loaden with com, midst clouds of 
 dust, and some poorer sort of people, 
 who had been gleaning, and were 
 carrying sheaves on their heads. After 
 an hour Mistress Ward awoke from 
 her nap ; and methinks I had been 
 dozing also, for when she called to me, 
 and said it was time to eat somewhat, 
 and then get to horse, I cried out, 
 " Good sir, I wait your pleasure ;" 
 and rubbed my eyes to see her standing 
 before me in her riding-habit, and not 
 the gentleman whose wounds I had 
 been tending. 
 
 That night we slept at Northampton, 
 at Mistress Engerfield's house. She 
 was a cousin of Mr. Congleton's, and a 
 lady whose sweet affability and gravity 
 would have extorted reverence from 
 those that least loved her. She was 
 then very aged, and had been a nun in 
 King Henry's reign ; and, since her 
 convent had been despoiled, and the 
 religious driven out of it, having a 
 large fortune of her own, which she 
 inherited about that time, she made 
 her house a secret monastery, wherein 
 God was served in a religious manner 
 by such persons as the circumstances 
 of the time, and not their own desires, 
 had forced back into the world, and 
 who as yet had found no commodity 
 for passing beyond seas into coun- 
 tries -where that manner of life is al- 
 lowed. They dressed in sober black, 
 and kept stated hours of prayer, and 
 went not abroad unless necessity com- 
 oelled them thereunto. When we 
 went into the dining-room, which I 
 
 noticed Mistress Engerlield called the 
 refectory, grace was said in Ifatin ; and 
 Whilst we did eat one lady read out 
 loud out of a book, which methinks 
 was the life of a saint ; but the fatigue 
 of the journey, and the darkness of 
 the room, which was wainscotted with 
 oak-wood, so overpowered my senses 
 with drowsiness, that before the meal 
 was ended I had fallen asleep, which 
 was discovered, to my great confusion, 
 when the company rose from table. 
 But that good lady, in whose face was 
 so great a kindliness that I nerer saw 
 one to be compared with it in that re- 
 spect before or since, took me by the 
 hand and said, " Young eyes wax 
 heavy for lack of rest, and travellers 
 should have repose. Come to thy 
 chamber, sweet one, and, after com- 
 mending thyself by a brief prayer to 
 him who sleepeth not nor slumbereth, 
 and to her who is the Mother of the 
 motherless, get thee to bed and take 
 thy fill of the sleep thou hast so great 
 need of, and good angels will watch 
 near thee." 
 
 Oh, how I did weep then, partly 
 from fatigue, and partly from the dear 
 comfort her words did yield me, and, 
 kneeling, asked her blessing, as I had 
 been wont to do of my dear parents. 
 And she, whose countenance was full 
 of majesty, and withal of most attrac- 
 tive gentleness, which made me deem 
 her to be more than an ordinaiy 
 woman, and a great servant of God, 
 as indeed she was, raised me from the 
 ground, and herself assisted to get me 
 to bed, having first said my prayers by 
 her side, whose inflamed devotion, visi- 
 ble in her face, awakened in me a 
 greater fervor than I had hitherto ex- 
 perienced when performing tliis duty. 
 After I had slept heavily for the space 
 of two or three hours 1 awoke, as is 
 the wont of those who be over-fatigued, 
 and could not get to sleep again, so 
 that I heard the clock of a church 
 strike twelve ; and as the last stroke 
 fell on my ear, it was followed by a 
 sound of chanting, as if close unto my 
 chamber, which resembled what on 
 rare occasions I had heard performed 
 
46 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 bj two or three persons in our chapel ; 
 but here, with so full a concord of 
 voices, and so great melody and 
 sweetness, that methought, being at 
 that time of night and every one abed, 
 it must be the angels that were sing- 
 ing. But the next day, questioning 
 Mrs. Ward thereupon as of a strange 
 thing which had happened to me, she 
 said, the ladies in that house rose al- 
 ways at midnight, as they had been 
 used to do in their several convents, 
 to sing God's praises and give him 
 thanks, which was what they did vow 
 to do when they became religious. 
 Before we departed. Mistress Enger- 
 field took me into her own room, which 
 was small and plainly furnished, wdth 
 no other furniture in it but a bed, table, 
 and kneeling-stool, and against the 
 wall a large crucifix, and she bestowed 
 upon me a small book in French, titled 
 '• The Spiritual Combat," which she 
 said was a treasury of pious riches, 
 which she counselled me by frequent 
 study to make my own ; and with many 
 prayers and blessings she then bade 
 us God-speed, and took leave of us. 
 Our last day's lodging on the road was 
 at Bedford ; and there being no Cath- 
 olics of note in that town wont to en- 
 tertain travellers, we halted at a quiet 
 hostelry, which Avas kept by very de- 
 cent people, who showed us much 
 civility ; and the landlady, after we 
 had supped, the evening being rainy 
 (for else she said wc might have 
 walked through her means into the 
 fair grounds of the Abbey of Woburn, 
 which she thanked God was not now 
 a hive for drones, as it had once been, 
 but the seat of a worthy nobleman ; 
 which did more credit to the town, and 
 drew customers to the inn), brought us 
 for our entertainment a huge book, 
 which she said had as much godliness 
 in each of its pages as might serve to 
 convert as many Papists — God save 
 the mark! — as there were leaves in 
 the volume. My cheeks glowed like 
 fire when she thus spoke, and I looked 
 at Mistress Ward, wondering what she 
 would say. But she only bowed her 
 head, and made pretence to open the 
 
 book, which, when the good woman 
 was gone, 
 
 " Mistress Constance," quoth she, 
 " this is a book writ by Mr. Fox, the 
 Duke of Norfolk's old schoolmaster, 
 touching those he doth call martyrs, 
 who suffered for treason and for heresy 
 in the days of Queen Mary, — God rest 
 her soul ! — and if it ever did convert a 
 Papist, I do not say on his deathbed, 
 but at any time of his life, except it 
 was greatly for his own interest, I be 
 ready . . ." 
 
 " To be a martyr yourself. Mistress 
 Ward," I cried, with my ever too great 
 proneness to let my tongue loose from 
 restraint. The color rose in her cheek, 
 which was usually pale, and she said : 
 
 " Child, I was about to say, that in 
 the case I have named, I be ready to 
 forego the hope of that which I thank 
 God I be wise enough to desire, though 
 unworthy to obtain; but for which I 
 do pray each day that I live." 
 
 " Then would you not be afraid to 
 die on a scaffold," I asked, '• or to be 
 hanged, Mistress Ward ?" 
 
 '• Not in a good cause," she said. 
 
 But before the words were out of 
 her mouth our landlady knocked at 
 the door, and said a gentleman was in 
 the house with his two sons, who asked 
 to pay their compliments to Mistress 
 Ward and the young lady under her 
 care. The name of this gentleman 
 was Rookwood, of Rookwood Hall in 
 Suffolk, and Mistress Ward desired 
 the landlady presently to bring them 
 in, for she had often met them at 
 my aunt's house, as she afterward 
 told me, and had great contentment 
 we should have such good company 
 under the same roof with us ; whom 
 when they came in she very pleasantly 
 received, and informed Mr. Rookwood 
 of my name and relationship to Mis- 
 tress Congleton ; which when he heard, 
 he asked if I was Mr. Henry Sher- 
 wood's daughter ; which being certi- 
 fied of, he saluted me, and said my 
 father was at one time, when bo!h 
 were at college, the closest friend thtit 
 ever he had, and his esteem for him 
 was so great that he would be better 
 
Goiistance Sherwood, 
 
 A7 
 
 pleased with the news that he should 
 sec him but once again, than if any 
 one was to give him a thousand 
 pounds. I told him my father often 
 spake of him with singular affection, 
 and that the letter I should write to 
 him from London would be more wel- 
 come than anything else could make 
 it, by the mention of the honor I had 
 had of his notice. Mistress Ward 
 then asked liim what was the news in 
 London, from whence he had come 
 that morning. He answered that the 
 news was not so good as he would wish 
 it to be ; for that the queen's marriage 
 with monsieur was broke off, and the 
 King of France greatly incensed at 
 the favor M. de Montgomeri had ex- 
 perienced at her hands ; and that 
 when he had demanded he should be 
 given up, she had answered that she 
 did not see why she should be the 
 King of France's hangman ; which was 
 what his father had replied to her 
 sister, when she had made the like re- 
 quest anent some of her traitors who 
 had fled to France. 
 
 " Her majesty," he said, " was greatly 
 incensed against the Bishop of Ross, 
 and had determmed to put him to 
 death ; but that she was dissuaded 
 from it by her council ; and that he 
 prayed God CathoUcs should not fare 
 worse now that Ridolfi's plot had been 
 discovered to declare her highness ille- 
 gitimate, and place the Queen of Scots 
 on the throne, which had moved her 
 to greater anger than even the rising 
 in the north. 
 
 "And touching the Duke of Nor- 
 folk," Mistress Ward did ask, " what 
 is like to befal him ?" 
 
 Mr. Rookwood said, "His grace 
 had been removed from the Tower to 
 his own house on account of the plague ; 
 but it is reported the queen is more 
 urgent against him than ever, and will 
 have his head in the end." 
 
 "If her majesty will not marry 
 monsieur," Mistress Ward said, '^ it 
 will fare wo]"sc with recusants." 
 
 Upon which one of the young gen- 
 tlemen cried out, " 'Tis not her majesty 
 will not have him ; but monsieur will 
 
 not have her. My Lord of Oxford, 
 who is to marry ray Lord Burleigh's 
 daughter, said yesterday at the tennis 
 court, that that matter of monsiciu' is 
 grieviously taken on her grace's par: : 
 but that my lord is of opinion that where 
 amity is go needful, her majcs;y should 
 stomach it ; and so she doth pretend to 
 break it off herself by reason of her 
 religious scruples." 
 
 At the which both brothers did laugh, 
 but Mr. Rookwood bade them have a 
 care how they did suffer their tongues 
 to wag anent her grace and such mat- 
 ters as her grace's marriage ; which 
 although in the present company might 
 be without danger, was an ill habit, 
 which in these times was like to bring 
 divers persons into troubles. 
 
 " Hang it !" cried the eldest of his 
 sons, who was of a well-pleasing favor 
 and exceeding goodly figure ; " recus- 
 ants be always in trouble, whatsoever 
 they do ; both taxed for silence and 
 checked for speech, as the play hath 
 it. For good Mr. Weston was racked 
 for silence last vfack till he fainted, {ov 
 that he would not reveal what he had 
 heard in confession from one concerned 
 in Ridolfi's plot ; and as to my Lord 
 Morley, he haih been examined before 
 the council, touching his having said 
 he would go abroad poorly and would 
 return in glory, whic-k he did speak 
 concerning his health; but they would 
 have it meant treason." 
 
 " Methinks, Master Basil," said his 
 father, " thou art not like to be taxed 
 for silence ; unless indeed on the rack, 
 which the freedom of thy speech may 
 yet bring thee to, an thou hast not 
 more care of thy words. See now, thy 
 brother keeps his lips closed in modest 
 silence." 
 
 " Ay, as if butter would not melt in 
 liis mouth," cried Basil, laughing. 
 
 And I then noticed the countenance 
 of the younger brother, who was fairer 
 and shorter by a head than Basil, and 
 had the most beautiful eyes imaginable, 
 and a high forehead betokening thought- 
 fulness. Mr. Rookwood drew his chair 
 further from the table, and conversed 
 in a low voice with Mrs. Ward, touch- 
 
+8 
 
 Constance Sherwood* 
 
 ing matters which I ween were of too 
 great import to be lightly treated of. 
 I heard the name of Mr. Felton men- 
 tioned in their discourse, and some- 
 what about the Pope's Bull, in the 
 affixing of which at the Bishop of Lon- 
 don's gate he had lent a hand ; but my 
 ears were not free to listen to them, 
 for the young gentlemen began to en- 
 tertain me with divers accounts of the 
 shows in London ; which, as they were 
 some years older than myself, who was 
 then no better than a child, though tall 
 of mine age, I took as a great favor, 
 and answered them in the best v/ay I 
 could. Basil spoke mostly of the 
 sights he had seen, and a fight be- 
 tween a lion and three dogs, in which 
 the dogs were victorious ; and Hubert 
 of books, V, hich lie said, for his part, 
 he had alwayG a care to keep hand- 
 some and well bound. 
 
 "x\.y," quoth his brother, "gilding 
 them and stringing them like the pray- 
 (T-books of girls and gallants, which 
 are carried to church but for their out- 
 isides. I do hate a book with clasps, 
 'tis a trouble to open them." 
 
 "' A trouble thou dost seldom take," 
 quoth Hubert. " Thou art ready 
 enough to unclasp the book of thy 
 inward soul to whosoever will read in 
 it, and thy purse to whosoever begs or 
 borrows of thee ; but with such clasps 
 as shut in the various stores of thought 
 which have issued forth from men's 
 minds thou dost not often meddle." 
 
 *' Beshrew me if I do ! The best 
 prayer-book I take to be a pair of 
 beads ; and the most entertaining read- 
 ing, the ' Rules for the Hunting of 
 Deer ;' which, by what I have heard 
 from Sir Roger Ashton, my Lord Staf- 
 ford hath grievously transgressed by 
 assaulting Lord Lyttleton's keepers in 
 Teddesley Haye." 
 
 " What have you here ?" Hubert 
 asked, glancing at Mr. Fox's Book of 
 Martyrs, and another which the land- 
 lady had left on the table ; A profit- 
 able New Tears Gift to all JUiicjland. 
 
 " They are not mine," I answered, 
 *' nor such as I do care to read ; but 
 tliis," I said, holding out Mr. Page's 
 
 gift, which I had in my pocket, " is a 
 rare fund of entertainment and very 
 full of pleasant tales." 
 
 " But," quoth he, " you should read 
 the Morie d'Arthur and the Seveii 
 Champions of Ghrisieiidom.^' 
 
 Which I said I should be glad to 
 do when I had the good chance to 
 meet with them. He said, " My cousin 
 Polly had a store of such pleasant vol- 
 umes, and would, no doubt, lend them 
 to me. She has such a sharp wit," he 
 added, " that she is ever exercising it 
 on herself or on others ; on herself by 
 the bettering of her mind through 
 reading ; and on others by such ap- 
 plications of what she thus acquires as 
 leaves them no chance in discoursing 
 with her but to yield to lier superior 
 knowledge." 
 
 " Methlnks," I said, " if that be her 
 aim in reading, may bo she will noi; 
 lend to others the means of sharpening 
 their wits to encounter hers." 
 
 At the which both of Ihcm laughed, 
 and Basil said he hoped I might prove 
 a match for Mistress Polly, who car- 
 ried herself too high, and despised such 
 as were slower of speech and less witty 
 than herself. " For my part," he cried, 
 " I am of opinion that too much read- 
 ing doth lead to too much thinking, 
 and too much thinking doth consume 
 the spirits ; and often it falls out that 
 Avhile one thinks too much of his doing, 
 he leaves to do the effect of his think- 
 ing." 
 
 At the which Hubert smiled, and I 
 bethought myself that if Basil was no 
 book-worm neither was he a fool. 
 With such like discourse the evening 
 sped away, and Mr. Rookwood and 
 his sons took their leave with many 
 civilities and pleasant speeches, such 
 as gentlemen arc wont to address to 
 ladies, and hopes expressed to meet 
 again in London, and good wishes for 
 the safe ending of our journey thither. 
 
 Ah, me ! 'tis passing strange to si 
 here and write in this little chamber, 
 after so many years, of that first meet- 
 ing with those brothers, Basil and 
 Hubert ; to call to mind how they did 
 look and speak, and of the pretty kind 
 
Constance Siverwood, 
 
 49 
 
 of natural affection there was betwixt 
 them in their manner to each other. 
 Ah, me! the old trick of sighing is 
 coming over me again, which I had 
 well-nigh corrected myself of, who have 
 more reason to give thanks than to 
 complain. Good Lord, what fools you 
 be ! sighing heart and watering eyes ! 
 As great Ibols, I ween, as the Mayor 
 of Coventry, whose foolish rhymes do 
 keep running in my head. 
 
 The day following we came to Lon- 
 don, which being, as it were, the be- 
 ginning of a new life to me, I will 
 defer to speak of until I find myself, 
 after a night's rest and special prayers 
 unto that end, less heavy of heart than 
 at present. 
 
 < CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Upon a sultry evening which did 
 follow an exceeding hot day, with no 
 clouds in the sky, and a great store of 
 dust on the road, we entered London, 
 that great fair of the whole world, as 
 some have titled it. When for many 
 years we do think of a place we have 
 not seen, a picture forms itself in the 
 mind as distinct as if the eye had taken 
 cognizance thereof, and a singular cu- 
 riosity attends the actual vision of what 
 tiie imagination hath so oft portrayed. 
 On this occasion my eyes were slow 
 servants to my desires, which longed 
 to embrace in the compass of one 
 glance the various objects they craved 
 to behold. Albeit the sky was cloud- 
 less above our heads, I feared it would 
 rain in London, by reason of a dark 
 vapor which did hang over it; but 
 Mistress Ward informed me that this 
 appearance was owing to the smoke of 
 sea-coal, of which so great a store is 
 used in the houses that the air is filled 
 with it. "And do those in London 
 always live in that smoke ?" I inquired, 
 not greatly contented to think it should 
 be so; but she said Mr. Congleton's 
 liouse w^as not in the city, but in a very 
 pleasant suburb outside of it, close unto 
 Holborn Hill and Ely Place, the bish- 
 
 op's palace, in whose garden the roses 
 were so plentiful that in June the air 
 is perfumed with their odor. I troubled 
 her not with further questions at that 
 time, being soon wholly taken up with 
 the new sights which then did meet us 
 at every step. So great a number of 
 gay horsemen, and litters carried by 
 footmen with fine liveries, and coaches 
 drawn by horses richly caparisoned and 
 men running alongside of them, and 
 withal so many carts, that I was con- 
 strained to give over the guiding of 
 mine own horse by reason of the con- 
 fusion which the noise of wheels and 
 men's cries and the rapid motion of so 
 many vehicles did cause in me, who 
 had never rode before in so great a 
 crowd. 
 
 At about six o'clock of the afternoon 
 we did reach Ely Place, and passing 
 by the bishop's palace stopped at the 
 gate of Mr. Congleton's house, which 
 doth stand somewhat retired from the 
 high-road, and the first sight of which 
 did greatly content me. It is built of 
 fair and strong stone, not affecting fine- 
 ness, but honorably representing a fiiTu 
 stateliness, for it was handsome with- 
 out curiosity, and homely without neg- 
 ligence. At the front of it was a well- 
 arranged ground cunningly set with 
 trees, through which wc rode to the 
 foot of the stairs, where we were met 
 by a gentleman dressed in a coat of 
 black satin and a quilted waistcoat, 
 with a white beaver in his hand, whom 
 I guessed to be my good uncle. He 
 shook Mistress Ward by the hand, 
 saluted me on both cheeks, and vowed 
 I was the precise counterpart of my 
 mother, who at my age, he said, was 
 the prettiest Lancashire witch that 
 ever he had looked upon. He seemed 
 to me not so old as I did suppose him > 
 to be, lean of body and something low 
 of stature, with a long visage and a . 
 little sharp beard upon the chin of a 
 brown color ; a countenance not very 
 grave, and, for his age, wanting the • 
 authority of gray hairs. He conducted ( 
 me to mine aunt's chamber, who was 
 seated in an easy-chair near unto the 
 window, with a cat upon her knees and.; 
 
50 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 a tambour-frame before her. She oped 
 her arms and kissed me with great 
 affection, and I, sliding down, knelt at 
 her feet and prayed her to be a good 
 mother to me, which was what my 
 father had charged me to do when I 
 should come into her presence. She 
 raised me with her hand and made me sit 
 on a stool beside her, and stroking my 
 face gently, gazed upon it, and said it 
 put her in mind of both of my parents, 
 for that I had my father's brow and 
 • eyes, and my mother's mouth and 
 dimpling smiles. 
 
 "Mr. Congleton," she cried, "you 
 do hear what this wench saith. I pray 
 you to bear it in mind, and how near 
 in blood she is to me, so that you may 
 show her favor when I am gone, which 
 may be sooner than you think for." 
 
 I looked up into her face greatly 
 concerned that she was like so soon to 
 die. Methought she had the semblance 
 of one in good health and a reasonable 
 good color in her cheeks, and I per- 
 ceived Mr. Congleton did smile as he 
 answered : 
 
 "I will show favor to thy pretty 
 niece, good Moll, I promise thee, be 
 thou alive or be thou dead ; but if the 
 leeches arc to be credited, who do 
 affh-m thou hast the best strength and 
 stomach of the twain, thou art more 
 like to bury me than I thee." 
 
 Upon which the good lady did sigh 
 deeply and cast up her eyes and lifted 
 up her hands as one grievously injured, 
 and he cried : 
 
 " Prithee, sweetheart, take it not 
 amiss, for beshrew me if I be not 
 willing to grant thee to be as diseased 
 as will pleasure thee, so that thou wilt 
 continue to eat and sleep as well as 
 thou dost at the present and so keep 
 thyself from dying." 
 
 Upon which she said that she did 
 admire how a man could have so much 
 cruelty as to jest and jeer at her ill- 
 health, but that she would spend no 
 more of her breath upon him; and 
 turning toward me she asked a store 
 of questions anent my father, whom 
 for many years she had not seen, and 
 touching the manner of my mother's 
 
 death, at the mention of which my 
 tears flowed afresh, wliich caused her 
 also to weep ; and calling for her wo- 
 men she bade one of them bring her 
 some hartshorn, for that sorrow, she 
 said, would occasion the vapors to rise 
 in her head, and the other she sent for 
 to fetch her case of trinkets, for that 
 she would wear the ring her brother 
 had presented her with some years 
 back, in which was a stone Avhich doth 
 cure melancholy. When the case was 
 brought she displayed before my eyes 
 its rich contents, and gifted me with a 
 brooch set with turquoises, the wearing 
 of which, she said, doth often keep per- 
 sons from falling into divers sorts of 
 peril. Then presently kissing me she 
 said she felt fatigued, and would send 
 for her daughters to take charge of me; 
 who, when they came, embraced me 
 with exceeding great affection, and 
 carried me to what had been their 
 schoolroom and was now Mrs. Ward's 
 chamber, who no longer was their 
 governess, they said, but as a friend 
 abode in the house for to go abroad 
 with them, their mother being of so 
 delicate a constitution that she seldom 
 left her room. Next to this chamber 
 was a closet, wherein Kate said I 
 should lie, and as it is one I inhabited 
 for a long space of time, and the re- 
 membrance of which doth connect it- 
 self with very many events v/hich, as 
 they did take place, I therein mused 
 on, and prayed or wept, or sometimes 
 laughed over in solitude, I will here 
 set down what it was like when first I 
 saw it. 
 
 The bed was in an alcove, closed in 
 the day by fair curtains of taffety; 
 and the walls, which were in wood, had 
 carvings above the door and over tha 
 chimney of very dainty workmanship. 
 The floor was strewn with dried neatly- 
 cut rushes, and in the projecting space 
 where the window was, a table wns set, 
 and two chairs with backs and seats 
 cunningly furnished with tapestiy. In 
 another recess betwixt the alcove and 
 the chimney stood a pi-aying stool and 
 a desk with a cushion for a book to lie 
 on. Ah, me ! how often has my head 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 51 
 
 rested on that cushion and my knees 
 on that stool when my heart has been 
 too full to utter other prayers than a 
 " God ha' mercy on me !" which at 
 such times broke as a cry from an 
 overcharged breast. But, oh ! what a 
 vain pleasure I did take on that first 
 day in the bravery of this little cham- 
 ber, which Kate said was to be mine 
 own ! With what great contentment I 
 viewed each part of it, and looked out 
 of the window on the beds of flowers 
 which did form a mosaical floor in the 
 garden around the house, in the midst 
 of which was a fair pond whose shaking 
 crystal mirrored the shrubs which grew 
 about it, and a thicket beyond, which 
 did appear to me a place for pleasant- 
 ness and not unfit to flatter solitariness, 
 albeit so close unto the city. Beyond 
 were, the bishop's grounds, and I could 
 smell the scent of roses coming thence 
 as the wind blew. I could have stood 
 there many hours gazing on this new 
 scene, but that my cousins brought me 
 down to sup with them in the garden, 
 which was not fairer in natural orna- 
 ments than in artificial inventions. The 
 table was set in a small banqueting- 
 house among certain pleasant trees 
 near to a pretty water-work ; and now 
 I had leisure to scan my cousins' faces 
 and compare what I did notice in them 
 with what Mistress Ward had said the 
 first night of our journey. 
 
 Kate, the eldest of the three, was in 
 sooth a very fair creature, proportioned 
 without any fault, and by nature en- 
 dowed with the most delightful colors ; 
 but there was a made countenance 
 about her mouth, between simpering 
 and smiling, and somewhat in her 
 bowed-down head which seemed to 
 languish Avith over-much idleness, and 
 an inviting look in her eyes as if they 
 would over-persuade those she spoke to, 
 which betokened a lack of those nobler 
 powers of the mind which are the 
 highest gifts of womanhood. Polly's 
 face fault-finding wits might scoff" at as 
 too little for the rest of the body, her 
 features as not so well proportioned as 
 Kate's, and her skin somewhat browner 
 than doth consist with beauty ; but in 
 
 her eyes there was a cheerfuhiess as 
 if nature smiled in them, in her mouth 
 so pretty a demureness, and in her 
 countenance such a spark of wit that, 
 if it struck not with admiration, filled 
 with delight. No indifferent soul there 
 was which, if it resisted making her its 
 princess, would not long to have such 
 a playfellow. Muriel, the youngest of 
 these sisters, was deformed in shape, 
 sallow in hue, in speech, as Mistress 
 Ward had said, slow; but ^vithal in 
 her eyes, which were deep-set, there 
 was lacking neither the fire which be- 
 tokens intelHgence, nor the sweetness 
 which commands aff*ection, and some- 
 what in her plain face which, though 
 it may not be called beauty, had some 
 of its qualities. Methought it savored 
 more of heaven than earth. The ill- 
 shaped body seemed but a case for a 
 soul the fairness of which did shine 
 through the foul lineaments which en- 
 closed it. Albeit her lips opened but 
 seldom that evening, only twice or 
 thrice, and they were common words 
 she uttered and fraught with hesitation, 
 my heart did more incline toward her 
 than to the pretty Kate or the lively 
 Polly. 
 
 An hour before Ave retired to rest, 
 Mr. Congleton came into the garden, 
 and brought with him Mr. Swithin 
 Wells and Mr. Bryan Lacy, two gen- 
 tlemen who lived also in Plolborn ; the 
 latter of which, Polly whispered in mine 
 ear, was her sister Kate's suitor. Talk 
 was ministered among them touch- 
 ing the queen's marriage with Mon- 
 sieur ; which, as Mr. Rookwood had 
 said, was broken off; but that day they 
 had heard that M. de la Motte had 
 proposed to her majesty the Due 
 d'Alen9on, who would be more com- 
 plying, he promised, touching reHgion 
 than his brother. She inquired of the 
 prince's age, and of his height ; to the 
 which he did answer, "About your 
 majesty's own height." But her high- 
 ness would not be so put off, and willed 
 the ambassador to write for the precise 
 measurement of the prince's stature. 
 
 " She will never marry," quoth Mr. 
 Wells, ^'but only amuse the French 
 
52 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 court and her council with further 
 negotiations touching this new suitor, 
 as heretofore anent the archduke and 
 Monsieur. But I would to God her 
 majesty were well married, and to a 
 Catholic prince ; which would do us 
 more good than anything else which 
 can be thought of." 
 
 " What news did you hear, sir, of 
 Mr. Felton ?" Mistress Ward asked. 
 Upon which their countenances fell; 
 and one of them answered that that 
 gentleman had been racked the day be- 
 fore, but steadily refused, though in 
 the extremity of torture, to name his 
 accomplices ; and would give her 
 majesty no title but that of the Pre- 
 tender; which they said was greatly 
 to be regretted, and what no other 
 Catholic had done. But when his 
 sentence was read to him, for that he 
 was to die on Friday, he drew from 
 his finger a ring, which had diamonds 
 in it, and was worth four hundred 
 pounds, and requested the Earl of 
 Sussex to give it to the queen, in 
 token that he bore her no ill-will or 
 malice, but rather the contrary. 
 
 Mr. Wells said he was a gentleman 
 of very great heart and noble disposi- 
 tion, but for his part he would as lief 
 this ring had been sold, and the money 
 bestowed on the poorer sort of prison- 
 ers in Newgate, than see it grace her 
 majesty's finger ; .who would thus play 
 the hangman's part, who inherits the 
 spoils of such as he doth put to death. 
 But the others affirmed it was done in 
 a Christian manner, and so greatly to 
 be commended ; and that Mr. Felton, 
 albeit he was somewhat rash in his 
 actions, and by some titled Don Mag- 
 nifico, by reason of a certain bravery 
 in his style of dress and fashion of 
 speaking, which smacked of Monsieur 
 Traveller, was a right worthy gentle- 
 man, and his death a blow to his 
 friends, amongst whom there were 
 some, nevertheless, to be found who 
 did blame him for the act which had 
 brought him into trouble. Mistress 
 Ward cried, that such as fell into 
 trouble, be the cause ever so good, did 
 always find those who would blame 
 
 them. Mr. Lacy said, one should not 
 cast himself into danger wilfully, but 
 when occasion offered take it with pa- 
 tience. Polly replied, that some were 
 so prudent, occasions never came to 
 them. And then those two fell to dis- 
 puting, in a merry but withal sharp 
 fashion. As he did pick his words, 
 and used new-fangled terms, and she 
 spoke roundly and to the point, me- 
 thinks she was the nimblest in this 
 encounter of wit. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Wells asked Mr. 
 Congleton if he had had news from 
 the north, where much blood was spilt 
 since the rising ; and he apprehended 
 that his kinsmen in Richmondshire 
 should suffer under the last orders sent 
 to Sir George Bowes by my Lord 
 Sussex. But Mr. Congleton did min- 
 ister to him this comfort, that if they 
 were noted wealthy, and had freeholds, 
 it was the queen's special command- 
 ment they should not be executed, but 
 two hundred of the commoner sort to 
 lose their lives in each town ; which 
 was about one to each five. 
 
 " But none of note ?" quoth Mr. 
 Wells. 
 
 " None which can pay the worth of 
 their heads," Mr. Congleton replied. 
 
 '• And who, then, doth price them ?" 
 asked Kate, in a languishing voice. 
 
 " Nay, sister," quoth Polly, " I war- 
 rant thee they do price themselves ; for 
 he that will not pay well lor his head 
 must needs opine he hath a worthless 
 one." 
 
 Upon which Mr. Lacy said to Kate, 
 *'One hundred angels would not pay 
 for thine, sweet Kate." 
 
 " Then she must needs be an arch- 
 angel, sir," quoth Polly, " if she be of 
 greater worth than one hundred an- 
 gels." 
 
 " Ah, me !" cried Kate, very earn- 
 estly, "I would I had but half one 
 hundred gold-pieces to buy me a gown 
 with!" 
 
 " Hast thou not gowns enough, 
 wench ?" apkcd her father. " Me- 
 thought thou wert indifferently well 
 provided in that respect." 
 
 " Ah, but I would have, sir, such a 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 53 
 
 velvet suit as I did see some weeks 
 back at the Italian house in Cheapside, 
 where the ladies of the court do buy 
 their vestures. It had a border the 
 daintiest I ever beheld, all powdered 
 with gold and pearls. Ruffiano said it 
 was the rarest suit he had ever made ; 
 and he is the Queen of France's tailor, 
 which Sir Nicholas Throgmorton did 
 secretly entice away, by the queen's 
 desire, from that court to her own." 
 
 "Ajid what fair nymph owns this 
 rare suit, sweetest Kate?" Mr. Lacy 
 asked. " I'll warrant none so fair that 
 it should become her, or rather that 
 she should become it, more than her 
 who doth covet it." 
 
 " I know not if she be fair or foul," 
 quoth Kate, "but she is the Lady 
 Mary Howard, one of the maids of 
 honor of her majesty, and so may wear 
 what please th her." 
 
 *'By that token of the gold and 
 pearl's," c»ied Mr. Wells, " I doubt not 
 but 'tis the very suit anent which the 
 court have been wagging their tongues 
 for the last week ; and if it be so, indeed. 
 Mistress Kate, you have no need to 
 envy the poor lady that doth own it." 
 
 Kate protested she had not envied 
 her, and taxed Mr. Wells with unkind- 
 ness that he did charge her with it ; 
 and for all he could say would not be 
 pacified, but kept casting up her eyes, 
 and the tears streaming down her 
 lovely cheeks. Upon which Mi'. Lacy 
 cried: 
 
 " Sweet one, thou hast indeed no 
 cause to envy her or any one else, 
 liowsoever rare or dainty their suits 
 may be ; for thy teeth are more beau- 
 teous than pearls, and thine hair more 
 bright than the purest gold, and thine 
 eyes more black and soft than the finest 
 velvet, which nature so made that we 
 might bear their wonderful shining, 
 which else had dazzled us:" and so 
 went on till her weeping was stayed, 
 and then Mr. Wells said : 
 
 " The lady who owned that rich 
 suit, which I did falsely and felo- 
 niously advance Mistress Kate did 
 envy, had not great or long com- 
 fort in its possession; for it is very 
 
 well known at court, and hence bruited 
 in the city, what passed at Richmond 
 last week concernmg this rare vesture. 
 It pleased not the queen, who thought 
 it did exceed her own. And one day 
 her majesty did send privately for it, 
 and put it on herself, and came forth 
 into the chamber among the ladies. 
 The kirtle and border was far too 
 short for her majesty's height, and she 
 asked every one how they liked her 
 new fancied suit. At length she asked 
 the owner herself if it was not made 
 too short and ill-becoming ; which the 
 poor lady did presently consent to. 
 Upon which her highness cried : ' Why, 
 then, if it become me not as being too 
 short, I am minded it shall never be- 
 come thee as being too fine, so it fitteth 
 neither well.' This sharp rebuke so 
 abashed the poor lady that she never 
 adorned her herewith any more." 
 
 " Ah," cried Mr. Congleton, laugh- 
 ing, "her majesty's bishops do come 
 by reproofs as well as her maids. 
 Have you heard how one Sunday, last 
 April, my Lord of London preached 
 to the queen's majesty, and seemed to 
 touch on the vanity of decking the 
 body too finely. Her grace told the 
 ladies after the sermon, that if the 
 bishop held more discourse on such 
 matters she would fit him for heaven, 
 but he should walk thither without a 
 staff and leave his mantle behind him." 
 
 "Nay," quoth Mr. Wells, "but if 
 she makes such as be Catholics taste 
 of the sharpness of the rack, and the 
 edge of the axe, she doth then treat 
 those of her own way of thinking with 
 the edge of her wit and the sharpness 
 of her tongue. 'Tis reported, Mr. 
 Congleton, I know not with what truth, 
 that a near neighbor of yours has been 
 served with a letter, by which a new 
 sheep is let into his pastures." 
 
 "What," cried Polly, "is Pecora 
 Campi to roam amidst the roses, and 
 go in and out at his pleasure through 
 the bishop's gate? The 'sweet lids' 
 have then danced away a large slice 
 of the Church's acres. But what, I 
 pray you, sir, did her majesty write ?" 
 
 " Even this," quoth her father, " I 
 
54 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 liad it from Sir Robert Arundell : 
 ' Proud Prelate ! you know what you 
 were before I made you, and what you 
 are now. If you do not immediate- 
 ly comply with my request, I will un- 
 frock you, by God ! — Elizabeth R.' " 
 
 " Our good neighbor," saith Polly, 
 " must show a like patience with Job, 
 and cry out touching his bishopric, 
 ^ The queen did give it ; the queen 
 doth take it away; the will of the 
 queen be done/ " 
 
 " He is like to be encroached upon 
 yet further by yon cunning Sir Chris- 
 topher," Mr. Wells said ; " I'll war- 
 rant Ely Place will soon be Hatton 
 Garden." 
 
 "Well, for a neighbor," answered 
 Polly, " I'd as soon have the queen's 
 lids as her hedge-bishop, and her 
 sheep as her shepherd. 'Tis not all 
 for love of her sweet dancer her ma- 
 jesty doth despoil him. She never, 
 'tis said, hath forgiven him that he did 
 remonstrate wich her for keeping a 
 crucifix and lighted tapers in her own 
 chapel, and that her fool, set on by 
 such as were of the same mind with 
 liim, did one day put them out." 
 
 In suchhke talk the time was spent; 
 and Avhen the gentlemen had taken 
 leave, we retired to rest; and being 
 greatly tired, I slept heavily, and had 
 many quaint dreams, in which past 
 scenes and present objects were cu- 
 riously blended with the tales I had 
 read on the journey, and the discourse 
 I had heard that evening. When I 
 awoke in the morning, my thoughts first 
 flew to my father, of whom I had a very 
 passionate desire to receive tidings. 
 When my waiting-woman entered, with 
 a letter in her hand, I foolishly did 
 fancy it came from him, which could 
 scarcely be, so soon after our coming 
 to town ; but I quickly discerned, by 
 the rose-colored string which it was 
 bounden with, and then the handwrit- 
 ing, that it was not from him, but 
 from her whom, next to him, I most 
 desired to hear from, to wit, the Count- 
 ess of Surrey. That sweet lady wrote 
 tliat she ha J an exceeding great de- 
 sire to sec me, and would be more be- 
 
 holden to my aunt than she could 
 well express, if she would confer on 
 her so great a benefit as to permit me 
 to spend the day with her at the 
 Charter House, and she would send 
 her coach for to convey me there, 
 wliich should never have done her so 
 much good pleasure before as in that 
 service. And more to that effect, with 
 many kind and gracious words touch- 
 ing our previous meeting and corre- 
 spondence. 
 
 When I was dressed, I took her la- 
 dyship's letter to Mrs. Ward, who was 
 pleased to say she would herself ask 
 permission for me to wait upon that 
 noble lady ; but that her ladyship 
 might not be at the charge of sending 
 for me, she would herself, if my aunt 
 gave her license, carry me to the 
 Charter House, for that she was to 
 spend some hours that day with friends 
 in the city, and " it would greatly con- 
 tent her," she added, " to further the 
 expressed wish of the young countess, 
 whose grandmother. Lady Mounteagle, 
 and so many of her kinsfolk, were Cath- 
 ohcs, or at the least, good friends to such 
 as were so." My aunt did give leave 
 for me to go, as she mostly did to 
 whatsoever Mrs. Ward proposed, whom 
 she trusted entirely, Avitli a singular 
 great affection, only bidding her to 
 pray that she might not die in her ab- 
 sence, for that she feared some peaches 
 she had eaten the day before had dis- 
 ordered her, and that she had heard of 
 one who had died of the plague some 
 weeks before in the Tower. Mrs. Ward 
 exhorted her to be of good cheer, and to 
 comfort herself both ways, for that the 
 air of Holborn was so good, the plague 
 was not likely to come into it, and that 
 the kernels of peaches being medicinal, 
 would rather prove an antidote to pes- 
 tilence than an occasion to it ; and left 
 her better satisfied, insomuch that she 
 sent for another dish ot' peaches for to 
 secure the benefit. Before I left, Kate 
 bade me note the fashioa of the suit 
 my Lady Surrey did wear, and if she 
 had on her own hair, and if she dyed it, 
 and if she covered her bosom, or wore 
 plaits, and if her stomacher was straight 
 
Cjnsta.ice Sherwood, 
 
 55 
 
 and broad, or formed a long waist, ex- 
 tending downward, and many more 
 points touching her attire, which I 
 cannot now call to mind. As I went 
 through the hall to the steps where 
 Mistress Ward was already standing, 
 Muriel came hurrying toward me, 
 with a faint color coming and going in 
 her sallow cheek, and twice she tried 
 to speak and failed. But when I kissed 
 her she put her lips close to my ear 
 and whispered, 
 
 *• Sweet little cousin, there be in 
 London prisoners in a very bad plight, 
 in filthy dungeons, because of their 
 religion. The noble young Lady 
 Surrey hath a tender heart toward 
 such if she do but hear of them. 
 Prithee, sweet coz, move her to 
 send them relief in food, money, or 
 clothing." 
 
 Then Mistress Ward called to me to 
 hasten, and I ran away, but Muriel 
 stood at the window, and as we passed 
 she kissed her hand, in which was a 
 gold angel, which my father had gifted 
 me with at parting. 
 
 " Mrs. Ward," I said, as we went 
 along, " my cousin Muriel is not fair, 
 and yet her face doth commend itself 
 to my fancy more than many fair ones 
 I have seen ; it is so kindly." 
 
 " I have even from her infancy 
 loved her," she answered, " and thus 
 much I will say of her, that many 
 have been titled saints who had not, 
 methinks, more virtue than I have no- 
 ticed in Muriel." 
 
 " Doth she herself visit the pris- 
 oners she spoke of ?" 
 
 " She and I do visit them and carry 
 them relief when we can by any means 
 prevail with the gaolers from compas- 
 sion or through bribing of them to ad- 
 mit us. But it is not always conven- 
 ient to let this be known, not even at 
 home, but 1 ween, Constance, as thou 
 wilt have me to call thee so, that Mu- 
 riel saw in thee — for she has a won- 
 derful penetrative spirit — that thou 
 dost know when to speak and when to 
 keep silence." 
 
 "And may I go with you to the 
 prisons ?" I asked with a hot feeling 
 
 in my heart, which I had not felt since 
 I had left home. 
 
 " Thou art far too young," she an- 
 swered. " But I will tell thee what 
 thou canst do. Thou mayst work and 
 beg for these good man, aid not be 
 ashamed of so doing. None may 
 visit them who have not made up 
 their minds to die, if they should be 
 denounced for their charity." 
 
 " But Muriel is young," I answered. 
 " Hath she so resolved ?" 
 
 " Muriel is young," was the reply ; 
 " but she 13 one in whom wisdom and 
 holiness have forestalled age. For two 
 years that she hath been my compan- 
 ion on such occasions, she has each 
 day prepared for martyrdom by such 
 devout exercises as strengthen the 
 soul at the approach of death." 
 
 "And Kate and Polly," I asked, 
 " are they privy to the dangers that you 
 do run, and have they no like am- 
 bition?" 
 
 " Rather the contrary," she an- 
 swered ; " but neither they nor any one 
 else in the house is fully acquainted 
 with these secret errands save Mr. 
 Congleton, and he did for a long time 
 refuse his daughter license to go with 
 me, until at last, by prayers and tears, 
 she won him over to suffer it. But he 
 will never permit thee to do the like, 
 for that thy father hath intrusted thee 
 to his care for greater safety in these 
 troublesome times." 
 
 " Pish !" I cried pettishly, " safety 
 has a dull mean sound in it which 
 I mishke. I would I -were mine own 
 mistress." 
 
 "Wish no such thing, Constance 
 Sherwood," was her grave answer. 
 " Wilfulness was never nurse to virtue, 
 but ra,ther her foe ; nor ever did a re- 
 bellious spirit prove the herald of true 
 greatness. And now, mark my words. 
 Almighty God hath given thee a friend 
 far above thee, in rank, and I doubt 
 not in merit also, but whose faith, if 
 report saith true, doth run great dan- 
 gers, and with few to advise her in 
 these evil days in which wq Uve. Per- 
 adventure he hath appointed thee a 
 work in a palace as weighty as that ot 
 
56 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 others in ji dungeon. vSet thyself to it 
 with thy whole heart, and such prayers 
 as draw down blessings from above. 
 There be great need in these times to 
 bear in remembrance what the Lord 
 says, that he will be ashamed in hea- 
 ven before his angels of such as be 
 ashamed of him on earth. And many 
 there are, I greatly fear, who though 
 they be Catholics, do assist the here- 
 tics by their cowardice to suppress the 
 true religion in this land ; and I pray 
 to God this may never be our case. 
 Yet I would not have thee to be 
 rash in speech, using harsh words, or 
 needlessly rebuking others, Avhicli 
 would not become thy age, or be fit- 
 ting and modest in one of inferior 
 rank, but only where faith and con- 
 science be in question not to be afraid 
 to speak. And now God bless thee, 
 who should be an Esther in this house, 
 wherein so many true confessors of 
 Christ some years ago surrendered their 
 lives in great misery and torments, 
 rather than yield up their faith." 
 
 This she said as we stopped at the 
 gate of the Charter House, where one 
 of the serving-men of the Countess of 
 Surrey was waiting to conduct me to 
 her lodgings, having had orders to that 
 effect. She left me in his charge, and 
 I followed him across the square, and 
 through the cloisters and passages 
 which led to the gallery, where my 
 lady's chamber was situated. My 
 heart fluttered like a frightened caged 
 bird during that walk, for there was a 
 solemnity about the place such as 
 I had not been used to, and which 
 filled me with apprehension lest I 
 should be wanting in due respect where 
 so much state was carried on. But 
 when the door was opened at one end 
 of the gallery, and my sweet lady ran 
 out to meet me with a cry of joy, the 
 silly heart, like a caught bird, nestled 
 in her embrace, and my lips joined 
 themselves to hers in a fond manner, 
 as if not willing to part again, but by 
 fervent kisses supplying the place of 
 words, which were lacking, to express 
 the great mutual joy of that meeting, 
 until at last my lady raised her head, 
 
 and still holding my hands, cried out as 
 she gazed on my face : 
 
 " You are more welcome, sweet one, 
 than my poor words can say. I pray 
 you, doff your hat and mantle, and 
 come and sit by me, for 'tis a weary 
 while since we have met, and those are 
 gone from us who loved us then, and for 
 their sakes we must needs love one 
 another dearly, if our hearts did not of 
 themselves move us unto it, which 
 indeed they do, if I may judge of 
 yours, Mistress Constance, by mine 
 own." 
 
 Then we kissed again, and she passed 
 her arm around my neck with so many 
 graceful endearments, in which were 
 blended girlish simplicity and a youth- 
 ful yet matronly dignity, that I felt 
 that day the love which, methinks, up 
 to that time had had its seat mostly in 
 the fancy, take such root in mine heart, 
 that it never lost its hold on it. 
 
 At the first our tongues were some- 
 what tied by joy and lack of knowledge 
 how to begin to converse on the many 
 subjects whereon both desh-ed to hear 
 the other speak, and the disuse of such 
 intercourse as maketli it easy to dis- 
 course on what the heart is full of. 
 Howsoever, Lady Surrey questioned 
 mc touching my father, and what had 
 befallen us since my mother's death. 
 I told her that he had left his home, 
 and sent me to London by reason of 
 the present troubles ; but without men- 
 tion of what I did apprehend to be his 
 further intent. And she then said that 
 the concern she was in anent her good 
 father the Duke of Norfolk did cause 
 her to pity those who were also in 
 trouble. 
 
 " But his grace,'* I answered, " is, I 
 hope, in safety at present, and in his 
 own house?" 
 
 "In this house, indeed," she did 
 reply, "but a strait prisoner in Sir 
 Henry Neville's custody, and not 
 suffered to see his friends without her 
 majesty's especial permission. He did 
 send for his son and me last evening, 
 having obtained leave for to see us, 
 which he had not done since the day 
 my lord and I were married again, by 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 57 
 
 his order, from the Tower, out of fear 
 lest our first marriage, being made 
 before Phil was quite twelve years old, 
 it should have been annulled by order 
 of the queen, or by some other means. 
 It grieved me much to notice how gray 
 his hair had grown, and that his eyes 
 lacked their wonted fire. When we 
 entered he was sitting in a chair, 
 leaning backward, with his head almost 
 over the back of it, looking at a candle 
 which burnt before him, and a letter in 
 his hand. He smiled when lie saw us, 
 and said the greatest comfort he had 
 in the world was that we were now so 
 joined together that nothing could ever 
 part us. You see. Mistress Constance," 
 she said, with a pretty blush and smile, 
 " I now do wear my wedding-ring be- 
 low the middle joint." 
 
 " And do you live alone with my 
 lord now in these grand, chambers ?" 
 I said, looking round at the walls, which 
 were hung with rare tapestry and fine 
 pictures. 
 
 " Bess is with me," she answered, 
 " and so will remain I hope until she is 
 fourteen, when she will be married to 
 my Lord William, my lord's brother. 
 Our Moll is likewise here, and was to 
 have wedded my Lord Thomas when 
 she did grow up ; but she is not like to 
 live, the physicians do say." 
 
 The sweet lady's eyes filled with 
 tears, but, as if unwilling to entertain 
 me with her griefs, she quickly changed 
 discourse, and spoke of my coming 
 unto London, and inquired if my aunt's 
 house were a pleasant one, and if she 
 was like to prove a good kinswoman 
 to me. I told her how comfortable 
 had been the manner of my reception, 
 and of my cousins' goodness to me ; 
 at the which she did express great 
 contentment, and would not be satisfied 
 until I had described each of them in 
 turn, and what good looks or what 
 good qualities they had ; which I could 
 the more easily do that i\\Q, first could 
 be discerned even at first sight, and 
 touching the last, I had warrant from 
 Mrs. Ward's commendations, which 
 had more weight than my own speer- 
 ings, even if I had been a year and 
 
 not solely a day in their company. 
 She wJis vastly taken with what I 
 related to her of Muriel, and that she 
 did visit and relieve poor persons and 
 prisoners, and wished she had liberty 
 to do the like ; and with a lovely blush 
 and a modest confusion, as of one who 
 doth not willingly disclose her good 
 deeds, she told me all the time she 
 could spare she did employ in making 
 clothes for such as she could hear of, 
 and also salves and cordials (such as 
 she had learnt to compound from her 
 dear grandmother), and privately sent 
 them by her waiting-maid, who was a 
 young gentlewoman of good family, 
 who had lost her parents, and was 
 most excellently endowed with virtue 
 and piety. 
 
 " Come to my closet. Miss Con- 
 stance," she said, " and I doubt not but 
 we shall find Milicent at work, if so be she 
 has not gone abroad to-day on some 
 such errand of charity." Upon which 
 she led the way through a second 
 chamber, still more richly fitted up 
 than the first, into a smaller one, 
 wherein, when she opened the door, I 
 saw a pretty living picture of two girls 
 at a table, busily engaged vv^lth a store 
 of bottles and herbs and ointments, 
 which v»^ere strewn upon it in great 
 abundance. One of them was a 
 young maid, who was measuring drops 
 into a phial, with a look so attentive 
 upon it as if that little bottle had been 
 the circle of her thoughts. She was 
 very fair and slim, and had a delicate 
 appearance, which minded me of a 
 snow-drop; and indeed, by v*'hat my 
 lady said, she was a floweret which 
 had blossomed amidst the frosts and 
 cold Avinds of adversity. By her side 
 was the most gleesome wench, of not 
 more than eight years, I ever did set 
 eyes on ; of a fatness that at her age 
 was comely, and a face so full of wag- 
 gery and saucy mirth, that but to look 
 upon it drove away melancholy. She 
 Avas compounding in a cup a store of 
 various liquids, which she said did 
 cure shrewishness, and said she would 
 pour some into her nurse's night- 
 draught, to mend her of that disorder. 
 
58 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 "All, Nap," she cried, as we en- 
 tered, " I'll help thee to a taste-of this 
 rare medicine, for methinks thou art 
 somewhat shrewish also and not so 
 conformable to thy husband's will, my 
 lady, as a good wife should be. By 
 that same token that my lord willed to 
 take me behind him on his horse a 
 gay ride round the square, and, forsooth, 
 because I had not learnt my lesson, 
 thou didst shut me up to die of melan- 
 choly. Ah, me ! My mother had a 
 maid called Barbara — 
 
 ' Sing willow, willow, willow.' 
 
 That is one of Phil's favorite songs. 
 Milicent, methinks I will call thee 
 Barbara, and thou shalt sing with me — 
 
 ' The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, — 
 Sing all a green willow ; 
 Her hand on her bosom,' — 
 
 There, put thy hand in that fashion— 
 
 ' her head on her knee,' — 
 
 Nay, prithee, thou must bend thy 
 head lower — 
 
 ' Sing willow, willow, willow.' " 
 
 " My lady," said the gentlewoman, 
 smiling, " I promise you I dare not 
 take upon me to fulfil my tasks with 
 credit to myself or your ladyship, if 
 Mistress Bess hath the run of this 
 room, and doth prepare cordials after 
 her fashion from your ladyship's 
 stores." 
 
 " Ah, Bess !" quoth my lady, shak- 
 ing her finger at the saucy one ; " I'll 
 deliver thee up to Mrs. Fawcett, who 
 will give thee a taste of the place of 
 correction ; and Phil is not here to-day 
 to beg thee off. And now, good Mih- 
 cent, prithee make a bundle of such 
 clothes as we have in hand, and such 
 comforts as be suitable to such as are 
 bick and in prison, for this sweet 
 young lady hath need of them for some 
 who be in that sad plight." 
 
 " And, my lady," quoth the gentle- 
 woman, "I would fain learn how to 
 dress wounds when the flesh is galled ; 
 for I do sometimes meet with poor 
 
 men who do suffer in that way, and 
 would relieve them if I could." 
 
 " I know," I cried, " of a rare oint- 
 ment my mother used to make for 
 that sort of hurt ; and if my Lady 
 Surrey gives me license, I will remem- 
 ber you, mistress, with the receipt of it." 
 
 My lady, with a kindly smile and 
 expressed thanks, assented ; and when 
 we left the closet, I greatly commend- 
 ing the young gentlewoman's beauty, 
 she said that beauty in her was the 
 worst half of her merit. 
 
 " But, Mistress Constance," she 
 said, when we had returned to the 
 saloon, " I may not send her to such 
 poor men, and above all, priests, who 
 be in prison for their faith, as I hear, 
 to my great sorrow, there be so many at 
 this time, and who suffer great hard- 
 ships, more than can be easily beheved, 
 for she is Protestant, and not through 
 conforming to the times, but so settled 
 in her way of thinking, and earnest 
 therein, having been brought up to it, 
 that she would not so much as open a 
 Catholic book or Hsten to a word in 
 defence of papists." 
 
 "But how, then, doth she serve a 
 Catholic lady ?" I asked, with a beat- 
 ing heart ; and oh, with what a sad one 
 did hear her answer, for it was as- fol- 
 lows: 
 
 " Dear Constance, I must needs obey 
 those who have a right to command 
 me, such as his grace my good father 
 and my husband ; and they are both 
 very urgent and resolved that by all 
 means I shall conform to the times. 
 So I do go to Protestant service ; but 
 I use at home my prayers, as my 
 grandmother did teach me ; and Phil 
 says them too, when I can get him to 
 say any." 
 
 "Then you do not hear mass," I 
 said, sorrowfully, " or confess your sins 
 to a priest ?" 
 
 *'No," she answered, in a sad man- 
 ner ; " I once asked my Lady Lumle3% 
 who is a good Catholic, if she could 
 procure I should see a priest with that 
 intent at Arundel House ; but she 
 turned pale as a sheet, and said that to 
 get any one to be reconciled who had 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 59 
 
 once conformed to the Protestant reli- 
 gion, was to run danger of death ; and 
 albeit for her own part she would not 
 refuse to die for so good a cause, she 
 dared not bring her father's gray hairs 
 to the block." 
 
 As we were holding this discourse — 
 and she so intent in speaking, and I in 
 listening, that we had not heard the 
 door open — Lord Surrey suddenly 
 stood before us. His height made 
 him more than a boy, and his face 
 would not allow him a man ; for the 
 rest, he was well-proportioned, and did 
 all things with so notable a grace, that 
 nature had stamped him with the mark 
 of true nobility. He made a slight 
 obeisance to me, and I noticed that his 
 cheek was flushed, and that he grasped 
 the' handle of his sword with an anger 
 which took not away the sweetness of 
 his countenance, but gave it an amiable 
 sort of fierceness. Then, as if unable 
 to restrain himself, he burst forth, 
 
 " Nan, an order is come for his grace 
 to be forthwith removed to the 
 Tower, and I'll warrant that was 
 the cause he was suffered to see us 
 yesterday. God send it prove not a 
 iinal parting !" 
 
 "Is his grace gone?" cried the 
 countess, starting to her feet, and clasp- 
 ing her hands with a sorrowful ges- 
 ture. 
 
 "' He goes even now," answered the 
 earl ; and both went to the window, 
 whence they could see the coach in 
 v;hich the duke was for the third time 
 carried from his home to the last lodg- 
 ing he was to have on this earth. Oh, 
 what a sorrowful sight it was for those 
 young eyes which gazed on the sad 
 removal of the sole parent both had 
 left ! How her tears did flow silently 
 like a stream from a deep fount, and 
 his with wild bursts of grief, like the 
 gushings of a torrent over rocks ! His 
 head fell on her shoulder, and as she 
 threw her arms round him, her tears 
 wetted his hair. Methought then that 
 in the pensive tenderness of her down- 
 cast face there was somewhat of 
 motherly as well as of wifely affection. 
 She put her arai in his, and led him 
 from the room ; and I remained alone 
 for a short time entertaining myself 
 with sad thoughts anent these two 
 young noble creatures, who at so early 
 an age had become acquainted with 
 so much sorrow, and hoping that the 
 darkness which did beset the morning 
 of their lives might prove but as the 
 clouds which at times deface the sky be- 
 fore a brilliant sunshine doth take pos- 
 session of it, and dislodge these deceit- 
 ful harbingers, which do but heighten 
 in the end by contrast the resplendency 
 they did threaten to obscure. 
 
6o 
 
 Constancs SJierwood^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 After I had been musing a little 
 while, Mistress Bess ran into the 
 room, and cried to some one behind 
 her: 
 
 "Nan's friend is here, and she is 
 mine too, for we all played in a garden 
 with her when I was little. Prithee, 
 come and see her." Then turning to 
 me, but yet holding the handle of the 
 door, she said : " Will is so unmannerly, 
 I be ashamed of him. He will not so 
 much as show liimself." 
 
 " Then, prithee, come alone," I an- 
 swered. Upon which she came and 
 sat on my knee, with her arm round 
 my neck, and whispered in mine ear : 
 
 " Moll is very sick to-day ; will you 
 not see her. Mistress Sherwood ?" 
 
 " Yea, if so be I have license," I 
 answered ; and she, taking me by the 
 hand, offered to lead me up the stairs 
 to the room where she lay. I, follow- 
 ing her, came to the door of the cham- 
 ber, but would not enter till Bess 
 fetched the nurse, who was the same 
 had been at Sherwood Hall, and who, 
 knowing my name, was glad to see me, 
 and with a curtsey invited me in. 
 White as a lily was the little face rest- 
 ing on a pillow, with its blue eyes 
 half shut, and a store of golden hair 
 about it, which minded me of the 
 glories round angels' heads in my 
 mother's missal. 
 
 " Sweet lamb !" quoth the nurse, 
 as I stooped to kiss the pale forehead. 
 " She be too good for this world. Oft- 
 times she doth babble in her sleep of 
 heaven, and angels, and saints, and a 
 wreath of wliite roses wherewith a 
 bright lady will crown her." 
 
 " Kiss my lips," the sick child 
 softly whispered, as I bent over her bed. 
 Which when I did, she asked, " What 
 is your name? I mind your face." 
 When I answered, " Constance Sher- 
 wood," she smiled, as if remembering 
 where we had met. "I heard my 
 grandam calling me last night," she 
 said ; " I be going to her soon." Then 
 a fit of pain came on, and I had to 
 leave her. She did go from this world 
 a few days after ; and the nurse then 
 told me her last words had been 
 "Jesu! Mary!" 
 
 That day I did converse again alone 
 with my Lady Surrey after dinner, 
 and walked in the garden ; and when 
 we came in, before I left, she gave 
 me a purse with some gold pieces in it, 
 which the earl her husband willed to 
 bestow on Catholics in prison for their 
 faith. For she said he had so tender 
 and compassionate a spirit, that if he 
 did but hear of one in distress he 
 would never rest until he had relieved 
 him ; and out of the affection he had 
 for Mr. Martin, v/ho was one while 
 his tutor, he was favorably inclined 
 toward Catholics, albeit himself re- 
 solved to conform to the queen's re- 
 ligion. When Mistress Ward came 
 for me, the countess would have her 
 shown into her chamber, and would 
 not be contented without she ordered 
 her coach to carry us back to Holborn, 
 that we might take with us the clothes 
 and cordials which she did bestow 
 upon us for our poor clients. She 
 begged Mrs. Ward's prayers for his 
 grace, that he might soon be set at lib- 
 erty ; for she said in a pretty manner, 
 "It must needs be that Almighty God 
 *akes most heed of the prayers of 
 
Constance Sherwood* 
 
 6l 
 
 Bucli as visit liim in his affliction in 
 the person of poor prisoners ; and she 
 hoped one day to be free to do so her- 
 self." Then she questioned of the 
 wants of those Mistress Ward had at 
 Ihat time knowledge of; and when she 
 heard in what sore plight they stood, 
 it did move her to so great compas- 
 t;ion, that she declared it would be now 
 one of her chiefest cares and pleasures 
 in life to provide conveniences for 
 them. And she besought Mistress 
 Ward to be a good friend to her with 
 mine aunt, and procure her to permit 
 of my frequent visits to Howard House, 
 as the Charter House is now often 
 called: which would be the greatest 
 good she could do her ; and that she 
 would be most glad also if she herself 
 would likewise favor her sometimes 
 with her company ; which; " if it be 
 not for mine own sake, Mistress 
 Ward," she sweetly said, " let it be 
 for his sake who, in the person of his 
 afflicted priests, doth need assistance." 
 
 When w^e reached home, we hid 
 what we had brought under our man- 
 tles, and then in Mistress Ward's 
 chamber, where Muriel followed us. 
 When the door was shut we displayo»d 
 these jewelled stores before her pleased 
 eyes, which did beam with joy at the 
 Hight. 
 
 "Ah, Muriel," cried Mistress 
 Ward, " we have found an Esther in a 
 palace ; and I pray to God there may 
 be other such in this town we ken not of, 
 Avho in secret do yet bear affliction to the 
 ancient faith." 
 
 Muriel said in her slow way : " We 
 must needs go to the Clink to-morrow ; 
 for there is there a priest whose flesh 
 has fallen off his Heet by reason of his 
 long stay in a pestered and infected 
 d.ungeon. Mr. Roper told my father 
 of him, and he says the gaoler will let 
 ais in if he be reasonably dealt Avith." 
 
 " We will essay your ointment. 
 Mistress Sherwood," said Mistress 
 Ward, '• if so be you can make it in 
 time." 
 
 " I care not if I sit up all night," I 
 cried, " if anj one will buy me the 
 herbs I have need of for the com- 
 
 pounding thereof." Which Muriel 
 said she would prevail on one of the 
 servants to do. 
 
 The bell did then ring for supper ; 
 and when we were all seated, Kate 
 was urgent with me for to tell her how 
 my Lady Surrey was dressed ; which 
 I declared to her as follows : " She 
 had on a brown juste au corps em- 
 broidered, with puffe4 sleeves, and 
 petticoat braided of a deeper nuance ; 
 and on her head a lace cap, and a lace 
 handkerchief on her bosom." 
 
 "And, prithee, what jewels had she 
 on, sweet coz ?" 
 
 "A long double chain of gold and 
 a brooch of pearls," I answered. 
 
 " And his grace of Norfolk is once 
 more removed to the Tower," said Mr. 
 Congleton sorrowfully. "'Tis like to 
 kill him soon, and so save her majesty's 
 ministers the pains to bring him to the 
 block. His physician. Dr. Rhuenbeck, 
 cays he is afflicted with the dropsy." 
 
 Polly said she had been to visit the 
 Countess of Northumberland, who w^as 
 so grievously afflicted at her husband's 
 death, that it was feared she would fall 
 sick of grief if she had not company to 
 divert her from her sad thoughts. 
 
 " Which I warrant none could effect 
 so well as thee, wench," her father 
 said ; " for, beshrew rae, if thou wouldst 
 not make a man laugh on his way to 
 the scaffold with thy mad tallc. And 
 was the poor lady of better cheer for 
 thy company ?" 
 
 " Yea, for mine," Polly answered ; 
 "or else for M. de la Motte's, who 
 came in to pay his devoirs to her, for 
 the first time, I take it, since her lord's 
 death. And after his first speech, 
 which caused her to weep a little, he 
 did carry on so brisk a discourse as I 
 never noticed any but a Frenchman 
 able to do. And she w^as not the worst 
 pleased with it that the cunning gen- 
 tleman did interweave it wiLh anec- 
 dotes of the queen's majesty ; which, 
 albeit he related them with gravit}^, 
 did carry somewhat of ridicule in them. 
 Such as of her grace's dancing on Sun- 
 day before last at Lord Northampton's 
 wedding', and calling him to witness 
 
62 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 her paces, so that he might let mon- 
 sieur know how high and disposedly 
 she danced ; so that he would not have 
 had cause to complain, in case he had 
 married her, that she was a boiteuse, 
 as had been maliciously reported of 
 her by the friends of the Queen of 
 Scots. And also how, some days since, 
 she had flamed out in great choler 
 when he went to visit her at Hampton 
 Court ; and told him, so loud that all 
 her ladies and officers could hear her 
 discourse, that Lord North had let her 
 know the queen-mother and the Duke 
 of Guise had dressed up a buffoon in 
 an English fashion, and called him a 
 Milor du Nord ; and that two female 
 dwarfs had been likewise dressed up 
 in that queen's chamber, and invited 
 to mimic her, the queen of England, 
 with great derision and mockery. * I 
 did assure her,' M. de la Motte said, 
 ' with my hand on my heart, and such 
 an aggrieved visage, that she must 
 needs have accepted my words as true, 
 that Milor North had mistaken the 
 whole intent of what he had witnessed, 
 from his great ignorance of the French 
 tongue, which did render him a bad 
 interpreter between princes ; for that 
 the queen-mother did never cease to 
 praise her English majesty's beauty to 
 her son, and all her good qualities, 
 which greatly appeased her grace, 
 who desired to be excused if she, like- 
 wise out of ignorance of the French 
 language, had said aught unbecoming 
 touching the queen-mother.' 'Tis a 
 rare dish of fun, fit to set before a king, 
 to hear this Monsieur Ambassador 
 speak of the queen when none are 
 present but such as make an idol of 
 her, as some do." 
 
 " For my part," said her father, 
 when she paused in her speech, "I 
 mislike mea with double visages and 
 double tongues; and methinks this 
 monseer hath both, and withal a rare 
 art for what courtiers do call diplo- 
 macy, and plain men lying. His 
 speeches to her majesty be so fulsome 
 in her praise, as I have heard some 
 say who are at court, and his flattery 
 so palpable, that they have been 
 
 ashamed to hear it; but behind her 
 back he doth disclose her failings with 
 an admirable slyness." 
 
 " If he be sly," answered Polly, " I'll 
 warrant he finds his match in hor 
 majesty." 
 
 " Yea," cried Kate, " even as poor 
 Madge Arundell experienced to her 
 cost." 
 
 " Ay," quoth Polly, " she catcheth 
 many poor fish, who little know what 
 snare is laid for them." 
 
 " And how did her highness catch 
 Mistress Arundell ?" I asked. 
 
 "In this way, coz," quoth Polly: 
 " she doth often ask the ladies round 
 her chamber, ' If they love to think of 
 marriage ?' and the wise ones do con- 
 ceal well their liking thereunto, know- 
 ing the queen's judgment in the matter. 
 But pretty, simple Madge Arundell, not 
 knowing so deeply as her fellows, was 
 asked one day hereof, and said, * She 
 had thought much about marriage, if 
 her father did consent to the man she 
 loved.' 'You seem honest, i' faith,' 
 said the queen ; ' I will sue for you to 
 your father.' At which the damsel 
 was well pleased; and when her 
 father. Sir Robert Arundell, came to 
 court, the queen questioned him about 
 his daughter's marriage, and pressed 
 him to give consent if the match were 
 discreet. Sir Robert, much astonished, 
 said, ' He never had heard his daugh- 
 ter had liking to any man ; but he 
 would give his free consent to what 
 was most pleasing to her highness's 
 wiU and consent.' ' Then I will do 
 the rest,' saith the queen. Poor 
 Madge was called in, and told by the 
 queen that her father had given his 
 free consent. * Then,' replied th<; 
 simple one, ' I shall be happy, an' it 
 please your grace.' * So thou shalt ; 
 but not to be a fool and marry,' said 
 the queen. ' I have his consent given 
 to me, and I vow thou shalt never got 
 it in thy possession. So go-to about 
 thy business. I see thou art a bold 
 one to own thy foolishness so readily.' ' 
 
 " Ah me !" cried Kate, " I be glad 
 Kot to be a maid to her majesty ; for \ 
 would not know how to answer he.- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 63 
 
 grace if she should ask me a like ques- 
 tion ; for if it b© bold to say one hath 
 a reasonable desire to be married, I 
 must needs be bold then, for I would 
 not for two thousand pounds break Mr. 
 Lacy's heart ; and he saith he will die 
 if I do not marry him. But, Polly, 
 thou wouldst never be at a loss to an- 
 swer her majesty." 
 
 "No more than Pace her fool," 
 quoth Polly, " who, when she said, as 
 he entered the room, ' Now we shall 
 hear of our faults,' cried out, * Where 
 is the use of speaking of what all the 
 town doth talk of?'" 
 
 "The fool should have been 
 whipped," Mistress Ward said. 
 
 " For his wisdom, or for his folly, 
 good Mistress Ward?" asked Polly. 
 "If for wisdom, 'tis hard to beat a 
 man for being wise. If for folly, to 
 whip a fool for that he doth follow his 
 calling, and as I be the Hcensed fool in 
 this house — which I do take to be the 
 highest exercise of wit in these days, 
 when all is turned upside down — I do 
 wish you all good-night, and to be no 
 wiser than is good for your healths, 
 and no more fooHsh than suffices to 
 lighten the heart;" and so laughing 
 she ran away, and Kate said in a la- 
 mentable voice, 
 
 " I would I were foolish, if it light- 
 ens the heart." 
 
 " Content thee, good Kate," I said ; 
 but in so low a voice none did hear. 
 Ajid she went on, 
 
 " Mr. Lacy is gone to Yorkshire for 
 three weeks, which doth make me 
 more sad than can be thought of." 
 
 I smiled ; but Muriel, who had not 
 yet oped her lips whilst the others 
 were talking, rising, kissed her sister, 
 and said, " Thou wilt have, sweet one, 
 so great a contentment in his letters as 
 will give thee patience to bear the loss 
 of his good company." 
 
 At the which Kate brightened a 
 little. To live with Muriel was a 
 preachment, as I have often had occa- 
 sion since to find. 
 
 On the first Sunday I was at Lon- 
 don, we heard mass at the Portuguese 
 ambassador's house, whither many 
 
 Catholics of hi;3 acquaintance resorted 
 for that purpose from our side of the 
 city. In the afternoon a gentleman, 
 who had travelled day and night from 
 Staffordshire on some urgent business, 
 brought me a letter from my father, 
 writ only four days before it came t<; 
 hand, and about a week after my de- 
 parture from home. It was as follows : 
 
 "Mine own dear Child, — The 
 bearer of this letter hath promised to 
 do me the good service to deliver it to 
 thee as soon as he shall reach London ; 
 which, as he did intend to travel day 
 and night, I compute will be no later 
 than the end of this week, or on Sun- 
 day at the farthest. And for this his 
 civihty I do stand greatly indebted to 
 him ; for in these straitened times 'tis 
 no easy matter to get letters conveyed 
 from one part of the kingdom to another 
 without danger of discovering that 
 which for the present should rather be 
 concealed. I received notice two days 
 ago from Mistress Ward's sister of 
 your good journey and arrival at Lon- 
 don ; and I thank God, my very good 
 child, that he has had thee in his holy 
 keeping and bestowed thee under the 
 roof of my good sister and brother ; so 
 that, with a mind at ease in respect to 
 thee, my dear sole earthly treasure, I 
 may be free to follow whatever course 
 his providence may appoint to me, 
 who, albeit unworthy, do aspire to 
 leave all things to follow him. And 
 indeed he hath already, at the outset 
 of my wanderings, sweetly disposed 
 events in such wise that chance hath 
 proved, as it were, the servant of his 
 providence; and, when I did least 
 look for it, by a divine ordination fur- 
 nished me, w ho so short a time back 
 parted from a dear child, with the com- 
 pany of one who doth stand to me in 
 lieu of her who, by reason of her ten- 
 der sex and age, I am compelled tr, 
 send from me. For being necessita- 
 ted, for the preservation of my life, to 
 make seldom any long stay in one 
 place, I had need of a youth to ride 
 with me on those frequent journeys, 
 and keep me company in such places 
 
64 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 as I may withdraw unto for quietness 
 and study. So being in Stafford some 
 few days back, I inquired of the mas- 
 ter of the inn where I did lay for one 
 night, if it were not possible to get in 
 that city a youth to serve me as a 
 page, whom I said I would maintain 
 as a gentleman if he had learning, 
 nurture, and behavior becoming such 
 a person. He said his son, who was 
 a schoolmaster, had a youth for a 
 pupil who carried virtue in his very 
 countenance ; but that he was the 
 child c£ a widow, who, he much feared, 
 would not easily be persuaded to part 
 from him. Thereupon I expressed a 
 great desire to have a sight of this 
 youth and charged him to deal with 
 his master so that he should be sent to 
 my lodgings ; which, when he came 
 there, lo and behold, I perceived with 
 no small amazement that he was no 
 other than Edmund Genings, who 
 straightway ran into my arms, and 
 with much ado restrained lumself from 
 weeping, so greatly was he moved 
 with conflicting passions of present joy 
 and recollected sorrow at this our un- 
 looked-for meeting ; and truly mine 
 own contentment therein was in no 
 wise less than his. He told me that 
 his mother's poverty increasing, she 
 liad moved from Lichfield, where it 
 was more bitter to her, by reason of 
 ihc affluence in which she had before 
 lived in that city, to Stafford, where 
 none did know them ; and she dwelt 
 in a mean lodging in a poor sort of 
 manner. And whereas he had desired 
 to accept the offer of a stranger, with 
 a view to relieve his mother from the 
 burden of his support, and maybe yield 
 her some assistance in her straits, ho 
 now passionately coveted to throw his 
 fortune with mine, and to bo entered 
 as a page in my service. But though 
 she had been willing before, from ne- 
 cessity, albeit averse by inclination, to 
 part with him, when she knew mc it 
 seemed awhile impossible to gain her 
 consent. Methinks she was privy to 
 Edmund's secret good opinion of Cath- 
 olic religion, and feared, if he should 
 live with me, the effect thereof would 
 
 follow. But her necessities were so 
 shai-p, and likewise her regrets that he 
 should lack opportunities for his fur- 
 ther advance in learning, which she 
 herself was unable to supply, that at 
 length by long entreaty he prevailed 
 on her to give him license for that 
 which his heart did prompt him to de- 
 sire for his own sake and hers. And 
 when she had given this consent, but 
 not before, lest it should appear I did 
 seek to bribe her by such offers to so 
 much condescension as she then 
 evinced, I proposed to assist her in 
 any way she wished to the bettering of 
 her fortunes, and said I would do as 
 much whether she suffered her son to 
 abide with me or no: which did 
 greatly work with her to conceive a 
 more favorable opinion of me than 
 she had heretofore held, and to be con- 
 tented he should remain in my service, 
 as he himself so greatly desired. After 
 some further discourse, it was resolved 
 that 1 should furnish her with so 
 much money as would pay her debts 
 and carry her to La Rochelle, where 
 her youngest son was with her brother, 
 who albeit he had met with great 
 losses, would nevertheless, she felt as- 
 sured, assist her in her need. Thus 
 has Edmund become to mc less a page 
 than a pupil, less a servant than a son. 
 I will keep a watchful eye over his 
 actions, whom I already perceive to 
 be tractable, capable, willing to learn, 
 and altogether such as his early years 
 did promise he should be. I thank 
 God, who has given me so great a 
 comfort in the midst of so great trials, 
 and to this youth in me a father rather 
 than a master, who will ever deal with 
 him in an honorable and loving man- 
 ner, both in respect to his own deserts 
 and to her merits, whose prayers have, 
 I doubt not, procured this admirable 
 result of what was in no wise designed, 
 but by God's providence fell out of 
 the asking a simple question in an inn 
 and of a stranger. 
 
 " And now, mine only and very dear 
 child, I commend thee to God's holy 
 keeping ; and I beseech thee to be as 
 mindful of thy duty to him as thou 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 65 
 
 hast been (and most especially of late) 
 of thine to me ; and imprint in thy 
 heart those words of holy writ, ' Not 
 to fear those that kill the body, but 
 cannot destroy the soul ;* but withal, 
 in whatever is just and reasonable, 
 and not clearly against CathoHc re- 
 ligion, to observe a most exact obe- 
 dience to such as stand to thee at 
 j)resent in place of thy unworthy 
 father, and who, moreover, are of such 
 virtue and piety as I doubt not would 
 move them rather to give thee an ex- 
 ample how to suffer the loss of all 
 things for Christ his sake than to 
 offend him by a contrary disposition. 
 I do write to my good brother by the 
 same convenience to yield him and 
 my sister humble thanks for their 
 great kindness to me in thee, and send 
 this written in haste ; for I fear I shall 
 not often have means hereafter. There- 
 fore I desire Almighty God to protect, 
 bless, and establish thee. So in haste, 
 and in visceribus Christi, adieu." 
 
 The lively joy I received from this 
 letter was greater than I can rehearse, 
 for I had now no longer before my 
 eves the sorrowful visioi] of my dear 
 father with none to tend and comfort 
 him in his wanderings ; and no less 
 was my contentment that Edmund, my 
 dearly-loved playmate, was now with- 
 in reach of his good instructions, and 
 free to follow that which I was per- 
 suaded his conscience had been prompt- 
 ing him to seek since he had attained 
 the age of reason. 
 
 I note not down in this history the 
 many visits I paid to the Charter 
 House that autumn, except to notice 
 the growing care Lady Surrey did take 
 to supply the needs of prisoners and 
 poor people, and how tliis brought her 
 into frequent occasions of discourse 
 with Mistress Ward and Muriel, who 
 nevertheless, as I also had care to ob- 
 serve, kept these interviews secret, 
 which might have caused suspicion in 
 those who, albeit Catholic, were ill- 
 disposed to adventure the loss of worldly 
 advantages by the profession of what 
 Protestants do term perverse and open 
 
 papistry. Kate and Polly were of this 
 way of thinking — ^pnidence was ever 
 the word with them when talk of re- 
 ligion was ministered in their presence 5 
 and they would not keep as much as n 
 prayer-book in their chambers for fear 
 of evil results. They were sometimes 
 very urgent with their father for to 
 suffer them to attend Protestant ser- 
 vice, which they said would not hinder 
 them from hearing mass at convenient 
 times, and saying such prayers as they 
 listed ; and Polly the more so that a 
 young gentleman of good birth and 
 high breeding, who conformed to the 
 times, had become a suitor for her hand, 
 and was very strenuous with her on 
 the necessity of such compliance, which 
 nevertheless her father would not 
 allow of. Much company came to the 
 house, both Protestant and Catholic ; 
 for my aunt, who was sick at other 
 times, did greatly mend toward the 
 evening. When I was first in London 
 for some weeks, she kept me with her 
 at such times in the parlor, and en- 
 couraged me to discourse with the vis- 
 itors ; for she said I had a forwardness 
 and vivacity of speech which, if prac- 
 tised in conversation, would in time 
 obtain for me as great a reputation of 
 wit as Polly ever enjoyed. I was no- 
 thing loth to study in this new school, 
 and not slow to improve in it. At the 
 same time I gave myself greatly to the 
 reading of such books as I found in 
 my cousins' chambers ; amongst which 
 were some M. de la Motte had lent to 
 Polly, marvellous witty and entertain- 
 ing, such as Les Nouvellcs de la Reine 
 de Navarre and the Cents Histoires 
 tragiques ; and others done in English 
 out of French by Mr. Thomas Fortes- 
 cue ; and a poem, writ by one Mr. 
 Edmund Spenser, very beautiful, and 
 wliich did so much bewitch me, that I 
 was wont to rise in the night to read 
 it by the light of the moon at my case- 
 ment window ; and the J/J/-60 d Arthur^ 
 which Mr. Hubert Rookwood had 
 vv'illed me to read, whom I met at Bed- 
 ford, and which so lilled my head with 
 fantastic images and imagined scenes, 
 that I did, as it were, fall in love with ^ 
 
 h 
 
66 
 
 Constaiwe Sherwood, 
 
 Sir Launcelot, and would blush if his 
 name were but mentioned, and wax as 
 angry if his fame were questioned 
 as if he had been a living man, and I 
 in a foolish manner fond of him. 
 
 This continued for some little time, 
 and methinks, had it proceeded further, 
 I should have received much damage 
 from a mode of life with so little of 
 ■disciphne in it, and so great incite- 
 ments to faults and folUes which my 
 nature was prone to, but which my 
 conscience secretly reproved. And 
 among the many reasons I have to be 
 thankful to Mistress Ward, that never- 
 to-be-forgotten friend, whose care re- 
 strained me in these dangerous courses, 
 partly by compulsion through means 
 of her influence with my aunt and her 
 husband, and partly by such admoni- 
 tions and counsel as she favored me 
 with, I reckon amongst the greatest 
 that, at an age when the will is weak, 
 albeit the impulses be good, she lent a 
 helping hand to the superior part of 
 my soul to surmount the evil tenden- 
 cies which bad example on the one 
 hand, and weak indulgence on the 
 other, fostered in me, whose virtuous 
 inclinations had been, up to that time, 
 hedged in by the strong safeguards of 
 parental watchfulness. She procured 
 that I should not tarry, save for brief 
 and scanty spaces of time, in my aunt's 
 parlor when she had visitors, and so 
 contrived that it should be when she 
 herself was present, who, by wholesome 
 checks and studied separation from the 
 rest of the company, reduced my for- 
 wardness with just restraints such as 
 became my age. And when she dis- 
 covered what books I read, oh, with 
 what fervent and strenuous speech she 
 drov.c into my soul the edge of a salu- 
 tarj^ remorse ; with what tearful eyes 
 and pleading voice she brought before 
 me the memory of my mother's care 
 and my father's love, which had ever 
 kept me from drinking such empoisoned 
 •draughts from the well-springs of cor- 
 ruption which in our days books of en- 
 tertainment too often prove, and if not 
 altogether bad, yet be such as vitiate 
 the palate and destroy the appetite for 
 
 higher and purer kinds of mental sus- 
 tenance. Sharp was her correction, 
 but withal so seasoned with tender- 
 ness, and a grief the keenness of which 
 I could discern was heightened by the 
 thought that my two elder cousins 
 (one time her pupils) should be so 
 drawn aside by the world and its 
 pleasures as to forget their pious hab- 
 its, and minister to others the means 
 of such injury as their own souls had 
 sustained, that every word she uttered 
 seemed to sink into my heart as if writ 
 with a pen of fire ; and mostly when 
 she thus concluded her discourse : 
 
 " There hath been times, Constance, 
 when men, yea and women also, might 
 play the I'ool for a while, without so 
 great danger as now, and dally with 
 idle folly like children who do sport on 
 a smooth lawn nigh to a running 
 stream, under their parents' eyes, wlio, 
 if their feet do but slip, are prompt to 
 retrieve them. But such days are 
 gone by for the Catholics of this land. 
 I would have thee to bear in mind 
 that 'tis no common virtue — no con- 
 venient religion — faces the rack, the 
 dungeon, and tli,c rope ; that wanton 
 tales and light verses are no viaticum 
 for a journey beset with such perils. 
 And thou — thou least of all — whose 
 gentle mother, as thou well knowest, 
 died of a broken heart from the fear 
 to betray her faith — thou, whose father 
 doth even now gird himself for a fight, 
 where to win is to die on a scaffold — 
 shouldst scorn to omit such prepai'a- 
 tion as may befit thee to live, if it so 
 please God, or to die, if such be his 
 will, a true member of his holy Catho- 
 lic Church. O Constance, it doth 
 grieve me to the heart that thou 
 shouldst so much as once have risen 
 from thy bed at night to feed thy mind 
 with the vain words of profane writers, 
 in place of nurturing thy soul by such 
 reasonable exercises and means as God, 
 through the teaching of his Church, 
 doth provide for the spiritual grow.h 
 of his children, and by prayer and pen- 
 ance make ready for coming conflicts. 
 Bethink thee of the many holy priests, 
 yea and laymen also, who be in uneasy 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 67 
 
 dungeons at tlils time, lying on filthy 
 straw, with chains on their bruised 
 limbs, but lately racked and tormented 
 for their religion, whilst thou didst 
 offend God by such wanton conduct. 
 Count up the times thou hast thus 
 offended ; and so many times rise in 
 the night, my good child, and say the 
 psalm 'Miserere,' through which we 
 do especially entreat forgiveness for 
 our sins." 
 
 I cast myself in her arms, and with 
 many bitter tears lamented my folly ; 
 and did promise her then, and, I thank 
 God, ever after did keep that promise, 
 whilst I abode under the same roof 
 with her, to read no books but such as 
 she should warrant me to peruse. 
 Some days after she procured Mr. 
 Congleton's consent, who also went 
 with us, to carry me to the Marshalsea, 
 whither she had free access at that 
 time by reason of her acquaintanceship 
 with the gaoler's wife, who, when a 
 maid, had been a servant in her family, 
 and who, having been once Catholic, 
 did willingly assist such prisoners as 
 came there for their religion. There 
 we saw Mr. Hart, who hath been this 
 long while confined in a dark cell, with 
 nothing but boards to lie on till Mistress 
 Ward gave him a counterpane, which 
 she concealed under her shawl, and the 
 gaoler was prevailed on by his wife not 
 to take from him. He was cruelly tor- 
 tured some time since, and condemned 
 to die on the same day as Mr. Luke Kir- 
 by and some others on a like charge, that 
 he did deny the queen's supremacy in 
 spiritual matters ; but he was taken off 
 the sledge and returned to prison. He 
 did take it very quietly and patiently ; 
 and when Mr. Congleton expressed a 
 hope he might soon be released from 
 prison, he smiled and said : 
 
 " My good friend, my crosses are 
 light and easy ; and the being deprived 
 of all ear Lilly comfort affords a heavenly 
 joy, which maketh my prison happy, 
 my coniineraent merciful, my solitude 
 lull of blessings. To God, therefore, 
 be all praise, honor, and glory, for so un- 
 speakable a benefit bestowed upon his 
 poor, wretched, and unworthy servant." 
 
 So did he comfort those who were 
 more grieved for him than he for him- 
 self; and each in turn we did confess ; 
 and after I had disburdened my con- 
 science in such wise that he perceived 
 the temper of my mind, and where to 
 apply remedies to the dangers the na- 
 ture of which his clearsightedness did 
 foresee, he thus addressed me : 
 
 " The world, my dear daughter, 
 soon begins to seem insipid, and all its 
 pleasures grow bitter as gall ; all the 
 fine shows and delights it affords ap- 
 pear empty and good for nothing to 
 such as have tasted the happiness of 
 conversing with Christ, though it be 
 amidst toi-ments and tribulations, yea 
 and in the near approach of death it- 
 self. This joy so penetrates the soul, 
 so elevates the spirit, so changes the 
 affections, that a prison seems noi: a 
 prison but a paradise, death a goal long- 
 time desired, and the torments which 
 do accompany it jewels of great pricf. 
 Take with thee these words, which bo 
 the greatest treasure and the raros 
 lesson for these times : ' He that love I ; 
 his life in this world shall lose it, an 1 
 he that hateth it shall find it ;' and re- 
 member the devil is always upon t!i" 
 watch. Be you also watchful. Pra*- 
 you for me. I have a great confiden .*e 
 that we shall see one another in heave ;i 
 if you keep inviolable the word you 
 have given to God to be true to his 
 Catholic Church and obedient to i:s 
 precepts, and he gives me the grace to 
 attain unto that same blessed end." 
 
 These words, like the sower's seed, 
 fell into a field where thorns oftentimes 
 threatened to choke their effect; but 
 persecution, when it arose, consumed 
 the thorns as with fire, and the plant, 
 which would have withered in stony 
 ground, bore fruit in a prepared soil. 
 
 As we left the prison, it did happen 
 that, passing by the gaoler's lodge, I 
 saw him sitting at a table drinking ale 
 with one whose back was to the door. 
 A suspicion came over me, the most 
 unlikely in the world, for it was against 
 all credibility, and I had not seen so 
 much as that* person's face ; but in the 
 sliapc of his head and the manner 0/ 
 
68 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 his sitting, but for a moment observed, 
 there was a resemblance to Edmund 
 Genings, the thought of which I could 
 not shake off. When we were walk- 
 ing home, Mr. Congleton said Mr. 
 Hart ht^d told him that a short time 
 back a gentleman had been seized, 
 and committed to close confinement, 
 whom he believed, though he had not 
 attained to the certainty thereof, to be 
 Mr. Willisden ; and if it were so, that 
 much trouble might ensue to many 
 recusants, by reason of that gentleman 
 having dealt in matters of great im- 
 portance to such persons touching 
 lands and other affairs whereby their 
 fortunes and maybe their lives might 
 be compromised. On hearing of this, 
 I straightway conceived a sudden fear 
 lest it should be my father and not Mr. 
 Willisden was confined in that prison ; 
 and the impression I had received 
 touching the youth who was at table 
 with the gaoler grew so strong in con- 
 sequence, that all sorts of fears founded 
 thereon ran through my mind, for I 
 liad often heard how persons did de- 
 ceive recusants by feigning themselves 
 to be their friends, and then did de- 
 nounce them to the council, and pro- 
 cured their arrest and oftentimes their 
 condemnation by distorting and false 
 swearing touching the speech they 
 held with them. One Eliot in partic- 
 ular, who was a man of great modesty 
 and ingenuity of countenance, so as 
 to defy suspicion (but a very wicked 
 man in more ways than one, as has 
 been since proved), who pretended to 
 be Catholic, and when he did suspect 
 any to be a Jesuit, or a seminary priest, 
 or only a recusant, he would straight- 
 way enter into discourse with him, and 
 in an artful manner cause him to betray 
 himself; whereupon he was not slow 
 to throw off the mask, whereby several 
 had been already brought to the rope. 
 And albeit I would not credit that 
 Edmund should be such a one, the 
 rvil of the times was so great that my 
 neart did misgive me concerning him, 
 if indeed he was the youth whom I 
 had espied on such fiimiliar terms with 
 that ruffianly gaoler. I had no rest 
 
 for some days, lacking the means to 
 discover the truth of that suspicion; 
 for Mrs. Ward, to whom I did impart 
 it, dared not adventure again that 
 week to the Marshalsea, by reason of 
 the gaoler's wife having charged her 
 not to come frequently, for that her 
 husband had suddenly suspected her 
 to be a recusant, and would by no means 
 allow of her visits to the prisoners ; 
 but that when he was drunk she could 
 sometimes herself get his keys and let 
 her in, but not too often. Mr. Congle- 
 ton would have it the prisoner must be 
 Mr. Willisden and no other, and took 
 no heed of my fears, which he said had 
 no reasonable grounds, as I had not so 
 much as seen the features of the youth 
 I took to be my father's page. But I 
 could by no means be satisfied, and 
 wept very much ; and I mind me how, 
 in the midst of my tears that evening, 
 my eyes fell on the frontispiece of a 
 volume of the Morte d' Arthur which 
 had been loosened when the book was 
 in my chamber, and in which was a 
 picture of Sir Launcelot, the present 
 mirror of my fancy. I had pinned it to 
 my curtain, and jewelled it as a treas- 
 ure and fund of foolish musings, even 
 after yielding up, with promise to 
 read no more therein, the book which 
 had once held it. And thus were 
 kept alive the fantastic in>aglnings 
 wherewith I clothed a creature con- 
 ceived in a writer's brain, whose nobil- 
 ity was the offspring of his thoughts 
 and the continual entertainment of 
 mine own. But, oh, how just did I 
 now find the words of a virtuous friend, 
 and how childish my folly, when the 
 true sharp edge of present fear dis- 
 persed these vapory clouds, even as 
 the keen blast of a north wind doth 
 drive away a noxious mist! The 
 sight of the dismal dungeon that day 
 visited, the pallid features of that true 
 confessor therein immured, his soul- 
 piercing words, and the apprehensions 
 which were wringing my heart — ban- 
 ished of a sudden an idle dream en- 
 gendered by vain readings and vainer 
 musings, and Sir Launcelot held hence- 
 forward no higher, or not so high, a 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 69 
 
 place In my esteem as the good Sir 
 Guy of Warwick, or the brave Hector 
 de Valence. 
 
 A day or two after, my Lady Surrey 
 sent her coach for me ; and I found her 
 in her dressing-room seated on a couch 
 with her waiting-women and Mistress 
 Milicent around her, who were display- 
 ing a great store of rich suits and jew- 
 els and such-like gear drawn from 
 wardrobes and closets, the doors of 
 which were thrown open, and little 
 Mistress Bess was on tiptoe on a stool 
 afore a mirror with a diamond neck- 
 lace on, ribbons flaring about her head, 
 and a fan of ostrich-feathers in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Ah, sweet one,'' said my lady, w^hen 
 I came in, " thou must needs be sur- 
 prised at this show of bravery, which 
 ill consorts with the mourning of our 
 present garb or the grief of our hearts ; 
 but, i' faith, Constance, strange things 
 do come to pass, and such as I would 
 fain hinder if I could." 
 
 "Make ready thine ears for great 
 news, good Constance," cried Bess, 
 running toward me encumbered with 
 her finery, and tumbling over sundry 
 pieces of head-gear in her way, to the 
 waiting-woman's no small discomfiture. 
 " The queen's majesty doth visit upon 
 next Sunday the Earl and Countess of 
 Surrey; and as her highness cannot 
 endure the sight of dool, they and their 
 household must needs put it off and 
 array themselves in their costliest 
 suits ; and Nan is to put on her choic- 
 est jewels, and my Lady Bess must be 
 grand too, to salute the queen." 
 
 " Hush, Bessy," said my lady ; and 
 leading me into the adjoining chamber, 
 *' 'tis hard," quoth she, holding my hand 
 in hers, — " 'tis hard when his grace is 
 in the Tower and in disgrace with her 
 majesty, and only six weeks since our 
 Moll died, that she must needs visit 
 this house, where there be none to en- 
 tertain her highness but his grace's 
 poor children ; 'tis hard, Constance, to 
 be constrained to kiss the hand which 
 threatens his life w^ho gave my lord 
 his, and mostly to smile at the queen's 
 jesting, which my Lord Arundel saith 
 
 we must of all things take heed to ob- 
 serve, for that she as little can endure 
 dool in the face as in the dress." 
 
 A few tears fell from those sweet 
 eyes upon my hand, which she still 
 held, and I said, " Comfort you, my 
 sweet lady. It must needs be that her 
 majesty doth intend favor to his grace 
 through this visit. Her highness would 
 never be minded to do so much honor 
 to the children if she did not purpose 
 mercy to the father." 
 
 " I would fain believe it were so," 
 said the countess, thoughtfully ; " but 
 my Lord Arundel and my Lady Lum- 
 ley hold not, I fear, the same opinion. 
 And I do hear from them that his grace 
 is much troubled thereat, and hath writ- 
 ten to the Earl of Leicester and my 
 Lord Burleigh to lament the queen's 
 determination to visit his son, who is 
 not of age to receive her."* 
 
 " And doth my Lord of Surrey take 
 the matter to heart ?" 
 
 " My lord's disposition doth incllisc 
 him to conceive hope where others f (;o 
 reason to fear," she replied. '• He 
 saith he is glad her majesty shoii <I 
 come to this house, and that he v.lil 
 take occasion to petition her grace i . j 
 release his father from the Tower ; 
 and he hath drawn up an address to 
 that effect, w^hich is marvellous v/e";l 
 expressed; and, since 'tis written, h(; 
 makes no more doubt that her majestj- 
 will accede to it than if the upshot was 
 not yet to come, but already past. And 
 he hath set himself with a skill beyond 
 his years, and altogether wonderful in 
 one so young, to prepare all things for 
 the queen's reception; so that when 
 his grandfather did depute my Lord 
 Berkeley and my Lady Lumley to as- 
 sist us (he himself being too sick to go 
 out of his house) in the ordering of the 
 collation in the banqueting-room, and 
 the music wherewith to greet her high- 
 ness on her arrival, as well as the cere- 
 monial to be observed during her visit, 
 they did find that my lord had so dis- 
 
 * Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series, 
 1547 to 1580: "'Duke of Norfolli to the Earl of 
 Leicester and Lord Burleigh : laments the 
 queen's determination to visit his son's house, 
 who is not of age to receive her." 
 
70 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 posedly and with so great taste or- 
 dained the rules to he observed, and 
 the proper setting forth of all things, 
 that little remained for them to do. 
 And he will have me to be richly 
 dressed, and to j)ut on the jewels which 
 were his mother's, which, since her 
 death, have not been worn by the two 
 Duchesses of Norfolk which did suc- 
 ceed her. Ah me. Mistress Constance, 
 I often wish my lord and I had been 
 born far from the court, in some quiet 
 country place, where there are no 
 queens to entertain, and no plots which 
 do bring nobles into so great dangers." 
 
 "Alack," I cried, "dear lady, 'tis 
 not the highest in the land that be 
 alone to suffer. Their troubles do 
 stand forth in men's eyes ; and when 
 a noble head is imperilled all the world 
 doth know of it ; but blood is spilt in 
 this land, and torments endured, which 
 no pen doth chronicle, and of which 
 scant mention is made in palaces." 
 
 " There is a passion in thy speech," 
 my lady said, " which betrayeth a se- 
 cret uneasiness of heart. Hast thou 
 had ill news, my Constance ?" 
 
 " No news, " I answered, " but that 
 which my fears do invent and whis- 
 per;" and then I related to her the 
 cause of my disturbance, which she 
 sought to allay by kind words, which 
 nevertheless failed to comfort me. 
 
 Before I left she did propose I should 
 come to the Charter House on the 
 morning of the queen's visit, and bring 
 Mistress Ward and my cousins also, as 
 it would pleasure them to stand in the 
 gallery and witness the entertainment, 
 and albeit my heart was heavy, me- 
 thought it was an occasion not to be 
 overpast to feast my eyes with the 
 Bight of majesty, and to behold that 
 
 great queen who doth hold in her 
 hands her subjects' lives, and who, if 
 she do but nod, like the god of the 
 heathen which books do speak of, such 
 terrible effects ensue, greater than can 
 be thought of ; and so I gave my lady 
 mine humble thanks, and also for that 
 she did gift me with a dainty hat and 
 a well-embroidered suit to wear on that 
 day ; which, when Kate saw, she fell 
 into a wonderful admiration of the pat- 
 tern, and did set about to get it copied 
 afore the day of the royal visit to 
 Howard House. As I returned to 
 Holborn in my lady's coach there was 
 a great crowd in the Cornhill, and the 
 passage for a while arrested by the 
 number of persons on their way to 
 what is now called the Royal Ex- 
 change, which her majesty was to visit 
 in the evening. I sat very quietly with 
 mine eyes fixed on the foot-passengers, 
 not so much looking at their faces as 
 watching their passage, which, like 
 the running of a river, did seem end- 
 less. But at last it somewhat slack- 
 ened, and the coach moved on, when, 
 at the corner of a street, nigh unto a 
 lamp over a shop, which did throw a 
 light on his face, I beheld Edmund 
 Genings. Oh, how my heart did beat, 
 and with what a loud cry I did call to 
 the running footmen to stop ! But the 
 noise of the street was so great they 
 did not hear me, and I saw him turn 
 and pursue his way down another 
 street toward the river. My good 
 uncle, when he heard I had verily seen 
 my father's new page in the city, gave 
 more heed to my suspicions, and did 
 promise to go himself unto the Mar- 
 shalsea on the next day, and seek to 
 verify the name of the prisoner Mr. 
 Hart had made mention of. 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 CIIAPTEU IX, 
 
 On the next morning, Mr. Coii- 
 gleton called me into the library 
 1'rom the garden, wliere I was 
 gatliering for Muriel a few of 
 such liardy flowers as had sur- 
 vived the early frost. She was 
 wont to carry them with her to 
 tlie prisons ; for it was one of 
 lier kindly apprehensions of the 
 sufferings of others to divide the 
 comfort wherewith things seem- 
 ingly indifferent do affect those 
 that he shut out of all kinds 
 of enjoyments.; and where a less 
 tender nature should have been 
 (content to provide necessaries, 
 she, through a more delicate ac- 
 quaintanceship and light touch, 
 as it were, on the strings of 
 the human heart, ever bethought 
 herself when it was possible to 
 minister if but one minute's 
 ])leasure to those who had often 
 Avell-nigh forgotten the very taste 
 of it. And she hath told me 
 touching that point of flowers, 
 liow it had once happened that 
 the scent of some violets she had 
 concealed in her bosom with a 
 like intent did move to tears an 
 aged man, who for many years 
 past had not seen, no not so 
 much as one green leaf in his 
 prison ; which tears, he said, did 
 him more good than anything else 
 which could have happened to 
 him. 
 
 I threw down on a bench the 
 chrysanthemums and other bold 
 blossoms 1 had gathered, and, run- 
 ning into the house, opened the 
 door of the library, where, lo and 
 behold, to my no small agitation 
 and amaze, I discovered Edmund 
 
 Genings, who cried out r.s I en- 
 tered : 
 
 " O my dear master's daughter 
 and well-i*emembered playmate ! I 
 do greet you with all mine heart ; 
 and I thank God that I see you 
 in so good a condition, as I may 
 with infinite gladness make report 
 of to your good father, who 
 through me doth impart to you 
 his paternal blessing and most 
 affectionate commendations." 
 
 " Edmund," I cried, scarce able 
 to speak for haste, " is he iu Lon- 
 don ? is he in prison ?"' 
 
 " No, forsooth," quoth Mr, Con- 
 gleton. 
 
 " No, verily," quoth Edmund ; 
 both at the same time. 
 
 " Thy fears, silly wench," added 
 the first, " have run away with thy 
 w^its, and I do counsel thee another 
 time to be at more ])ains to re- 
 strain them ; for when there be 
 so many occasions to be afraid 
 of veritable evils, 'tis but sorry 
 waste to spend fears on jd resent 
 fancies." 
 
 By which I did conjecture my 
 uncle not to be greatly j^leased 
 with Edmund's comino: to liis 
 house, and noticed that he did 
 fidget in his chair and ever and 
 anon glanced at the windows which 
 opened on the garden, in an uneasy 
 manner 
 
 " And wherefore art thou, then, . 
 in London ?" I asked of Edmund ; , 
 who thus answered : 
 
 " Because Mr. James Fenn, who 
 is also called Williesden, was taken 
 and committed close prisoner to 
 
72 
 
 Constance Slierwood, 
 
 the Marslialsca a short tira'c back ; 
 which, when my dear master did 
 hear of, he was greatly disturbed 
 and tnrmoiled thereby, by reason 
 of weighty matters having passed 
 betwixt him and that gentleman 
 touching lands belonging to re- 
 cusants, and that extraordinary 
 damage was likely to ensue to se- 
 veral persons of great merit, if he 
 could not advertise him in time 
 how to answer to those accusa- 
 tions which would be laid against 
 him; and did seek if by any 
 means he could have access to 
 him ; but could find no hope there- 
 of without imminent danger not to 
 himself only, but to many beside, 
 if he had come to London and been 
 recognized." 
 
 " Wherein he did judge right- 
 ly," quoth my uncle ; and then 
 Edmund — 
 
 " So, seeing my master and 
 others of a like faith with him 
 in so great straits touching their 
 property and their lives also, I 
 did most earnestly crave his li- 
 cense, being unknown and of no 
 account in the world, and so least 
 to be suspected, to undertake this 
 enterprise, which he could not him- 
 self perform ; which at last he did 
 grant me, albeit not without re- 
 luctance. And thus resolved I 
 came to town." 
 
 " And has your hope been frus- 
 trated ?" Mr. Congleton asked. To 
 whom Edmund — 
 
 *' I thank God, the end hath an- 
 swered my expectations. I com- 
 mitted the cause to him to whom 
 nothing is impossible, and deter- 
 mined, like a trusty servant, to 
 
 do all that in me did lie thereuntc- 
 And thinking on no other mean?. 
 I took up my abode near to th" 
 prison, hoping in time to get ne 
 quainted with the keeper ; for 
 which purpose I had to drink 
 with him each day, standing tlie 
 cost, besides paying him well, 
 which I was furnished Avitli llio 
 means to do. At last I did, by 
 his means, procure to see l\h\ 
 Fenn, and not only come to speak- 
 to him, but to have access to 
 his cell three or four times witli 
 pen and ink and paper to write 
 his mind. So I have furnished 
 him with the information he had 
 need of, and likewise brought 
 away with me sucli answers to 
 my master's questions as shouhl 
 solve his doubts how to proceed 
 in the aforesaid matters." 
 
 " God reward thee, my goo*! 
 youth," Mr. Congleton said, " for 
 this thing which thou hast done ; 
 for verily, under the laws" lately 
 set forth, recusants be in such 
 condition that, if not death, beg- 
 gary doth stare them in the face, 
 and no remedy thereunto except 
 by such assistance as well-disposed 
 Protestants be willing to yield to 
 them." 
 
 " And where doth my father 
 stay at this present time ? " I 
 asked. And Edmund answered : 
 
 " Not so much as to you, Mis- 
 tress Constance, am I free to 
 reply to that question ; for when 
 I left, * Edmund,' quoth my mas- 
 ter, * it is a part of prudence in 
 these days to guard those that be 
 dear to us from dangers ensuinLr 
 on what men call our perve»>i- 
 ty ; and as these new laws enact 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 73 
 
 that lie which knowcth any one which 
 doth hear mass, be it ever so private- 
 ly, or suffers a priest to absolve him, 
 or performs any other action apper- 
 taining to Catholic religion, and doth 
 not discover him before some public 
 magistrate within the space of twenty 
 days next following, shall suffer the pun- 
 ishment of high treason, than which 
 nothing can be more horrible ; and that 
 neither sex nor age be a cause of ex- 
 emption from the like penalties, so 
 that father must accuse son, and sis- 
 ter brother, and children their parents ; 
 — it is, I say, a merciful part to hide 
 from our friends where we do conceal 
 ourselves, whose consciences do charge 
 us with these novel crimes, lest theirs 
 be also burdened with the choice either 
 to denounce us if called upon to testi- 
 fy thereon, or else to speak falsely. 
 Therefore I do charge thee, my son 
 Edmund' (for thus indeed doth my 
 master term me, his unworthy ser- 
 vant), ' that thou keep from my good 
 child, and my dear sister, and her no 
 less dear husband, the knowledge of 
 my present, but indeed ever-shift- 
 ing, abode; and solely inform them, 
 by word of mouth, that I am in good 
 health, and in very good heart also, 
 and do most earnestly pray for them, 
 that their strength and patience be 
 such as the times do require.' " 
 
 "And art thou reconciled, Ed- 
 mund ? " I asked, ever speaking has- 
 tily and beforehand with prudence. 
 Mr. Congleton checked me sharply; 
 whereupon, with great confusion, I in- 
 terrupted my speech ; but Edmund, al- 
 beit not in words yet by signs, an- 
 swered my question so as I should be 
 certified it was even as I hoped. 
 He then asked if I should not be 
 glad to write a letter to my father, 
 which he would carry to him, so that 
 it was 'neither signed nor addressed, 
 — which letter I did sit down to com- 
 pose in a hurried manner, my heart 
 prompting my pen to utter what it 
 listed, rather than weighing the words 
 in which those affectionate sentiments 
 were expressed. Mr. Congleton like- 
 wise did write to him, whilst Edmund 
 
 took some food, which he greatly 
 needed ; for he had scarce eaten so 
 much as one comfortable meal since 
 he had been in London, and was to 
 ride day and night till he reached his 
 master. I wept very bitterly when he 
 went away ; for the sight of him re- 
 called the dear mother I had lost, the 
 sole parent whose company I was like- 
 wise reft of, and the home I was never 
 like to see again. But when those 
 tears were stayed, that which at the 
 time did cause sadness ministered com- 
 fort in the retrospect, and relief from 
 worse fears made the present separa- 
 tion from my father more tolerable. 
 And on the next Sunday, when I went 
 to the Charter House, with my cousins 
 and Mistress Ward, I was in such 
 good cheer that Polly commended my 
 prating ; which she said for some days 
 had been so stayed that she had great- 
 ly feared I had caught the infectious 
 plague of melancholy from Kate, whom 
 she vowed did half kill her with tlie 
 sound of her doleful sighino; since Mr. 
 Lacy was gone, which she said was a 
 dismal music brought into fashion by 
 love-sick ladies, and such as she never 
 did intend to practise; "for," quoth 
 she, " I hold care to be the worst en- 
 emy in life ; and to be in love very 
 dull sport, if it serve not to make one 
 merry." This she said turning to Sir 
 Ralph Ligoldby, the afore-mentioned 
 suitor for her hand, who went with us, 
 and thereupon cried out, " Mercy on 
 us, fair mistress, if we must be merry 
 when we be sad, and by merriment 
 win a lady's love, the lack of which 
 doth so take away merriment that we 
 must needs be sad, and so lose that 
 which should cure sadness ; " and much 
 more he in that style, and she answer- 
 ing and making sport of his discourse, 
 as was her wont with all gentlemen. 
 
 When we reached the house, Mrs. 
 Milicent was awaiting us at the door 
 of the gallery for to conduct us to the 
 best place wherein we could see hei- 
 majesty's entrance. There were some 
 seats there and other persons present, 
 some of which were of Polly's acquain- 
 tance, with whom she did keep up a 
 
74 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 brisk conversation, in which I had oc- 
 casion to notice the sharpness of her 
 wit, in which she did surpass any wo- 
 man I liavc since known, for she was 
 never at a loss for an answer ; as when 
 one said to her — 
 
 " Truly, you have no mean opinion 
 of yourself, fair mistress." 
 
 " As one shall prize himself," quoth 
 she, " so let him look to be valued by 
 others." 
 
 And another : " You tliink yourself 
 to be Minerva." 
 
 Whereupon she : " No, sir, not when 
 I be at your elbow ; " meaning he was 
 no Ulysses. 
 
 And when one gentleman asked her 
 of a book, if she had read it: 
 
 "The epistle," she said, "and no 
 more." 
 
 "And wherefore no more," quoth 
 he, " since that hath wit in it ? " 
 
 " Because," she answered, " an au- 
 thor who sets all his wit in his epistle 
 is like to make his book resemble a 
 bankrupt's doublet." 
 
 " How so ? " asked the gentleman. 
 
 " In this wise," saith she, " that he 
 sets the velvet before, though the back 
 bo but of buckram." 
 
 " For my part," quoth a foppish 
 young man, " I have thoughts in my 
 mind should fill many volumes." 
 
 " Alack, good sir," cries she, "is there 
 no type good enough to set them in ?" 
 
 He, somewhat nettled, declares that 
 she reads no books but of one sort, 
 and doats on Sir Bevis and Owlglass, 
 or Fashion's Mirror, and such like idle 
 stuff, wherein he himself had never 
 found so much as one word of profit- 
 able use or reasonable entertainment. 
 "I have read a fable," she said, 
 " which speaks of a pasture in which 
 oxen find fodder, hounds, hares, storks, 
 lizards, and some animals nothing." 
 
 " To deliver you my opinion," said 
 a lady who sat next to Polly's disput- 
 ant, " I have no great esteem for let- 
 ters in gentlewomen. The greatest 
 readers be oft the worst doers." 
 
 "Letters!" cries Polly; "why, 
 surely they be the most weighty things 
 in creation ; for so much as the differ- 
 
 ence of one letter mistaken in the or- 
 der in which it should stand in a short 
 sentence doth alter the expression of 
 a man's resolve in a matter of life and 
 death." 
 
 " How prove you that, madam ? " 
 quoth the lady. 
 
 " By the same token," answered 
 Polly, " that I once did hear a gentle- 
 man say, 'I must go die a beggar,' 
 who willed to say, ' I must go buy a 
 dagger.' " 
 
 They all did laugh, and then some one 
 said, " There was a witty book of em- 
 blems made on all the cardinals at 
 Rome, in which these scarlet princes 
 were very roughly handled. Bellar- 
 mine, for instance, as a tiger fast 
 chained to a post, and a scroll proceed- 
 ing from the beast's mouth — ' Give me 
 my liberty ; you shall see what I am.' 
 I wish," quoth the speaker, "he 
 were let loose in this island. The 
 queen's judges would soon constrain 
 him to eat his words." , 
 
 " Peradventure," answered Polly, 
 "his own words should be too good 
 food for a recusant in her majesty's 
 prisons." 
 
 " Maybe, madam, you have tasted 
 of that food," quoth the aforesaid lady, 
 " that you be so well acquainted with 
 its qualities." 
 
 Then I perceived that Mistress Ward 
 did nudge Polly for to stay her from 
 carrying on a further encounter of 
 words on this subject ; for, as she did 
 remind us afterward, many persons 
 had been thrown mto prison for only 
 so much as a word lightly spoken in 
 conversation which should be supposed 
 even in a remote manner to infer a fa- 
 vorable opinion of Catholic religion ; as, 
 for instance, a bookseller in Oxford, for 
 a jest touching the queen's supremacy 
 in ecclesiastical matters, had been a 
 short time before arrested, pilloried, 
 whipped, and his ears nailed to a 
 counter, which with a knife he had 
 himself to cut through to free himself; 
 which maybe had not been taken much 
 notice of, as nothing singular in these 
 days, the man being a Catholic and of 
 no great note, but that mucli talk had 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 75 
 
 been ministered concerning a terrible 
 disease which broke out immediately 
 after the passing of that sentence, by 
 which the judge which had pronounced 
 it, the jury, and many other persons 
 concerned in it, had died raving 
 mad ; to the no small affright of the 
 whole city. I ween, howsoever, no 
 nudging should have stopped Polly 
 Irom talking, which indeed was a pas- 
 sion with her, but that a burst of mu- 
 sic at that time did announce the 
 queen's approach, and we did all 
 stand up on the tiptoe of expectation 
 to see her majesty enter. 
 
 My heart did beat as fast as the 
 pendulum of a clock when the cries 
 outside resounded, " Long live Queen 
 Ehzabeth!" and her majesty's voice 
 was distinctly heard answering, " I 
 thank you, my good people ; " and the 
 ushers crying out, " La Royne ! " as 
 the great door was thrown open ; 
 through which we did see her majesty 
 alight from her coach, followed by 
 many nobles and lords, and amongst 
 ihem one of her bishops, and my Lord 
 and my Lady Surrey, kneeling to re- 
 ceive her on the steps, with a goodly 
 company of kinsfolks and friends 
 around them. Oh, how I did note 
 every lineament of that royal lady, of 
 so great power and majesty, that it 
 should seem as if she were not made 
 of the same mould as those of whom 
 the Scriptures do say, that dust they 
 are, and to dust must they return. 
 Very majestic did she appear; her 
 stature neither tall nor low, but her 
 air exceedingly stately. Her eyes 
 small and black, her face fair, her nose 
 a Httle hooked, and her lips narrow. 
 Upon her head she had a small crown, 
 her bosom was uncovered; she wore 
 an oblong collar of gold and jewels, 
 and on her neck an exceeding fine 
 necklace. She was dressed in white 
 silk bordered with pearls, and over it 
 a mantle of black silk shot with silver 
 threads ; her train, which was borne 
 by her ladies, was very long. When 
 my lord knelt, she pulled off her glove, 
 and gave him her right hand to kiss, 
 sparkhng with rings and jewels ; but 
 
 when my lady, in as sweet and modest 
 a manner as can be thought of, ad- 
 vanced to pay her the same homage, 
 she did withdraw it hastily and moved 
 on. I can even now, at this distance 
 of time, call to mind the look of that 
 sweet lady's face as she rose to follow 
 her majesty, who leant on my lord' 
 arm with a show of singular favor, ad 
 dressing herself to him in a mild, play- 
 ful, and obliging manner. How the 
 young countess's cheek did glow with a 
 burning blush, as if doubting if she had 
 offended in the manner of her behavi- 
 or, or had anyways merited the re- 
 pulse she had met with ! How she 
 stood- for one moment irresolute, seek- 
 ing to catch my lord's eye, so as to be 
 directed by him^ and failing to do so, 
 with a pretty smile, but with what I, 
 who loved her, fancied to be a quiver- 
 ing hp, addressed herself to the ladies 
 of the queen, and conducted them 
 through the cloisters to the garden, 
 whither her highness and my lord had 
 gone. 
 
 In a brief time Mistress Milicent 
 came to fetch us to a window which 
 looked on the square, where a great 
 open tent was set for a collation, and 
 seats all round it for the concert which 
 was to follow. As we went along, I 
 took occasion to ask of her the name 
 of a waiting-gentleman, who ordered 
 about the servants with no small alac- 
 rity, and met her majesty with many 
 bows and quirks and a long compli- 
 ment in verse. 
 
 "Tis Mr. Churchyard," she said; 
 " a retainer of his grace's, and a poet 
 withal." 
 
 *' Not a grave one, I hope," said 
 Polly. 
 
 " Nay," answered the simple gentle- 
 woman, "but one well versed in pa 
 geants and tournaments and suchlike 
 devices, as well as in writing of verses 
 and epigrams very fine and witty. 
 Her majesty doth sometimes send for 
 him when any pageant is on hand." 
 
 " Ah, then, I doubt not," quoth 
 Polly, " he doth take himself to be no 
 mean personage in the state, and so 
 behaves accordingly." 
 
76 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 Pretty Milicent left us to seek for 
 Mistress Bess, whom she had charge 
 of that day ; and now our eyes were 
 so mtent on watching the spectacle 
 before us that even Polly for a while 
 was silent. The queen did sit at ta- 
 ble with a store of noblemen waiting 
 on her ; and a more goodly sight and 
 a rarer one is not to be seen than a 
 store of men famed for so much brav- 
 ery and wit and arts of state, that 
 none have been found to surpass them 
 in any age, who be so loyal to a 
 queen and so reverent to a woman 
 as these to this lady, who doth wear 
 the crown of so great a kingdom, so 
 that all the world doth hold it in re- 
 spect, and her hand sought by so many 
 great princes. But all this time I 
 could not perceive that she so much 
 as once did look toward my Lady Sur- 
 rey, or spoke one single word to her 
 or to my Lady Lumley, or little Bess, 
 and took very scanty notice also of my 
 Lady Berkeley, his grace's sister, who 
 was a lady of so great and haughty a 
 stomach, and of speech so eloquent 
 and ready, that I have heard the 
 queen did say, that albeit Lady Ber- 
 keley bent her knee when she made 
 obeisance to her, she could very well 
 see she bent not her will to love or 
 serve her, and that she liked not such 
 as have a man's heart in a woman's 
 body. 'Tis said that parity breedeth 
 not affection, or affinity respect, of 
 which saying this opinion of the 
 queen's should seem a notable exam- 
 ple. But to see my Lady Surrey so 
 treated in her own husband's father's 
 house worked in me such effects of 
 choler, mingled with sadness, that I 
 could scarce restrain my tears. Me- 
 tliought there was a greater nobleness 
 and a more true queenly greatness in 
 her meek and withal dignified endur- 
 ance of these slights who was the sub- 
 ject, than in the sovereign who did so 
 insult one who least of all did deserve 
 it. What the queen did, others took 
 pattern from; and neither my Lord 
 Burleigh, nor my Lord Leicester, or 
 Sir Christopher Hatton, or young Lord 
 Essex (albeit my loid's own friend j, 
 
 or little Sir John Harrington, her ma- 
 jesty's godson, did so much as speak 
 one civil word or show her the least at- 
 tention ; but she did bear herself with 
 GO much sweetness, and, though I knew 
 her heart was full almost to bursting, 
 kept up so brave an appearance that 
 none should see it except such as had 
 their own hearts wounded through 
 hers, that some were present that day 
 who since have told me that, for prom- 
 ise of future distinction and true nobil- 
 ity of aspect and behavior, they had 
 not in their whole lives known one to 
 be compared with the young Countess 
 of Surrey. 
 
 Polly did point out to us the afore- 
 said noblemen and gentlemen, and also 
 Dr. Cheney, the bishop of Gloucester, 
 who had accompanied her majesty, and 
 M. de la Motte, the French amJ)assa- 
 dor, whom she did seem greatly to fa- 
 vor ; but none that day so much as my 
 Lord Surrey, on whom she let fall 
 many gracious smiles, and used play- 
 ful fashions with him, such as nipping 
 him once or l:\vice on the forehead, and 
 shaking her fan, as if to reprove him 
 for his answers to her questions, which 
 nevertheless, if her countenance might 
 be judged of, did greatly content her ; 
 albeit I once observed her to frown 
 (and methought, then, what a terror 
 doth lie in a sovereign's frown) and 
 speak sharply to him ; at the which a 
 high color came into his cheek, and 
 rose up even to his temples, which her 
 majesty perceiving, she did again use 
 the same blandishments as before ; 
 and when the collation was ended, and 
 the concert began, which had been pro- 
 vided for her grace's entertainment, 
 she would have him sit at her feet, 
 and gave him so many tokens of good- 
 will, that I heard Sir Ralph Ingoldby, 
 who was standing behind me, say to 
 another gentleman : 
 
 " If that young nobleman's father is 
 like to be shorter by the head, his fa- 
 ther's son is like to have liis own 
 raised higher than ever his father's 
 was, so he doth keep clear of papist 
 ry and oveiTnuch fondness for his 
 wife, which be the two tilings her 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 77 
 
 majesty doth most abhor in her cour- 
 tiers." 
 
 My heart moving me to curiosity, I 
 could not forbear to ask : 
 
 " I pray you, sir, wherefore doth not 
 lier majesty like her courtiers to love 
 their wives ? " 
 
 At the which question he laughed, 
 and said : 
 
 " By reason, Mistress Constance, 
 that when they be in that case they do 
 become stayers at home, and wait not 
 on her majesty with a like diligence 
 us when they are unmarried, or least- 
 ways love not their ladies. The Bible 
 saith a man cannot serve God and 
 mammon. Now her grace doth opine 
 men cannot serve the queen and their 
 wives also." 
 
 "Then," I warmly cried, "I hope 
 my Lord Surrey shall never serve the 
 queen !" 
 
 " r faith, say it not so loud, young 
 Mistress Papist," said Sir Ralph, 
 laughing, " or we shall have you com- 
 mitted for high treason. Some are in 
 the Tower, I warrant you, for no worse 
 offence than the uttering of such like 
 rash words. How should you fancy 
 to have your pretty ears bored with a 
 rougher instrument than Master An- 
 selm's the jeweller ?" 
 
 And so he ; but Polly, who methinks 
 was not well pleased that he should 
 notice mine ears, which were little and 
 well-shaped, whereas hers were some- 
 what larger than did accord with her 
 small face, did stop his further speech 
 with me by asking him if he were an 
 enemy to papists ; for if so, she would 
 have naught to say to him, and he 
 might become a courtier to the queen, 
 or any one else's husband, for any- 
 thing she did care, yea, if she were to 
 lose her ears for it. 
 
 And he answered, he did very much 
 love some papists, albeit he hated pa- 
 pistry when it proved not conformable 
 to reason and the laws of the country. 
 
 And so they fell to whispering and 
 suchlike discourses as lovers hold to- 
 gether ; and I, being seated betwixt 
 this enamored gentleman and the wall 
 on the other side, had no one then to 
 
 talk with. But if my tongue and 
 mine ears also, save for the music be- 
 low, were idle, not so mine eyes ; for 
 they did stray from one point to another 
 of the fair spectacle which the garden 
 did then present, now resting on tha 
 queen and those near unto her, and 
 anon on ray Lady Surrey, who sat on 
 a couch to the left of her majesty's 
 raised canopy, together with Lady 
 Southwell, Lady Arundell (Sir Rob- 
 ert's wife), and other ladies of the 
 queen, and on one side of her the 
 bishop of Gloucester, whom, by reason 
 of his assiduous talking with her, I 
 took more special note of than I should 
 otherwise have done ; albeit he was a 
 man which did attract the eye, even at 
 Ihc first sight, by a most amiable suav- 
 ity of countenance, and a sweet and 
 dignified behavior both in speech and 
 action such as I have seldom observed 
 greater in any one. His manners 
 were free and uncons: rained ; and only 
 to look at him converse, it was easy to 
 perceive he had a most ready wit 
 tempered with benevolence. He 
 seemed vastly taken v.dth my Lady 
 Surrey; and cither had not noticed 
 how others kept aloof from her, or was 
 rather moved thereby to show her 
 civility; for they soon did fall into 
 such eager, and in some sort familiar, 
 discourse, as it should seem to run on 
 some subject of like interest to both. 
 Her color went and came as the con- 
 versation advanced; and when she 
 spoke, he listened with such grave 
 suavity, and, when she stayed her 
 speech, answered in so obliging a 
 manner, and seemed so loth to break 
 off, that I could not but admire how 
 two persons, hitherto strangers to each 
 other, and of such various ages and 
 standing, should be so companionable 
 on a first acquaintanceship. 
 
 When the queen rose to depart, ia 
 the same order in which she came, 
 every one kneeling as she passed, I 
 did keenly watch to sec what visage 
 she would show to my Lady Surrey, 
 whom she did indeed this time salute ; 
 but in no gracious manner, as one who 
 looks without looking, notices without 
 
78 
 
 Constnace Sherwood, 
 
 heeding, and in tendering of thanks 
 thanketh not. As my lord walked by 
 her majesty's side through the cloisters 
 to the door, he suddenly dropped on 
 one knee, and drawing a paper from 
 his bosom, did present it to her high- 
 ness, who started as if surprised, and 
 shook her head in a playful manner — 
 (oh, what a cruel playfulness me- 
 thought it was, who knew, as her 
 majesty must needs also have done, 
 what that paper did contain) — as if 
 she would not be at that time troubled 
 with such grave matters, and did hand 
 it to my Lord Burleigh ; then gave 
 again her hand to my lord to kiss, who 
 did kneel with a like reverence as be- 
 fore ; but with a shade of melancholy 
 in his fair young face, which methought 
 became it better than the smiles it had 
 worn that day. 
 
 After the queen had left, and all 
 the guests were gone save such few as 
 my lord had willed to stay to supper 
 in his private apartments, I went unto 
 my lady's chamber, where I found 
 Mistress Milicent, who said she was 
 with my lord, and prayed me to await 
 her return ; for that she was urgent I 
 should not depart without speaking 
 with her, which was also what I great- 
 ly desired. So I took a book and read 
 for the space of an hour or more, whilst 
 she tarried with my lord. When she 
 came in, I could see she had been 
 weeping. But her women being pre- 
 sent, and likewise Mistress Bess, she 
 tried to smile, and pressed my hand, 
 bidding me to stay till she was rid oi 
 her trappings, as she did term them ; 
 and, sitting down before her mirror, 
 — ^though I ween she never looked at 
 her own face, which that evening had 
 in it more of the whiteness of a lily than 
 the color of the rose, — she desired her 
 women to unbraid her hair, and remove 
 from her head the diamond circlet, and 
 from her neck the heavy gold chain with 
 a pearl cross, which had belonged to her 
 husband's mother. Then stepping out 
 of her robe, she put on a silk wrapper, 
 and so dismissed them, and likewise 
 little Bess, who before she went whis- 
 pered in her ew : 
 
 "Nan, methlnks the queen is foul 
 and red-haired, and 1 should not care 
 to kiss her hand for all the fine jewels 
 she doth wear." 
 
 And so hugged her round the neck 
 and stopped her mouth with kisses 
 When they were gone, 
 
 " Constance," quoth she, " we be fiiii 
 young, I ween, for the burden laid up- 
 on us, my lord and me." 
 
 " Ay, sweet one," I cried ; " and God 
 defend thou shouldst have to carry it 
 alone;" for my heart was sore that 
 she had had so httle favor shown 
 to her and my lord so much. .A faint 
 color tinged her cheek as she replied : 
 
 " God knows I should be well con- 
 tent that Phil should stand so well in 
 her majesty's good graces as should 
 be convenient to his honor and the 
 furtherance of his fortunes, if so be 
 his father was out of prison ; and 'tis 
 little I should reck of such slights as 
 her highness should choose to put up- 
 on me, if X saw him not so covetous of 
 her favor that he shall think less well 
 of his poor Nan hereafter by reason 
 of the lack of her majesty's good opin- 
 ion of her, which was so plainly. showed 
 to-day. For, good Constance, bethink 
 thee what a galUng thing it is to a 
 young nobleman to see his wife so 
 meanly entreated ; and for her majes- 
 ty to ask him, as she did, if the pale- 
 faced chit by his side, when she ar- 
 rived, was his sister or his cousin. 
 And when he said it was his wife who 
 had knelt with him to greet her maj- 
 esty — " AYife ! " quoth the queen ; " i ' 
 faith, I had forgotten thou wast mar- 
 ried — if indeed that is to be called a 
 marriage which children do contract 
 before they come to the age of reason ;" 
 and said she would take measures for 
 that a law should be passed which 
 should make such foohsh marriages 
 unlawful. And when my lord tried 
 to tell her we had been married a 
 second time a few months since, she 
 pretended not to hear, and asked ^1. 
 de la Motte if, in his country, children 
 were made to marry in their infancy. 
 To which he gave answer, that the 
 hke practice did sometimes take place 
 
Gonstance. Sherwood, 
 
 79 
 
 in f^'ranco; &r5Q tiiat he had himself 
 been prcseiit m a wedding where the 
 bridegroom was %viiipped because he 
 did remse to open the ball with the 
 bride. At the which her majesty very 
 much laughed, ana said she hoped my 
 lord had not been so used on his wed- 
 ding-day. I promise you Phil was 
 very angry ; but the w^ound these jests 
 made was so palved over with compli- 
 ments, which pleasantly tickle the ears 
 when uttered by so great a queen, and 
 marks of favor more numerous than 
 can be thought of, in the matter of in- 
 viting him to hunt with her in Maryle- 
 bone and Greenwich park, and telling 
 him he deserved better treatment than 
 he had, as to his household and setting 
 forward in the world, that methinks 
 the scar was not long in healing ; al- 
 beit in the relating of these passages 
 the pain somewhat revived. But what 
 doth afflict me the most is the refusal 
 her highness made to read my lord's 
 letter, lamenting the unhappy position 
 of the duke his father, and hoping the 
 queen, by his means and those of other 
 friends, should mitigate her anger. I 
 would have had Phil not only go down 
 on his knees as he did, but lie on the 
 threshold of the door, so that she 
 should have walked over the son's 
 body if she refused to show mercy to 
 the father; but he yet doth greatly 
 hope from the favor showed him that 
 he may sue her majesty with better ef- 
 fect some other time ; and I pray God 
 he may be right." 
 
 Here did the dear lady break off 
 her speech, and, hiding her face in her 
 hands, remained silent for a short 
 space; and I, seeing her so deeply 
 moved, w;ith the intent to draw away 
 her thoughts from painful musings, in- 
 quired of her if the good entertain- 
 ment she had found in conversing with 
 the bishop had been attributable to 
 his witty discourse, or to the subjects 
 therein treated of. 
 
 "Ah, good Constance,'*' she an- 
 swered, "our talk was of one whom 
 you have often heard me speak of — 
 Mr. Martin's friend, Master Campion,* 
 
 * State Papers. 
 
 who is now beyond seas at "Douay, and 
 whom this bishop once did hold to be 
 more dear to him than the apple of 
 his eye. He says his qualifications 
 were so excellent, and he so beloved 
 by all persons in and outside of h's 
 college at Oxford, that none more so ; 
 and that he did himself see in him so 
 great a present merit and promise ot 
 future excellence, that it had caused 
 him more grief than anything else 
 which had happened to him, and been 
 the occasion of his shedding more tears 
 than he had ever thought to have 
 done, when he who had received from 
 him deacon's orders, and whom he 
 had hoped should have been an honor 
 and a prop to the Church of England, 
 did forsake it and fly in the face of his 
 queen and his country: first, by going 
 into Ireland ; and then, as he under- 
 stood, beyond seas, to serve the bishop 
 of Rome, against the laws of God and 
 man. But that he did yet so dearly 
 affection him that, understanding we 
 had sometimes tidings of Mr. Martin, 
 by whose means he had mostly been 
 moved to this lamentable defection, he 
 should be contented to hear somewhat 
 of his whilom son, still dear to him, al- 
 beit estranged. I told him we did 
 often see Master Campion when Mr. 
 Martin was here ; and that, from what 
 I had heard, both were Mke to be at 
 Douay, but that no letters passed be- 
 tween Mr. Martin and ourselves ; for 
 that his grace did not allow of such 
 correspondence since he had been re- 
 conciled and gone beyond seas. Which 
 the bishop said was a commendable 
 prudence in his grace, and the part of 
 a careful father ; and added, that then 
 maybe he knew more of what had be- 
 fallen Master Campion than I did ; 
 for that he had a long epistle from 
 him, so full of moving arguments and 
 pithy remonstrances as might have 
 shaken one not well grounded and 
 settled in his rehgion, and which also 
 contained a recital of his near aiTest 
 in Dublin, where the queen's officers 
 would have arrested him, if a friend 
 had not privately warned him of his 
 danger. And I do know, good Con- 
 
80 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 Btaiice, who that friend was ; for albeit 
 I would not tell the bishop we had 
 seen Master Campion since he was re- 
 eonciled, he, in truth, was here some 
 months ago : my lord met him in 
 the street, disguised as a common 
 travelling man, and brought him into 
 ! he garden, whither he also called me ; 
 and we heard then from him how he 
 would have been taken in Ireland, if 
 ihe viceroy himself. Sir Henry Syd- 
 ney, who did greatly favor him, — as 
 indeed all who know him incline to do, 
 for his great parts, and nobleness of 
 mind and heart, and withal most at- 
 tractive manners, — had not sent him a 
 message, in the middle of the night, to 
 the effect that he should instantly 
 leave the city, and take measures for 
 to escape abroad. So, under the name 
 of Patrick, and wearing the livery of 
 the Earl of Kildare, he travelled to a 
 port twenty miles from Dublin, and 
 there embarked for England. The 
 queen's officers, coming on board the 
 ship whereon he had taken his pas- 
 sage, before it sailed, searched it all 
 over; but through God's mercy, he 
 said, and St. Patrick's prayers, whose 
 name he had taken, no one did recog- 
 nize him, and he passed to London ; 
 and the day after, my lord sent him 
 over to Flanders. So much as the 
 bishop did know thereon, he related 
 unto me, and stinted not in his praise 
 of his great merits, and lamentations 
 for what he called his perversion ; and 
 hence he took occasion to speak of re- 
 ligion. And w^hen I said I had been 
 brought up in the Catholic religion, 
 albeit I now conformed to the 
 times, he said he would show me the 
 way to be Catholic and still obey the 
 laws, and that I might yet believe for 
 the most part what I had learnt from 
 my teachers, so be I renounced the 
 Pope, and commended my saying the 
 prayers I had been used to ; which, he 
 doubted not, were more pleasing to 
 God than such as some ministers do 
 recite out of their own heads, whom he 
 did grieve to hear frequented our 
 house, and were no better than here- 
 tics, such as Mr. Fox and Mr. Fulke 
 
 and Mr. Charkc, and the like of them. 
 But what did much content me was, 
 that he misllkes the cruel usap:e recu- 
 sants do meet with ; and he said, not 
 as if boasting of it, but to declare his 
 mind thereon, that he had often sent 
 them alms who suffered for their con- 
 science' sake, as many do at ihis time. 
 But that I was to remember many 
 Protestants were burnt in the late 
 queen's time, and that if Papists w^ere 
 not kept under by strict laws, the like 
 might happen again. 
 
 " You should have told him,'' I cried, 
 who had been silent longer than I 
 liked, " that Protestants arc burnt also 
 in this reign, by the same token that 
 some Anabaptists did so suffer a short 
 time back, to your Mr. Fox's no smaU 
 disgust, who should will none but 
 Catholics to be put to death." 
 
 " Content thee, good Constance," my 
 lady answered ; " I be not so furnished 
 with arguments as thou in a like case 
 wouldst be. So I only said, I would 
 to God none were burnt, or hanged, or 
 tortured any more in this country, or 
 in the world at all, for religion ; and 
 my lord of Gloucester declared he was 
 of the same mind, and would have 
 none so dealt with, if he could mend 
 it, here or abroad. Then the queen 
 rising to go, our discourse came to an 
 end ; but this good bishop says he will 
 visit me when he next doth come to 
 London, and make that matter plain to 
 me how I can remain Catholic, and 
 obey the queen, and content his gra«e." 
 
 " Then he will show you," I cried, 
 " how to serve God and the world, 
 which the gospel saith is a thing not 
 to be thought of, and full of peril to 
 the soul." 
 
 My Lady Surrey burst into tears, 
 and I was angered with myself that 1 
 had spoken peradventurc over sharply 
 to her who had too much trouble al- 
 ready ; but it did make me mad to see 
 her so beset that the faith which had 
 been once so rooted in her, and should 
 be her sure and only stay in the dan- 
 gerous path she had entered on, should 
 be in such wise shaken as her words 
 did indicate. But she was not an- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 8l 
 
 gered, the sweet soul; and drawing 
 mc to herself, laid her head on my bo- 
 som, and said : 
 
 " Thou art a true friend, though a 
 bold one ; and I pray God I may 
 never laek the benefit of such friend- 
 ship as thine, for he knoweth I have 
 great need thereof." 
 
 And so wc parted with many tender 
 embraces, and our hearts more strictly 
 linked together than heretofore. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the month of November of the 
 same year in which the queen did 
 visit Lord and Lady Surrey at the 
 Charter House, a person, who men- 
 tioned not his name, delivered into the 
 porter's hands at our gate a letter for 
 me, which I found to be from my good 
 father, and which I do here transcribe, as 
 a memorial of his great piety toward 
 God, and tender love for me his un- 
 worthy child. 
 
 "My dearly beloved Daugh- 
 ter (so he), — Your comfortable let- 
 ter has not a little cheered me ; and 
 the more so that this present one is 
 like to be the last I shall be able to 
 write on this side of the sea, if it so 
 happen that it shall please God to 
 prosper my intent, which is to pass 
 over into Flanders at the first conven- 
 ient opportunity: for the stress of the 
 times, and mine own earnest desire to 
 live within the compass of a religious 
 life, have .moved me to forsake for a 
 while this realm, and betake myself 
 to a place which shall afford oppor- 
 tunity and a sufficiency of leisure for 
 the prosecution of my design. The 
 comfortable report Edmund made of 
 thy health, increased height, and good 
 condition, as also of thy exceeding 
 [)leasant and affectionate behavior to 
 him, as deputed from thy poor father 
 to convey to thee his paternal bless- 
 ing, together with such tokens as a 
 third person may exhibit of that most 
 natural and tender affection which he 
 
 bears to thee, his sole child, whom 
 next to God he doth most entirely 
 value and love, — of which charge this 
 good youth assured me he did acquit 
 himself as my true son in Christ, 
 which indeed he now is, — and my good 
 brother's letter and thine, which both 
 do give proof of the exceeding great 
 favor shown toward thee in his 
 house, wherein he doth reckon my 
 Constance not so much a niece (for 
 such be his words) as a most cherish- 
 ed daughter, whose good qualities and 
 lively parts have so endeared her to 
 his family, that the greatest sorrow 
 which could befal them should be to 
 lose her company ; which I do not 
 here recite for to awaken in thee mo- 
 tions of pride or a vain conceit of 
 thine own deserts, but rather gratitude 
 to those whose goodness is so great as 
 to overlook thy defects and magnify 
 thy merits ; — Edmund's report, I say, 
 coupled with these letters, have yield- 
 ed me all the contentment I desire at 
 this time, when I am about to embark 
 on a perilous voyage, of which none 
 can foresee the course or the end ; one 
 in which I take the cross of Christ 
 as my only staff ; his words, " Follow 
 me," for my motto; and his promise 
 to all such as do confess him before 
 men, as the assured anchor of my hope. 
 " Our ingenuous youth informed 
 thee (albeit I doubt not in such wise 
 as to conceal, if it had been possible, 
 his own ability, which, with his devot- 
 edness, do exceed praise) how he ac- 
 quitted both me and others of mucli 
 trouble and imminent danger by his 
 fortunate despatch w^ith that close pris- 
 oner. I had determined to place him 
 with some of my acquaintance, lest 
 perhaps he should return, not without 
 some danger of his soul, to his own 
 friends ; but when he understood my 
 resolution, he cried out v/ith like words 
 to those of Si. Lawrence, '^Whither 
 goeth my master without his servant ? 
 Whither goeth my father without his 
 son ?' and with teai'S distilling from 
 his eyes, he humbly entreated he 
 might go together with me, saying, as 
 it were with St. Peter, ' Master, I aiP 
 
82 
 
 Constance Skei^wood, 
 
 ready to go with yoii to prison, yea to 
 death ; ' but, forecasting his future 
 ability, as also to try his spirit a little 
 further, I made him answer it was im- 
 possible ; to which our Edmund re- 
 plied, ' Alas ! and is it impossible ? 
 Shall my native soil restrain free will ? 
 or home-made laws alter devout reso- 
 lutions ? Am I not young ? Can I 
 not study ? May I not in time get 
 what you now have got — learning for a 
 scholar ? yea, virtue for a priest, per- 
 haps ; aud so at length obtain that for 
 which you now are ready ? Direct 
 me the way, I beseech you ; and let 
 me, if you please, be your precursor. 
 Tell me what I shall do, or whither I 
 must go ; and for the rest, God, who 
 knows my desire, will provide and 
 supply the want. Can it be possible 
 that he who clothes the lilies of the 
 field, and feeds the fowls of the air, 
 will forsake him who forsakes all to 
 fulfil his divine precept, " Seek first 
 the kingdom of God and his justice, 
 and all other things shall be given 
 to you ? " ' Finally, he ended, to 
 my no small admiration, by reciting 
 the words of our Saviour, ' Whoso- 
 ever shall forsake home, or brethren, 
 or sisters, or father, or mother, for my 
 sake and the gospel's, shall receive a 
 hundredfold and possess life everlast- 
 ing.' 
 
 " By these impulses, often repeated 
 with great fervor of spirit, I perceived 
 God Almighty's calling in him, and 
 therefore at last condescended to let 
 him take his adventures, procuring 
 him commendations to such friends be- 
 yond seas as should assist him in his 
 purpose, and furnishing him with money 
 sufficient for such a journey ; not judg- 
 ing it to be prudent to keep him with 
 me, who have not ability to warrant 
 mine own passage; and so noted a 
 recusant, that I run a greater risk to 
 be arrested in any port where I em- 
 bark. And so, in all love and affec- 
 tion, we did part ; and I have since 
 had intelligence, for the which I do 
 return most humble and hearty thanks 
 to God, that he hath safely crossed 
 the seas, and has now reached a sure 
 
 harbor, where his religious desires 
 may take effect. And now, daughter 
 Constance, mine own good child, fare 
 thee well ! Pray for thy poor father, 
 who would fain give thee the blessing 
 of the elder as of the younger son — 
 Jacob's portion and Esau's also. But 
 methinks the blessings of this world 
 be not at the present time for the 
 Catholics of this land ; and so we 
 must needs be content, for our chil- 
 dren as for ourselves (and a covetous 
 man he is which should not therewith 
 be satisfied), with the blessings our 
 Lord did utter on the mountain, and 
 mostly with that in which he doth 
 say, ' Blessed are ye when men shall 
 persecute you, and revile you, and say 
 all manner of evil against you falsely, 
 for my name's sake ; for great is your 
 reward in heaven.' 
 
 " Your loving father in natural af- 
 fection and ten thousand times more 
 in the love of Christ, H. S." 
 
 Oh, what a gulf of tenfold separa- 
 tion did those words "beyond seas" 
 suggest betwixt that sole parent and 
 his poor child ! Thoughts travel 
 not with ease beyond the limits which 
 nature hath set to this isle ; and what 
 lies beyond the watery waste where- 
 with Providence hath engirdled our 
 shores offers no apt images to the 
 mind picturing the invisible from the 
 visible, as it is wont to do with home;- 
 scenes, where one city or one land- 
 scape beareth a close resemblance to 
 another. And if, in the forsaking of 
 this realm, so much danger did lie, 
 yea, in the very ports whence h<^ 
 might sail, so that I, who should othci*- 
 wise have prayed that the winds 
 might detain him, and the waves force 
 him back on his native soil, was con- 
 strained to supplicate that they should 
 assist him to abandon it, — how much 
 greater, methought, should be tlie pei- 
 ils of his return, when, as he indeed 
 hoped, a mark sliould be set on him 
 which in our country dooms men to a 
 cruel death ! Many natural tears 1 
 shed at this parting, which until th«n 
 had not seemed so desperate and final : 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 «3 
 
 and for a while would not listen to the 
 consolations which were offered by the 
 good friends who were so tender to me, 
 but continued to wander about in a 
 disconsolate manner in the garden, or 
 passionately to weep in my own cham- 
 ber, until Muriel, the sovereign mis- 
 tress of comfort to others, albeit ever 
 ailing in her body, and contemned by 
 such as dived not through exterior de- 
 formity into the interior excellences of 
 her soul, with sweet compulsion and 
 authoritative arguments drawn from 
 her admirable faith and simple devo- 
 tion, rekin41ed in mine the more noble 
 sentiments sorrow had obscured, not 
 so much through diverting, as by ele- 
 vating and sweetening, my thoughts, to 
 a greater sense of the. goodness of God 
 in calling my father, and peradventure 
 Edmund also, to so great an honor as 
 the priesthood, and never more honor- 
 able than in these days, wherein it 
 oftentimes doth prove the road to mar- 
 tyrdom. 
 
 In December of that year my Lord 
 and my Lady Surrey, by the Duke of 
 Norfolk's desire, removed for some 
 weeks to Kenninghall for change of 
 air, and also Lady Lumley, his grace 
 judging them to be as yet too young to 
 keep house alone. My lord's brothers 
 and Mistress Bess, with her gover- 
 ness, were likewise carried there. 
 Lady Surrey wrote from that seat, 
 that, were it not for the duke's impris- 
 onment and constant fears touching his 
 life, she should have had great con- 
 tentment in that retirement, and been 
 most glad to have tarried there, if it 
 had pleased God, so long as she lived, 
 ray lord taking so much pleasure in 
 field-sports, and otherwise so compan- 
 ionable, that he often offered to ride 
 with her ; and in the evenmgs they 
 did entertain themselves with books, 
 chiefly poetry, and sometimes played 
 at cards. They had but few visitors, 
 by reason of the disgrace and trouble 
 his grace was in at that time ; only 
 such of their neighbors as did hunt 
 and shoot with the earl her husband ; 
 mostly Sir Henry Stafford and Mr. 
 Rookwood's two sons, whom she com- 
 
 mended ; the one for his good quali- 
 ties and honest carriage, and the other 
 for wit and learning; as also Sir Ham- 
 mond I'Estrange, a gentleman who 
 stayed no longer away from Kenning- 
 hall, she observed, than thereunto com- 
 pelled by lack of an excuse for tarry- 
 ing if present, or returning when ab- 
 sent. He often procured to be invited 
 by my lord, who used to meet him out 
 of doors, and frequently carried him 
 back with him to dine or to sup, and 
 often both. 
 
 " And albeit" (so my lady wrote j 
 " I doubt not but he doth set a reason- 
 able value on my lord's society, — who, 
 although young enough to be his son, 
 is exceedingly conversable and pleas- 
 ant, as every one who knows him doth 
 testify,— and mislikes not, I ween, the 
 good cheer, or the wine from his 
 grace's cellar ; yet I warrant thee, 
 good Constance, 'tis not for the sake 
 only of our poor company or hospita- 
 ble table that this good knightr doth 
 haunt us, but rather from the passion 
 I plainly see he hath conceived for our 
 Milicent since a day when he hurt his 
 arm by a fall not far from hence, and 
 I procured she should dress it with 
 that rare ointment of thine, which ver- 
 ily doth prove of great efficacy in 
 cases where the skin is rubbed off. 
 Methinks the wound in his arm was 
 then transplanted into his heart, and 
 the good man so bewitched with the 
 blue eyes and dove-like countenance 
 of his chirurgeon, that he has fallen 
 head-over-ears in love, and is, as I 
 hope, minded to address her in a law- 
 ful manner. His wound did take an 
 exceeding long time in healing, to the 
 no small discredit of thy ointment; 
 for he came several days to have it 
 dressed, and I could not choose but 
 smile when at last our sweet practi- 
 tioner did ask him, in an innocent 
 manner, if the wound did yet smart, 
 for indeed she could see no appearanc<^ 
 in it but what betokened it to be healed. 
 He answered, * There be wounds, ISIis- 
 tress Milicent, whic^ smart, albeit no 
 outward marks of such suffering do 
 show themselves.' * Ay,' quoth Mili- 
 
84 
 
 ^onstance Sherwood. 
 
 cent, 'but for such I be of opinion fur- 
 ther dressing is needless ; and with 
 my lady's licence, I will furnish you, 
 sir, with a liquid which shall strengthen 
 the skin, and so relieve the aching, if 
 so you be careful to apply it night and 
 morning to the injured part, and to 
 cork the bottle after using it.' ' My 
 memory is so bad, fair physician,' 
 quoth the knight, ' that I am like to 
 forget the prescription.' She an 
 swered, he should stand the bottle so 
 as it should meet his eyes when he 
 rose, and then he must needs remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 " And so broke off the discourse. 
 But when he is here I notice how his 
 eyes do follow her when she sets the 
 table for primero, or works at the 
 tambour-frame, or plays with Bess, to 
 whom he often talks as she sits on her 
 knees, who, if I mistake not, shall be, 
 one of these days, Lady I'Estrange, 
 and is as worthy to be so well married 
 as any girl in the kingdom, both as 
 touching her birth and her exceeding 
 great virtue and good disposition. He 
 is an extreme Protestant, and very 
 bitter against Catholics ; but as she, 
 albeit mild in temper, is as firmly set- 
 tled in the new religion as he is, no 
 difference will exist between them on 
 a point in which 'tis most of all to be 
 desired husbands and wives should 
 be agreed. Thou mayst think that I 
 have been over apt to note the signs of 
 this good knight's passion, and to draw 
 deductions from such tokens as have 
 appeared of it, visible maybe to no 
 other eyes than mine ; but, trust me, 
 Constance, those who do themselves 
 know what 'tis to love with an engross- 
 ing affection are quick to mark the 
 same effects in others. When Phil is 
 in the room, I find it a hard matter at 
 times to restrain mine eyes from gaz- 
 . ing on that dear husband, whom I do 
 so entirely love that I have no other 
 pleasure in life but in his company. 
 And not to seem to him or to others 
 too fond, which is not a beseeming 
 thing even in a wife, I study to con- 
 ceal my constant thinking on him by 
 such devices as cunningly to provoke 
 
 others to speak of my lord, and so ap- 
 pear only to follow whereunto my own 
 desire doth point, or to propose ques- 
 tions, — a pastime wherein he doth 
 excel, — and so minister to mine own 
 pride in him without direct flattery, or 
 in an unbecommg manner setting forth 
 his praise. And thus I do grow 
 learned in the tricks of true affection, 
 and to perceive in such as are in love 
 what mine own heart doth teach me to 
 be the signals of that passion." 
 
 So far my lady ; and not long after, 
 on the first day of February, I had a 
 note from her, written in great dis- 
 traction of mind at the Charter House, 
 where she and all his grace's children 
 had returned in a sudden manner on 
 the hearing that the queen had issued 
 a warrant for the duke's execution on 
 the next Monday. Preparations were 
 made with the expectation of all Lon- 
 don, and a concourse of many thou- 
 sands to witness it, the tread of whose 
 feet was heard at night, like to the roll 
 of mufiled drums, along the streets ; 
 but on the Sunday, late in the night, 
 the queen's majesty entered into a 
 great misliking that the duke should 
 die the next day, and sent an order to 
 the sheriffs to forbear until they should 
 hear further. His grace's mother, the 
 dowager countess, and my Lady 
 Berkeley his sister (now indeed lower- 
 ing her pride to most humble suppli- 
 cation), and my Lord Arundel from 
 his sick-bed, and the French ambassa- 
 dor, together with many others, sued 
 with singular earnestness to her ma- 
 jesty for his life, who, albeit she had 
 stayed the execution of his sentence, 
 would by no means recall it. I hasted 
 to the Charter House, Mistress Ward 
 going with me, and both were admitted 
 into her ladyship's chamber, with whom 
 did sit that day the fairest picture of 
 grief I ever beheld — the Lady Marga- 
 ret Howard, who for some months had 
 resided with the Countess of Sussex, 
 who was a very good lady to her and 
 all these afflicted children. Albeit 
 Lady Surrey had often greatly com- 
 mended this young lady, and styled her 
 so rare a piece of perfection that no one 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 85- 
 
 could know and not admire her, the 
 loveliness of her face, nobility of her 
 figure, and attractiveness of her man- 
 ners exceeded my expectations. The 
 sight of these sisters minded me then of 
 what Lady Surrey had written when 
 they were yet children, touching my 
 Lord Surrey, styhng them " two twin 
 cherries on one stallc ;" and methought, 
 now that the lovely pair had ripened into 
 early maturity, their Hkeness in beauty 
 (tliough differing in complexion) justi- 
 fied the saying. Lady Margaret 
 greeted us as though we had not been 
 strangers, and in the midst of her 
 great and natural sorrow showed a 
 grateful sense of the share we did take 
 in a grief which methinks was deeper 
 in her than in any other of these 
 mourners. 
 
 Oh, what a period of anxious sus- 
 pense did follow that first reprieve ! 
 what alternations of hope and fear ! 
 what affectionate letters were ex- 
 changed between that loving father 
 and good master and his sorrowful 
 children and servants ; now writing 
 to Mr. Dyx, his faithful steward : 
 
 " Farewell, good Dyx ! your service 
 hath been so faithful unto me, as I am 
 sorry that I cannot make proof of my 
 good-will to recompense it. I trust 
 my death shall make no change in you 
 toward mine, but that you will faith- 
 fully perform the trust that I have re- 
 posed in you. Forget me, and remem- 
 ber me in mine. Forget not to counsel 
 and advise Philip and Nan's unexpe- 
 rienced years ; the rest of their 
 brothers' and sisters' well-doing resteth 
 much upon their virtuous and consid- 
 erate dealings. God grant them his 
 grace, which is able to work better in 
 them than my natural well-meaning 
 heart can wish unto them. Amen. 
 And so, hoping of your honesty and 
 faithfulness when I am dead, I bid 
 you this ray last farewell. T. H." 
 
 Now to another trusty friend and 
 nonest dependent: 
 
 " Good friend George, farewell. I 
 have no other tokens to send my 
 friends but my books ; and I know 
 
 how sorrowful you are, amongst the 
 rest, for my hard hap, whereof I thank 
 God ; because I hope his merciful 
 chastisement will prepae'e me for a 
 better world. Look well throughout 
 this book, and you shall find the name 
 of duke very unhappy. I pray God it 
 may end with me, and that others may 
 speed better hereafter. But if I might 
 have my wish, and were in as good a 
 state as ever you knew me, yet I 
 would wish for a lower degree. Be a 
 friend, I pray you, to mine ; and do 
 my hearty commendations to your 
 good wife and to gentle Mr. Dennye. 
 I die in the faith that you have ever 
 known me to be of. Farewell, good 
 friend. 
 
 "Yours dying, as he was living, 
 
 "Norfolk." 
 
 These letters and some others did 
 pass from hand to hand in that afilict 
 ed house ; and sometimes hope and 
 sometimes despair prevailed in the 
 hearts of the great store of relatives 
 and friends which often assembled 
 there to confer on the means of soften- 
 ing the queen's anger and moving her 
 to mercy ; one time through letters 
 from the king of France and other 
 princes, which was an ill shot, for tc 
 be so entreated by foreign potentates 
 did but inflame her majesty's anger 
 against the duke ; at others, by my 
 Lord Sussex and my Lord Arun- 
 del, or such persons in her court 
 as nearly approached her high- 
 ness and could deal with her when 
 she was merry and chose to conde- 
 scend to their discourse. But the 
 wind shifts not oftener than did the 
 queen's mind at that time, so diverse 
 were her dispositions toward this no- 
 bleman, and always opposed to such 
 as appeared in those who spoke on 
 this topic, whether as pressing for his 
 execution, or suing for mercy to be 
 extended to him. I heard much talk , 
 at that time touching his grace's good 
 qualities : how noble had been his 
 spirit ; how moderate his disposition ; 
 how plain his attire ; how bountiful 
 his alms. 
 
86 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 As the fates of many do in these 
 days hang on the doom of one, much 
 eagerness was shown amongst those 
 who haunted my uncle's house to 
 learn the news afloat concerning the 
 issue of the duke's affair. Some Cath- 
 olics of note were lying in prison at 
 that time in Norwich, most of them 
 friends of these gentlemen ; of which 
 four were condemned to death at that 
 time, and one to perpetual imprison- 
 ment and loss of all his property for 
 reconcilement ; but whilst the Duke of 
 Norfolk was yet alive, they held the 
 hope he should, if once out of prison, 
 recover the queen's favor and drive 
 from their seats his and their mortal 
 enemies, my L»rds Burleigh and Lei- 
 cester. And verily the axe was held 
 suspended on the head of rtiat duke 
 for four months and more, to the im- 
 speakable anguish of many ; and, 
 amongst others, his aged and afflicted 
 mother, the Dowager Countess of Sur- 
 rey, who came to London from the 
 country to be near her son in this ex- 
 tremity. Three times did the queen 
 issue a warrant for his death and then 
 recalled it ; so that those trembling 
 relatives and well-wishers in and out 
 of his house did look each day to hear 
 the fatal issue had been compassed. 
 In the month of March, when her ma- 
 jesty was sick with a severe inflamma- 
 tion and agonizing pain, occasioned, 
 some said, by poison administered by 
 papists, but by her own physicians 
 declared to arise from her contempt of 
 their prescriptions, there was a strange 
 turmoil, I ween, in some men's breasts, 
 albeit silent as a storm brewing on a 
 sultry day. Under their breath, and 
 with faces shaped to conceal the wish 
 which bred the inquiry, they asked of 
 the queen's health ; whilst others tore 
 their hair and beat their breasts with 
 no affected grief, and the most part of 
 the people lamented her danger. Oh, 
 what five days were those when the 
 shadow of death did hover over that 
 royal couch, and men's hearts failed 
 them for fear, or else wildly whispered 
 hopes such as they durst not Mtter 
 aloud, — ^not so much as to a close 
 
 friend, — lest the walls should have 
 ears, or the pavement open under 
 their feet ! My God, in thy hands lie 
 the issues of life and death. Thou dost 
 assign to each one his space of exist- 
 tence, his length of days. Thy ways 
 are not as our ways, nor thy thoughts as 
 our thoughts. She lived who was yet 
 to doom so many princely heads to the 
 block, so many saintly forms to the 
 dungeon and the rack. She lived 
 whose first act was to stretch forth a 
 hand yet weakened by sickness to sign, 
 a fourth time, a warrant for a kins- 
 man's death, and once again recalled 
 it. Each day some one should come 
 in with various' reports touching the 
 queen's dispositions. Sometimes she 
 had been heard to opine that her dan- 
 gers from her enemies were so great 
 that justice must be done. At others 
 she vehemently spoke of the nearness 
 of blood to herself, of the superiority 
 in honor of this duke ; and once she 
 wrote to Lord Burleigh (a copy of 
 this letter Lord Surrey saw in Lord 
 Oxford's hands), "that she was more 
 beholden to th-a hinder part of her 
 head than she dared trust the forward 
 part of the same ; " and expressed 
 great fear lest an irrevocable deed 
 should be committed. But she would 
 not see Lord Surrey, or suffer him to 
 plead in person for his father's life. 
 Yet there were good hopes amongst 
 his friends he should yet be released, 
 till one day — I mind it well, for I 
 was sitting with Lady Surrey, reading 
 out loud to her, as I was often used to 
 do — my Lord Berkeley burst into the 
 chamber, and cried, throwing his 
 gloves on the table and swearing a 
 terrible oath: 
 
 " That woman has undone us ! " 
 '• What, the queen ? " said my lady, 
 white as a smock. 
 
 " Verily a queen," he answered 
 gloomily. " I warrant you the Queen 
 of Scots hath ended as she did begin, 
 and dragged his grace into a pit from 
 whence 1 promise you he will never 
 now rise. A letter writ in her cipher 
 to the Duke of Alva hath been inter- 
 cepted, in which that luckless royal 
 
Constance SJierwood. 
 
 87 
 
 wight, ever fatal to her friends as to 
 herself, doth say, 'that she hath a 
 strong party in England, and lords 
 who favor her cause ; some of whom, 
 albeit prisoners, so powerful, that the 
 Queen of England should not dare to 
 touch their lives.' Alack! those 
 words, ' should not dare,* shall prove 
 the death-warrant of my noble brother. 
 Cursed be the day when he did get 
 entangled in that popish siren's plots !" 
 
 " Speak not harshly of her, good my 
 lord," quoth Lady Surrey, in her gen- 
 tle voice. " Her sorrows do bear too 
 great a semblance to our own not to 
 bespeak from us patience in this mis- 
 hap." 
 
 " Nan," said Lord Berkeley, " thou 
 art of too mild a disposition. 'Tis the 
 only fault I do find with thee. Be- 
 shrew me, if my wife and thee could 
 not make exchange of some portion 
 of her spirit and thy meekness to the 
 advantage of both. I warrant thee 
 Phil's wife should hold a tiglit hand 
 over him." 
 
 " I read not that precept in the Bible, 
 my lord," quoth she, smiling. '-It 
 speaketh roundly of the duty of wives 
 to obey, but not so much as one word 
 of their ruling." 
 
 " Thou hadst best preach thy theo- 
 logy to my Lady Berkeley," he answer- 
 ed ; " and then she — " 
 
 " But I pray you, my lord, is it in- 
 deed your opinion that the queen will 
 have his grace's life ?" 
 
 "I should not give so much as a 
 brass pin. Nan, for his present chance 
 of mercy at her hands," he replied 
 sadly. And his words were justified 
 in the event. 
 
 Those relentless enemies of the 
 duke, my Lords Burleigh and Leices- 
 ter, — who, at the time of the queen's 
 illness, had stood three days and three 
 nights without stirring from her bed- 
 side in so great terror lest she should 
 die and he should compass the throne 
 through a marriage with the Queen of 
 Scots, that they vowed to have his 
 blood at any cost if her majesty did 
 recover, — so dealt with parliament as 
 to move it to send a petition praying 
 
 that, for the safety of her highness and 
 the quieting of her realm, he should be 
 forthwith executed. And from that 
 day to the mournful one of his death, 
 albeit from the great reluctance her 
 majesty had evinced to have him de- 
 spatched, his friends, yea unto the last 
 moment, lived in expectancy of a 
 reprieve ; he himself made up his 
 mind to die with extraordinary forti- 
 tude, not choosing to entertain so much 
 as the least hope of life. 
 
 One day at that time I saw my Lady 
 Margaret mending some hose, and at 
 each stitch she made with her needle 
 tears fell from her eyes. I offered to 
 assist her ladyship; but she said, 
 pressing the hose to her heart, " I thank 
 thee, good Constance; but no other 
 hands than mine shall put a stitch in 
 these hose, for they be my father's, 
 who hath worn them with these holes 
 for many months, till poor Master Dyx 
 bethought himself to bring them here to 
 be patched and mended, which task 
 I would have none perform but my- 
 self. My father would not suffer him 
 to procure a new pair, lest it should 
 be misconstrued as a sign of his hope 
 or desire of a longer life, and with the 
 same intent he refuseth to eat flesh as 
 often as the physicians do order ; 'for,' 
 quoth he, ' why should I care to nour- 
 ish a body doomed to such near dtv 
 cay ? ' " Then, after a pause, she said, 
 " He will not wear clothes which have 
 any velvet on them, being, he saith, 
 a condemned person." 
 
 Lady Surrey took one of the hose 
 in her hand, but Lady Margeret, with a 
 filial jealousy, sadly smiling, shook her 
 head : " Nay, Nan," quoth she, '' not 
 even to thee, sweet one, ^\i\\ I yield 
 one jot or tittle of this mean, but, in re- 
 lation to him w^ho doth own these poor 
 hose, exalted labor." Then she ask- 
 ed her sister if she had heard of the 
 duke's request that Mr. Fox, his old 
 schoolmaster, should attend on him in 
 the Tower, to whom he desired to pro- 
 fess that faith he did first ground him 
 in. 
 
 And my Lady Surrey answ^ercd 1 
 yea, that my lord had informed her of 
 
88 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 it, ar.d many other proofs beside that 
 his grace sought to prepare for death 
 in the best manner he could think of. 
 
 " Some ill-disposed persons have 
 said," quoth Lady Margaret, " that it 
 is with the intent to propitiate the 
 queen that my father doth show him- 
 self to be so settled in his religion, 
 and that he is not Avhat he seems ; but 
 tis a slander on his grace, who hath 
 been of this way of thinking since he 
 attained to the age of reason, and was 
 never at any time reconciled, as some 
 have put forth." 
 
 This was the last time I did see 
 these afflicted daughters until long 
 after their father's death, who was be- 
 headed in the chapel of the Tower 
 shortly afterward. "When the blow 
 fell which, striking at him, struck a no 
 less fatal blow to the peace and well-do- 
 ing of his children, they all left the Char- 
 ter House, and removed for a time into 
 the country, to the houses of divers re- 
 latives, in such wise as before his death 
 the duke had desired A letter which 
 I received from Lady Surrey a few 
 weeks after she left London doth best 
 serve to show the manner of this dis- 
 posal, and the temper of the writer's 
 mind at that melancholy time. 
 
 "My own dear Constance, — It 
 may like you to hear that your afflict- 
 ed friend is improved in bodily health, 
 and somewhat recovered from the 
 great suffering of mind which the duke, 
 their good father's death, has caused 
 to all his poor children — mostly to 
 Megg and Phil and me ; for their 
 brothers and my sister are too young 
 greatly to grieve. My Lord Arundel 
 .is sorely afflicted, I hear, and hath 
 writ a very lamentable letter to our 
 good Lady Sussex concerning this sad 
 mishap. My Lady Berkeley and my 
 Lady Westmoreland are almost dis- 
 tracted with grief for the death of a 
 brother they did singularly love. That 
 poor lady (of Westmoreland) is much 
 to be pitied, for that she is parted from 
 her husband, maybe for ever, and has 
 lost two fair daughters in one year. 
 
 " My lord hath shown much affec- 
 
 tion for his father, and natural sorn \v 
 in this sad loss ; and when his last letters 
 written a. short time before he suffered, 
 and addressed '• To my loving chil- 
 dren," specially the one to Philip and 
 Nan, reached his hands, he wept so long 
 and bitterly that it seemed as if his 
 tears should never cease. My lord ia 
 forthwith to make his chief abode at 
 Cambridge for a year or two ; and 
 Meg and I, with Lady Sussex, and I 
 do hope Bess also — albeit his grace 
 doth appear in his letter to be other- 
 wise minded. But methinks he ap- 
 prehended to lay too heavy a charge 
 on her, who is indeed a good lady to us 
 all in this our unhappy condition, and 
 was loth Megg should be out of my 
 company. 
 
 " The parting with my lord is a sore 
 trial, and what I had not looked to ; 
 but God's will be done ; and if it be 
 for the advantage of his soul, as well 
 as the advancement of his learning, 
 he should reside at the university, it 
 should ill befit me to repine. And 
 now methinks I will transcribe, if my 
 tears do not hinder mc, his grace's le!;- 
 ters, which will inform thee of his last 
 wishes better- tjian I could explain 
 them ; for I would have thee know 
 how tender and forecasting Avas his 
 love for us, and the good counsel ho 
 hath left unto his son, who, I pray to 
 God, may always follow it. And I 
 would have thee likewise note one 
 point of his advice, which indeed I 
 should have been better contented he 
 had not touched upon, forasmuch as 
 his having done so must needs hinder 
 that which thy fond love for my poor 
 self, and resolved adherence to what 
 he calls ' blind papistry,' doth so 
 greatly prompt thee to desire ; for if 
 on his blessing he doth charge us to be- 
 ware of it, and then I should move my 
 lord to so much neglect of his last wish- 
 es as at any time to be reconciled, b'"- 
 think thee with what an ill grace I 
 should urge on him, in other respects, 
 obedience to his commands, which in- 
 deed are such as do commend them- 
 selves to any Christian soul as most 
 wise and profitable. And now, break- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 89 
 
 ing off mine own discourse to tran- 
 scribe Ills words — a tar more noble 
 and worthy employment of jny pen — 
 and praying God to bless thee, I re- 
 main thy tender and loving friend, 
 "Ann Surrey." 
 
 " The Duke of Norfolk's letters to 
 his children : 
 
 " Dear Children, — This is the last 
 letter that ever I think to write to you ; 
 and therefore, if you loved me, or that 
 you will seem grateful to me for the 
 special love that I have ever borne 
 unto you, then remember and follow 
 these my last lessons. Oh, Philip, 
 serve and fear God, above all things. 
 I find the fault in myself, that I have 
 (God forgive mo !) been too negligent 
 in this point. Love and make much 
 of your wife ; for therein, considering 
 the great adversity you are now in, by 
 reason of my fall, is your greatest 
 present comfort and relief, beside 
 your happiness in having a wife which 
 is endued with so great towardness 
 in virtue and good qualities, and in 
 person comparable wdth the best sort. 
 Follow these two lessons, and God will 
 bless you ; and without these, as you may 
 see by divers examples out of the Scrip- 
 ture, and also by ordinary worldly 
 proof, where God is not feared, all goeth 
 to wreck ; and where love is not between 
 the husband and wife, there God doth not 
 prosper. My third lesson is, that you 
 show yourself loving and natural to 
 your brothers and sister and sister-in- 
 law. Though you be vory young in 
 years, yet you must strive with con- 
 sideration to become a man ; for it is 
 your own presence and good govern- 
 ment of yourself that must get friends ; 
 and if you take that course, then have 
 I been so careful a father unto you, 
 as I have taken such order as you, by 
 God's grace, shall be well able, be- 
 side your wife's lands, to maintain 
 yourself like a gentleman. Marry! 
 the world is greedy and covetous; and 
 if the show of the well government of 
 yourself do not fear and restrain their 
 greedy appetite, it is like that, by undi- 
 rect means, they will either put you 
 
 from that which law layeth upon you, 
 or else drive you to much tiouble in 
 trying and holding your right. When 
 my grandfather died, I was not much 
 above a year elder than you are now 
 and yet, I thank God, I took such or- 
 der with myself, as you shall reap the 
 commodity of my so long passed travel, 
 if you do now imitate the like. Help 
 to strengthen your young an,] raw 
 years with good counsel. I send you 
 herewith a brief schedule, whom I wish 
 you to make account of as friends, and 
 whom as servants ; and I charge you, 
 as a* father may do, to follow my di- 
 rection therein ; my experience can 
 better tell what is fit for you than your 
 young years can judge of. I would 
 wish you for the present to make your 
 chief abode at Cambridge, which is the 
 place fittest for you to promote your 
 learning in ; and beside, it is not very 
 far hence, whereby you may, within a 
 day's warning, be here to follow your 
 own causes, as occasion serveth. If, 
 after a year or two, you spend somc^ 
 time in a house of the law, there is 
 nothing that will prove more to youi 
 commodity, considering how for the 
 time you shall have continual business 
 about your own law affairs ; and there- 
 by also, if you spend your time well, 
 you shall be ever after better able to 
 judge in your own causes. I too late 
 repent that I followed not this course 
 that now I wish to you ; for if I had, 
 then my case perchance had not been 
 in so ill state as now it is. 
 
 " When God shall send you to those 
 years as that it shall be fit for you to 
 keep house with your wife (which I 
 had rather were sooner, than that yon 
 should fall into ill company), then 1 
 would wish you to withdraw yourself 
 into some private dwelling of your own. 
 And if your hap may be so good as 
 you may so live without being called 
 to higher degree, oh, Philip, Philip, 
 then shall you enjoy that blessed life 
 which your woful father would fain 
 have done, and never could be so haj)- 
 py. Beware of high degree. To a 
 vain-glorious, proud stomach it seem- 
 etli at the first sweet. Look into all 
 
90 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 chronicles, and you shall find that in 
 the end it brings heaps of cares, toils 
 m the state, and most commonly in the 
 end utter overthrow. Look into the 
 whole state of the nobility in times past, 
 and into their state now, and then judge 
 whether my lessons be true or no. 
 Assure yourself, as you may see by 
 the book of my accounts, and you shall 
 find that my living did hardly main- 
 tain my expenses ; for all the help 
 that I had by Tom's lands, and some- 
 what by your wife's and sister's-in-law, 
 I was ever a beggar. You may, by 
 the grace of God, be a great deal rich- 
 er and quieter in your low degree, 
 wherein I once again wish you to con- 
 tinue. They may, that shall wish you 
 the contrary, have a good meaning; 
 but believe your father, who of love 
 wishes you best, and with the mind 
 that he is at this present fully armed 
 to God, who sees both states, both high 
 and low, as it were even before his eyes. 
 Beware of the court, except it be to do 
 your prince service, and that, as near 
 as you can, in the lowest degree, for 
 that place hath no certainty ; either a 
 man, by following thereof, hath too 
 much of worldly pomp, which, in the 
 end, throws him down headlong, or else 
 he liveth there unsatisfied ; either that 
 he cannot attain for himself that he 
 would, or else that he cannot do for 
 his friends as his heart desireth. Re- 
 member these notes, and follow them ; 
 and then you, by God's help, shall 
 reap the commodity of them in your 
 old years. 
 
 " If your brothers may be suffered 
 to remain in your company, I would 
 be most glad thereof, because continu- 
 ing together should still increase love 
 between you. But the world is so 
 catching of everything that falls, that 
 Tom being, as I believe, after my 
 death, the queen's majesty's ward, shall 
 be begged by one or another. But 
 yet you are sure to have your brother 
 William left still with you, because, 
 poor boy, he hath nothing to feed cor- 
 morants withal ; to whom you will as 
 well be a father as a brother ; for up- 
 on my blessing I commit him to your 
 
 charge to provide for, if that which I 
 have assured him by law shall not 
 be so sufficient as I mean it. If law 
 may take place, your sister-in-law will 
 be surely enough conveyed to his be- 
 hoof, and then I should wish her to be 
 brought up with some friend of mine ; 
 as for the present I allow best of Sir 
 Christopher Heydon, if he will so 
 much befriend you as to receive her to 
 sojourn with him ; if not there in some 
 other place, as your friends shall best 
 allow of. And touching the bestowing 
 of your wife and Megg, who I would 
 be loth should be out of your wife's 
 company ; for as she should be a good 
 companion for Nan, so I commit Megg 
 of especial trust to her. I think good, 
 till you keep house together, if my 
 Lady of Sussex might be entreated to 
 take them to her as sojourners, there 
 were no place so fit considering her 
 kindred unto you, and the assured 
 friend that I hope you shall find of her; 
 beside she is a good lady. If it will 
 not be so brought to pass, then, by the 
 advice of your fi4ends, take some other 
 order; but in no case I would wish 
 you to keep any house except it be to- 
 gether with your wife. 
 
 "Thus I have advised you as my 
 troubled memory can at present suffer 
 me. Beware of pride, stubbornness, 
 taunting, and suUenness, which vices 
 nature doth somewhat kindle in you i 
 and therefore you must with reason 
 and discretion make a new nature 
 in yourself. Give not your mind too 
 much and too greedily to gaming; 
 make a pastime of it, and no toil. 
 And lastly, delight to spend some timo 
 in reading of the Scriptures ; for there- 
 in is the whole comfort of man's life ; 
 all other things are vain and transi- 
 tory ; and if you be diligent in reading 
 of them, they will remain with you 
 continually, to your profit and com- 
 modity in this world, and to your com- 
 fort and salvation in the world to come, 
 whither, in grace of God, I am now 
 with joy and consolation preparing 
 myself. And, upon my blessing, be- 
 ware of blind papistry, which brings 
 nothing but bondage to men's con- 
 
Oons'ance Sherwood. 
 
 9i 
 
 sciences. Mix your prayers with fast- 
 ing, not thinking there])y to mel'it ; for 
 there is nothing that we ourselves can 
 do that is good, — we arc but unprofit- 
 able servants ; but fast, I say, thereby 
 to tame the Avickcd affection of the 
 mind, and trust only to be saved by 
 Christ's precious blood ; for without a 
 perfect faith therein, there is no salva- 
 tion. Let works follow your faith ; 
 thereby to show to the world that you 
 do not only say you have faith, but 
 that you give testimony thereof to the 
 full satisfaction of the godly. I write 
 somewhat the more herein, because 
 perchance you have heretofore heard, 
 or perchance may hereafter hear, false 
 bruits that I was a papist ; * but trust 
 unto it, I never, since I knew what re- 
 ligion meant (I thank God) was of 
 other mind than now you shall hear 
 that I die in; although (I cry God 
 mercy) I have not given fruits and 
 testimony of my faith as I ought to 
 have done ; the which is the thing that 
 I do now chiefliest repent. 
 
 '• When I am gone, forget my con- 
 demning, and forgive, I charge you, my 
 false accusers, as I protest to God I 
 do ; but have nothing to do with them 
 if they live. Surely, Bannister dealt 
 no way but honestly and truly. Hick- 
 ford did not hurt me in my conscience, 
 willingly ; nor did not charge me with 
 any great matter that was of weight 
 otherways than truly. But the Bishop 
 of Ross, and specially Barber, did 
 falsely accuse me, and laid their own 
 treasons upon my back. God forgive 
 them, and I do, and once again I will 
 you to do ; bear no malice in your 
 mind. And now, dear Philip, fare- 
 well. Read this my letter sometimes 
 over; it may chance make you re- 
 member yourself the better ; and by 
 
 * There would seem to be no doubt that the 
 Duke of Norfolk was a sincere Protestant. The 
 strenuous advice to his children to beware of 
 Poper}' aflbrds evidence of it. Greatly, however, 
 as it would have tended to their worldly pros- 
 perity to have followed their father's last injunc- 
 tions in this respect, all but one of those he thus 
 counselled were subsequently reconciled to the 
 Catholic Church. 
 
 The Duke's letters in this chapter are all 
 authentic. See the Rev. M. Tierney's History of 
 Arundel, and the Appendix to Nott's edition of 
 Lord Surrey'o poems. 
 
 the same, when your father is dead and 
 rotten, you may see what counsel I 
 would give you if I were alive. If 
 you follow these admonitions, there is 
 no doubo but God will bless you ; and 
 I, your earthly father, do give you 
 God's blessing and mine, with my 
 humble prayers to Almighty God that 
 it will please him to bless you and your 
 good Nan ; that you may both, if it be 
 his will, see your children's children, 
 to the comfort of you both ; and after- 
 ward that you may be partakers of 
 the heavenly kingdom. Amen, amen. 
 Written by the hand of your loving 
 father. T. H." 
 
 " And to Tom his grace did write : 
 " Tom, out of this that I have writ- 
 ten to your brother, you may learn 
 such lessons as are fit for you. That 
 I write to one, that I write to all, ex- 
 cept it be somewhat which particularly 
 touches any of you. To fear and 
 serve God is generally to you all ; and, 
 on my blessing, take greatest care 
 thereof, for it is the foundation of all 
 goodness. You have, even from your 
 mfancy, been given to be stubborn. 
 Beware of that vice, Tom, and bridle 
 nature with wisdom. Though you be 
 her majesty's ward, yet if you use 
 yourself well to my Lord Burleigh, he 
 will, I hope, help you to buy your own 
 wardship. Follow your elder brother's 
 advice, who, I hope, will take such a 
 course as may be to all your comforts. 
 God send him grace so to do, and to 
 you too ! I give you God's blessing 
 and mine, and I hope he will prosper 
 you." 
 
 " And to Will he saith (whom me- 
 thinks his heart did inchne to, as 
 Jacob's did to Benjamhi) : 
 
 " Will, though you be now young, 
 yet I hope, if it shall please God to 
 send you life, that you will then con 
 sider of the precepts heretofore written 
 to your brethren. I have committed 
 the charge of your bringlng-up to your 
 elder brother ; and therefore I charge 
 you to be obedient to him, as you 
 would have been to me if I had been 
 
92 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 living. If you shall lia ve a liking to my 
 daiighter-in-law, Besc Dacres, I hope 
 you shall have it in your own choice 
 to marry Jier. I will not advise you 
 otherways than yourself, when you are 
 of fit years, sliall think good ; but this 
 assure yourself, it will be a good 
 augmentation to your small living, 
 considering how chargeable the world 
 groweth to be. As you are youngest, 
 so the more you ought to be obedient 
 to your elders. God send you a good 
 younger brother's fortune in this world, 
 and his grace, that you may ever be 
 his, both in this w^orld and in the world 
 to come." 
 
 "To me, his unworthy daughter, 
 were these lines written, which I be 
 ashamed to transcribe, but that his 
 goodness doth appear in his good 
 opinion of me rather than my so poor 
 merits : 
 
 " Well-beloved Nan, that hath been 
 as dear to me as if you had been my 
 own daughter, although, considering 
 this ill hap that has now chanced, you 
 might have had a greater marriage 
 than now your husband shall be ; yet 
 I hope that you will remember that, 
 when you were raarried, the case was 
 far otherways ; and therefore I hope 
 your dutiful dealings shall be so to 
 your husband, and your sisterly love 
 to your brothers-in-law and sister-in- 
 law, as my friends that shall see it may 
 think that my great affection to you 
 was well bestowed. Thanks be to God, 
 you have hitherto taken a good course ; 
 whereby all that wish you well take 
 great hope rather of your going for- 
 ward therein than backward — which 
 God forbid ! I will request no more at 
 your hands, now that I am gone, in 
 recompense of my former love to you, 
 but that you will observe my three les- 
 sons: to fear and serve God, flying 
 idleness ; to love faithfully your hus- 
 band ; and to be kind to your brothers 
 and sisters — specially committing to 
 your care mine only daughter Megg, 
 hoping that you will not be a sister- 
 in-law to lier, but rather a natural 
 Mister, yea even a very mother ; and 
 
 that as I took care for the well be- 
 stowing of you, so you will take care 
 for the well bestowing of her, and be a 
 continual caller on your husband for 
 the same. If this mishap had not 
 chanced, you and your husband might 
 have been awhile still young, and I 
 would, by God's help, have supplied 
 your wants. But now the case is 
 changed, and you must, at your years 
 of fifteen, attain to the consideration 
 and discretion of twenty ; or else, if 
 God send you to live in your age, you 
 shall have cause to repent your folly in 
 youth, beside the endangering the 
 casting away of those who do wholly 
 depend upon your two well-doings. I 
 do not mistrust that you will be mmd- 
 ful of my last requests ; and so doing 
 God bless you, and send you to be old 
 parents to virtuous children, which is 
 likeliest to be if you give them good 
 example. Farewell! for this is the 
 last that you shall ever receive from 
 your loving father. Farewell, my 
 dear Nan 1" 
 
 "And to his own sweet Megg lie 
 subjoined in the same letter" these 
 words : 
 
 " Megg, I have, as you see, commit- 
 ted you to your loving sister. I charge 
 you therefore, upon my blessing, that 
 you obey her in all things, as you 
 would do me or your own mother, if 
 we were living ; and then I doubt not 
 but by her good means you shall be in 
 fit time besto^ved to your own com- 
 fort and contentment. Be good; 
 no babbler, and ever be busied and 
 doing of somewhat; and give your 
 mind to reading in the Bible and such 
 other good books, whereby you may 
 learn to fear God ; and so you shall 
 prove, by his help, hereafter the better 
 wife, and a virtuous woman in all other 
 respects. Ifyou follow these my lessons, 
 then God's blessing and mine I give you, 
 and pray that you may both live and 
 die his servant. Amen." 
 
 "When I read these letters, and my 
 Lady Surrey's comments upon them, 
 what pangs seized my heart! Her 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 95 
 
 inesseiiger was awaiting an a^^- 
 swcr, which he said must be brief, 
 lor he had to ride to Bermondsey 
 witli a message for my Lord Sus- 
 sex, and had been long delayed 
 in the city. I seized a pen, and 
 liastily wrote : 
 
 " Oh, my dear ^nd honored 
 lady, what grief, what pain, your 
 letter hath caused me ! Forgive 
 nie if, having but brief time in 
 which to write a few lines by your 
 messenger, I dwell not on the 
 sorrow which doth oppress you, 
 nor on the many excellences ap- 
 parent in those farewell letters, 
 which give token of so great 
 virtue and wisdom in the writer, 
 that one should be prompted to 
 exclaim he did lack but one thing 
 to be perfect, that being a true 
 faith, — but rather direct my an- 
 swer to that passage in yours 
 which doth work in me such re- 
 gret, yea such anguish of heart, as 
 my poor words can ill express. 
 For verily there can be no greater 
 danger to a soul than to be lured 
 from the profession of a true 
 Catholic faith, once firmly receiv- 
 ed and yet inwardly held, by 
 deceptive arguments, whereby it 
 <ioth conceal its own weakness 
 under the garb of respect for the 
 dead and duty to the living. For, 
 I pray you, mine own dear lady, 
 what respect and what duty is 
 owing to men which be not rather 
 due to him who reads the heart, 
 and will ask a strict account of 
 such as, having known his will, 
 yet have not done it? Believe 
 me, 'tis a perilous thing to do evil 
 that good may come. Is it possi- 
 ble you should resolve never to 
 ]»rofess that religion which, in 
 
 your conscience, you do believe to 
 be true, nor to move your lord 
 thereunto, for any human respect, * 
 however dear and sacred ? I hope 
 other feelings may return, and 
 God's hand will support, uphold, 
 and never fail you in your need. 
 I beseech him to guard and keep 
 you in the right way. 
 
 *' Your humble servant and truly 
 loving poor friend, 
 
 " Constance Sherwood." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 During the two years which 
 followed the Duke of Norfolk's 
 death, I did only see my Lady Sur- 
 rey once, which was when she 
 cam€ to Arundel House, on a visit 
 to her lord's grandfather ; and her 
 lettei's for a while were both scanty 
 and brief. She made no mention 
 of religion, and but little of her 
 husband; and chiefly touched on 
 such themes as Lady Margaret's 
 nuptials with Mr. Sackville (Lord 
 Dorset's heir) and Mistress Mili- 
 cent's with Sir Hammond I'Es- 
 trange. She had crreat content- 
 ment, she wrote, to see them both 
 so well married according to their 
 degree ; but that for herself she 
 did very much miss her good sis- 
 ter's company and her gentle- 
 woman's affectionate services, who 
 would now reside all the year at 
 her husband's seat in Norfolk ; but 
 she looked when my lord and her- 
 self should be at Kenninghall, when 
 he left the university, that they 
 might yet, being neighbors, spend 
 some happy days together, if it so 
 pleased God. Once she wrote in 
 
94 
 
 Constance Sherv'ood. 
 
 exceeding great joy, so tliat she 
 said she hardly knew how to con- 
 tain herself, for that my lord was 
 coming in a few days to sjjend the 
 long, vacation at Lord Sussex's 
 house at Berraondsey. But when 
 she wrote again, methought — albeit 
 her letter was cheerful, and she 
 did jest in it somewhat more than 
 Avas her w^ont — that there was 
 a silence touching her husband, 
 and her own contentment in his 
 society, which betokened a reserve 
 such as I had not noticed in her 
 before. About that time it was 
 bruited in London that my Lord 
 Surrey had received no small detri- 
 ment by the bad example he had 
 at Cambridge, and the liberty per- 
 mitted him. 
 
 And now, forsaking for a while 
 the theme of that noble pair, 
 whose mishaps and felicities have 
 ever saddened and rejoiced mine 
 heart almost equally with mine 
 own good or evil fortune, I here 
 purpose to set down such occur- 
 rences as should be worthy of note 
 in the more obscure sphere in which 
 my lot w^as cast. 
 
 When I was about sixteen, my 
 cousin Kate was married to Mr. 
 Lacy ; first in a secret manner, in 
 the night, by Mr. Plasden, a priest, 
 in her father's library, and the 
 next day at the parish church at 
 Holborn. Methinks a fairer bride 
 never rode to church than our 
 Kate. Her mother went with her, 
 which was the first time she had 
 been out of doors for a long space 
 of time, for she feared to catch 
 cold if the wind did blow from 
 the north or the east ; and if from 
 the south she feared it should bring 
 noxious vapors from the river; 
 and the west, infection from the 
 
 city, and so stayed at home for 
 greater safety. But on Kate's 
 wedding day we did all jjrotest the 
 wind blew not at all, so tliat from 
 no quarter of the sky should mis- 
 chief arise ; and in a closed litter, 
 which she reckoned to be safer 
 than a coach, she consented to go 
 to church. * 
 
 " Marry, good wife," cried Mr. 
 Congleton, when she had been 
 magnifying all the dangers she 
 mostly feared, " thou dost forget 
 the greatest of all in these days, 
 which doth hold us all by the 
 neck, as it were. For hearing 
 mass, as we did in this room last 
 night, w^e do all run the risk of 
 being hanged, which should be a 
 greater peril methinks than a 
 breath of foul air." 
 
 She, being in a merry mood, re- 
 plied : " Twittle twattle, Mr. Con- 
 gleton ; the one may be avoided, 
 the other not. 'Tis no reason I 
 should get a cold to-day because I 
 be like to be hanged to-morrow." 
 
 "P faith," cried Polly, ''my 
 mother hath well parried your 
 thrust, sir ; and methinks the holy 
 Bishop of Rochester was of the 
 same mind with her." 
 
 "How so, Polly?" quoth her 
 her father ; and she, " There hap- 
 pened a false rumor to rise sudden- 
 ly among the people when he Avas 
 in the prison, so I have heard 
 Mr. lloper relate, that he should 
 be brought to execution on a cer- 
 tain day : wherefore his cook, that, 
 was wont to dress his dinner and 
 carry it daily unto him, hearing of 
 his execution, dressed him no din- 
 ner at all that day. Wherefore, 
 at the cook's next re2:)air unto hnii, 
 he demanded the cause why \\v 
 brought him not his dinner. ' Sir,' 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 95 
 
 said tlie cook, ' it was commonly 
 talked all over the town that you 
 should have died to-day, and there- 
 fore I thought it but vain to dress 
 anything for you.' ' Well,' quoth 
 the bishop merrily, 'for all that 
 report, thou seest me yet alive ; 
 and, therefore, whatsoever news 
 thou shalt hear of me, hereafter, 
 prithee let me no more lack my din- 
 ner, but make it ready ; and if 
 thou see me dead when thou 
 (5omest, then eat it thyself. But I 
 promise thee, if I be alive, by 
 God's grace, to eat never a bit the 
 less." 
 
 " And on the day he was verily 
 executed," said Mistress Ward, 
 " when the lieutenant came to fetch 
 him, he said to his man, ' Reach me 
 my furred tippet, to put about my 
 neck.' '^O my lord!' said the 
 lieutenant, ' what need you be so 
 careful of your health for this little 
 time, being not much above an 
 hour ?' ' I think no otherwise,' 
 said this blessed father ; 'but yet, 
 m the meantime, I will keep my- 
 self as well as I can ; for I tell you 
 truth, though I have, I thank our 
 Lord, a very good desire and a 
 willing mind to die at this present, 
 and so I trust of his infinite mercy 
 and goodness he will continue it, 
 yet I will not willingly hinder my 
 health one minute of an hour, but 
 still prolong the same as long as I 
 can by such reasonable ways as 
 Almighty God hath provided for 
 jtie.' " Upon which my good aunt 
 fastened her veil about her head, 
 and said the holy bishop was the 
 most wise saint and reasonablest 
 martyr she had yet heard of. 
 
 Kate was dressed in a kirtle of 
 white silk, her head attired with 
 an habiliment of gold, and her 
 
 hair, brighter itself than gold, 
 woven about her face in cunningly 
 wrought tresses. She was led t«> 
 church between two gentlemen — 
 Mr. Tresham and Mr. Ilogdson — 
 friends of the bridegroom, whu 
 had bride-laces and rosemary tied 
 about their silken sleeves. Theic 
 was a fair cup of silver gilt car- 
 ried before her, wherein was a 
 goodly branch of rosemary, gilded 
 very fair, and hung about witli 
 silken ribbons of all colors. Musi- 
 cians • came next ; then a group 
 of maidens bearing garlands finely 
 gilded ; and thus we passed on to 
 the church. The common people 
 at the door cheered the bride, 
 whose fair face was a passport to 
 their favor ; but as Muriel crept 
 along, leaning on my arm, I caught 
 sound of murmured blessings. 
 
 " Sweet saint," quoth an aged 
 man, leaning on his staff", near the 
 porch, " I ween thine espousals be 
 not of earth." A woman, with a 
 child in her arms, whispered to her 
 as she past, " He thou knowest of 
 is dead, and died praying for 
 thee." A man whose eyes ha<l 
 watched her painfully ascending 
 the steps, called her an angel; 
 whereupon a beggar with a 
 crutch cried out, "Marry a lame 
 angel !" A sweet smile was on 
 her face as she turned toward him ; 
 and drawing a piece of silver 
 from her pocket, she bestowed it 
 on him, with some such words as 
 these — that she prayed they might 
 both be so happy, albeit lame, as 
 to hobble to heaveit, and get there 
 in good time, if it should please 
 God. Then he fell to blessing her 
 so loud, that she hurried me into 
 the church, not content to be 
 thanked in so public a manner. 
 
96 
 
 Constance Sherwood* 
 
 After the ceremony, we returned in 
 the same order to Ely Place. The 
 banquet which followed, and the sports 
 succeeding it, were conducted in a 
 private and somewhat quiet fashion, 
 and not many guests invited, by rea- 
 son of the times, and Mr. Congleton 
 misliking to draw notice to his house, 
 which had hitherto been but little mo- 
 lested, partly for that Sir Francis 
 Walsingham had a friendship for him, 
 and also for his sister. Lady Egerton 
 of Ridley, which procured for them 
 greater favor, in the way of toleration, 
 than is extended to others ; and like- 
 wise the Portuguese ambassador was 
 his very good friend, and his chapel 
 open to us at all times ; so that 
 priests did not need to come to his 
 house for the performance of any re- 
 ligious actions, except that one of the 
 marriage, which had taken place the 
 night before in his library. Howso- 
 ever, he was very well known to be a 
 recusant, for that neither himself, nor 
 any belonging to him, attended Pro- 
 testant worship; and Sir Francis 
 sometimes told him that the clemency 
 with which he was treated was shown 
 toward him with the hope that, by 
 mild courses, he might be soon brought 
 to some better conformity. 
 
 Mr. Lacy's house was in Gray's 
 Inn Lane, a few doors from Mr. 
 Swithin Wells's ; and through this 
 proximity an intimate acquaintance- 
 ship did arise between that worthy 
 gentleman and his w^ife and Kate's 
 friends. He was very good-natured, 
 pleasant in conversation, courteous, and 
 generous; and Mrs. Wells a most 
 virtuous gentlewoman. Although he 
 (Mr. Swithin) much delighted in 
 hawking, hunting, and other suchlike 
 diversions, yet he so soberly governed 
 his aflfections therein, as to be content 
 to deprive himself of a good part of 
 those pleasures, and retire to a more 
 profitable employment of training up 
 young gentlemen in virtue and learn- 
 ing ; and with such success that 
 liis house has been, as it were, a fruit- 
 ful seminary to many worthy members 
 of the Catholic Church. Among the 
 
 youag gentlemen who resided wiin 
 him at that time was Mr. Hubert Rook- 
 wood, the youngest of the two sons 
 of Mr. Rook wood, of Euston, whom I 
 had seen at the inn at Bedford, when 
 I was journeying to London. We 
 did speedily enter into a somewhat 
 close acquaintanceship, founded on a 
 similarity of tastes and agreeable in- 
 terchange of civihties, touching the 
 lending of books and likewise pieces 
 of music, which I did make fair copies 
 of for him, and which we sometimes 
 practiced in the evening ; for he had a 
 pleasant voice and an aptness to catch 
 the trick of a song, albeit unlearned 
 in the art, wherein he styled me pro- 
 ficient ; and I, nothing loth to impart 
 my knowledge, became his instructor, 
 and did teach him both to sing and 
 play the lute. He was not much 
 taller than when I had seen him be- 
 fore ; but his figure was changed, and 
 his visage had grown pale, and his 
 hair thick and flowing, especially to- 
 ward the back of the head, discovering 
 in front a high and thoughtful ibre- 
 head. There was a great deal of good 
 young company at that time in Mr. 
 Wells's house ; for some Catholics 
 tabled there beside those that were 
 his pupils, and others resorted to it by 
 reason of the pleasant entertainment 
 they found in the society of ingenuous 
 persons, well qualified, and of their 
 own religion. I had most days op- 
 portunities of conversing with Hubert, 
 though we were never alone ; and, 
 by reason of the friendship Avhicli had 
 existed between his father and mine, 
 I allowed him a kindness I did not 
 commonly afford to others. 
 
 Mr. Lacy had had his training in 
 that house, and, albeit his natural 
 parts did not title him to the praise of 
 an eminent scholar, he had thence de- 
 rived a great esteem for learning, a 
 taste for books, of the which he did 
 possess a great store (many hundred 
 volumes), and a discreet manner of 
 talking, though something tinctured 
 with affectation, inasmuch as he should 
 seem to be rather enamored of the 
 words he uttered, than careful of the 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 97 
 
 substance. Hubert was wont to say 
 that his speech was hke to the drawing 
 of a leaden sword out of a gilded 
 sheath. He was a very virtuous 
 young man ; and his wife had never 
 but one complaint to set forth, which 
 was that his books took up so much of 
 his time that she was almost as jeal- 
 ous of them as if they had been her 
 rivals. She would have it he did kill 
 himself with study ; and, in a partic- 
 ular manner, with the writing of the 
 life of one Thomas h Kempis, which 
 was a work he had had a long time on 
 hand. One day she comes into his 
 library, and salutes him thus: 
 " Mr. Lacy, I w^ould I were a book ; 
 and then methinks you would a little 
 more respect me." Polly, who was by, 
 cried out, " Madam, you must then be 
 an almanac, that he might change 
 every year ; " whereat she was not a 
 little displeased. And another time, 
 when her husband was sick, she said, 
 if Mr. Lacy died, she would bum 
 Thomas a Kempis for the killing of 
 lier husband. I, hearing this, answer- 
 ed that to do so were a great pity ; to 
 whom she replied, " Why, who was 
 Thomas a Kempis?" to which I 
 answered, '* One of the saintliest men 
 of the age wherein he lived." Where- 
 with she was so satisfied, that she 
 said, then she would not do it for all 
 the world. 
 
 Methinks I read more in that one 
 year than in all the rest of my life be- 
 side. Mine aunt was more sick than 
 usual, and Mistress Ward so taken up 
 with the nursing of her, that she did 
 not often leave her room. Polly w^as 
 married in the winter to Sir Ralph In- 
 goklby, and went to reside for some 
 months in the country. Muriel pre- 
 vailed on her father to visit the pris- 
 ons with her, in Mistress Ward's 
 stead, so that sometimes they were 
 abroad the whole of the day ; by rea- 
 son of which, I was oftener in Gray's 
 Inn Lime than at home, sometimes at 
 Kate's house, and sometimes at Mis- 
 tress Wells's mansion, where I became 
 infected with a zeal for learning, which 
 Hubert's examole and conversation 
 
 did greatly invite me to. He had the 
 most winning tongue, and the aptest 
 spirit in the world to divine the natural 
 inchnations of those he consorted with. 
 The books he advised me to read were 
 mostly swch as Mistress Ward, to 
 whom I did faithfully recite their titles, 
 accounted to be not otherwise than 
 good and profitable, having learned so 
 much from good men she consulted 
 thereon, for she was herself no scholar; 
 but they bred in me a great thirst for 
 knowledge, a craving to converse with 
 those who had more learning than my- 
 self, and withal so keen a relish for Hu- 
 bert's society, that I had no content- 
 ment so welcome as to listen to his dis- 
 course, which was seasoned with a rare 
 kind of eloquence and a discursive 
 fancy, to which, also, the perfection of 
 his carriage, his pronunciation of 
 speech, and the deportment of his 
 body lent no mean lustre. Naught 
 arrogant or affected disfigured his con- 
 versation, in which did lie so effica- 
 cious a power of persuasion, and at 
 times, when the occasion called for it, 
 so great a vehemency of passion, as 
 enforced admiration of his great parts 
 if not approval of his arguments. 1 
 made him at that time judge of the 
 new thoughts which books, like so 
 many keys opening secret chambers 
 in the mind, did unlock in mine ; and 
 I mind me how eagerly I looked for 
 his answers — how I hung on his lips 
 Avhen he was speaking, not from any 
 singular affection toward his person, 
 but by reason of the extraordinary 
 fascination of his speech, and the in- 
 terest of the themes we discoursed up- 
 on; one time touching on the histories 
 of great men of past ages, at another 
 on the changes wrought in our own by 
 the new art of printing books, which 
 had produced such great changes in 
 the world, and yet greater to be ex- 
 pected. And as he was well skilled 
 in the Italian as well as the French 
 language, I came by his means to be 
 acquainted with many great writers of 
 those nations. He translated for me : 
 sundry passages from the divine play 
 of Signer Da ite Alighieri, in whick; 
 
98 
 
 Constance Shernooa 
 
 hell and purgatory and heaven arc de- 
 picted, as it were by an eye-witness, 
 with so much pregnancy of meaning 
 and force of genius, that it should al- 
 most appear as if some special revela- 
 tion had been vouchsafed to the poet be- 
 yond his. natural thoughts, to disclose 
 to him the secrets of other spheres. 
 He also made me read a portion of 
 that most line and sweet poem on the 
 delivery of the holy city Jerusalem, 
 composed by Signor Torquato Tasso, 
 a gentleman who resided at that time 
 at the court of the Duke of Ferrara, 
 and which one Mr. Fairfax has since 
 done into English verse. The first 
 four cantos thereof were given to Mr. 
 Wells by a young gentleman, who had 
 for a while studied at the University 
 •of Padua. This fair poem, and mostly 
 the second book ihereof, hath remained 
 imprinted in my memjDry with a singu- 
 lar fixity, by reason that it proved the 
 occasion of my discerning for the first 
 time a special inclination on Hubert's 
 side toward myself, who thought noth- 
 ing of love, but was only glad to 
 have acquired a friend endowed with 
 so much wit and superior knowledge, 
 and willing to impart it. This book, 
 I say, did contain a narration which 
 bred in me so great a resentment of 
 the author's merits, and so quick a 
 sympathy with the feigned subjects of 
 his muse, that never before or since 
 the story of Olindo and Sophronisba. 
 methinks has a fiction so moved me as 
 Methinks this was partly ascribable 
 to a certain hkeness between the 
 scenes described by the poet and some 
 which take place at this time in our 
 country. In the maiden of high and 
 noble thoughts, fair, but heedless of 
 her beauty, who stood in the presence 
 of the soldan, once a Christian, then a 
 renegade, taking on herself the sole 
 guilt, — O virtuous guilt ! O worthy 
 crime ! — of wliich all the Christians 
 were accused, to wit, of rescuing 
 sacred Mary's image from the hands of 
 the infidels who did curse and blas- 
 pheme it, and, when all were to die 
 for the act of one unknown, offered 
 herself a ransom for all, and with a 
 
 shamefaced courage, such as became a 
 maid, and a bold modesty befitting a 
 saint — a bosom moved indeed, but not 
 dismayed, a fair but not pallid cheek 
 — was content to perish for that the 
 rest should live ; — in her, I say, I saw 
 a likeness in spirit to those who suficr 
 nowadays for a like faith with hers, 
 not at the hands of infidels, but of such 
 whose parents did for the most part 
 hold that same belief which they do 
 now make out to be treason. 
 
 Hubert, observing me to be thus 
 moved, smiled, and asked if, in the 
 hke case, I should have willed to die 
 as Sophronisba. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, « if God did 
 give me grace ;" and then, as I uttered 
 the words, I thought it should not be 
 lawful to tell a lie, not for to save all 
 the Hves in the world ; which doubt I 
 imparted to him, who laughed and 
 said he was of the poet's mind, who 
 doth exclaim, touching this he, " O 
 noble deceit ! worthier than truth it- 
 self!" and that he thought a soul 
 should not suffer long in purgatory 
 for such a sin. " Maybe not," I an- 
 swered ; " yet, I ween, there should 
 be more faith in a sole commitment to 
 God of the events than in doing the 
 least evil so that good should come of 
 it." 
 
 He said, " I marvel, Mistress Con- 
 stance, what should be your thoughts 
 thereon if the life of a priest was in 
 your hands, and you able to save him 
 by a lie." 
 
 " Verily," 1 answered, " I know not. 
 Master Rookwood; but I have so 
 much trust in Almighty God that he 
 would, in such a case, put words into 
 my mouth which should be true, and 
 yet mislead evil-purposed men, or 
 that he shall keep me from such fear- 
 ful straits, or forgive me if, in the 
 stress of a great peril, I unwittingly 
 should err." 
 
 "And I pray you," Hubert then 
 said, as if not greatly caring to pursue 
 the theme, "what be your thoughts 
 concerning the unhappy youth Ohndo, 
 who did so dote on this maiden that, 
 fearful of offending there where above 
 
Constance Sherwool. 
 
 99 
 
 all he desired to please, had, greatly 
 as he loved, little hoped, nothing asked, 
 and not so much as revealed his pas- 
 sion until a common fate bound both 
 to an equal death ?" 
 
 " I thought not at all on him," I 
 answered; "but only on Sophron- 
 isba." 
 
 At which he sighed and read fur- 
 ther: "That all wept forher who, albeit 
 doomed to a cruel death, wept not for 
 herself, but in this wise secretly re- 
 proved the fond youth's weeping: 
 ' Friend,' quoth she, ' other thoughts, 
 other tears, other sighs, do beseem 
 this hour. Think of thy sins, and 
 God's great recompense for the good. 
 Suffer for his sole sake, and torment 
 shall be sweet. See how fair the heav- 
 ens do show, tlie sun how bright, as it 
 were to cheer and lure us onward 1' " 
 
 " Ah !" I exclaimed, " shame on him 
 who did need to be so exhorted, who 
 should have been the most vaUant, be- 
 ing a man !" To the which he quickly 
 replied : 
 
 " He willed to die of his own free 
 will rather than to live without her 
 whom he jewelled more than hfe : but 
 in the matter of grieving love doth 
 make cowards of those who should 
 else have been brave." 
 
 "Methinks, rather," I answered, 
 '' that in noble hearts love's effects 
 should be noble." 
 
 " Bethink you. Mistress Constance," 
 he then asked, " that Sophronisba did 
 act commendably, insomuch that when 
 an unlooked-for deliverance came, she 
 refused not to be united in life to him 
 that had willed to be united to her in 
 death." 
 
 " You may think me ungrateful, sir," 
 I answered; "but other merits me- 
 thinks than fondness for herself should 
 have won so great a heart." 
 
 " You be hard to content. Mistress 
 Ccnstance," he answered somewhat 
 resentfully. " To satisfy you, I per- 
 ceive one should have a hard as well 
 as a great heart." 
 
 " Nay," I cried, " I praise not hard- 
 ness, but love not softness either. You 
 that be so learned, I pray you find the 
 
 word which doth express what pleas- 
 cth me in a man." 
 
 " J know not the word," he answer- 
 ed ; '• I would I knew the substance 
 of your liking, that T might furnisii 
 myself with it." 
 
 Whereupon our discourse ended 
 that day ; but it ministered food to my 
 thoughts, and I fear me also to a vain 
 content that one so gifted with learn- 
 ing and great promise of future great- 
 ness should evince something of regard 
 beyond a mutual friendship for one as 
 ignorant and young as I then was. 
 
 Some months after Kate's marriage, 
 matters became very troublesome, by 
 reason of the killing of a great store, 
 as was reported, of French Huguenots 
 in Paris on St. Bartholomew's day, and 
 afterward in many cities of France, 
 which did consternate the English 
 Cathohcs for more reasons than one, 
 and awoke so much rage in the breasts 
 of Protestants, that the French am- 
 bassador told Lady Tregony, a friend 
 of Mistress Wells, that he did scarce 
 venture to show his face ; and none, 
 save only the queen herself, who is 
 always his very good friend, would 
 speak to him. I was one evening at 
 the house of Lady Ingoldby, Polly's 
 mother-in-law, some time after this 
 dismal news had been bruited, and the 
 company there assembled did for the 
 most part discourse on these events, 
 not only as deploring what had taken 
 place, alid condemning the authors 
 thereof, — which, indeed, was what all 
 good persons must needs have done, — 
 but took occasion thence to use such vih' 
 terms and opprobrious language touch- 
 ing Catholic religion, and the cruelty 
 and wickedness of such as did profess 
 it, without so much as a thought of 
 the miseries inflicted on them in Eng- 
 land, that — albeit I had been school- 
 ed in the hard lesson of silence — so 
 strong a passion overcame me then, 
 that I had well nigh, as the Psalmist 
 saith, spoken with my tongue, yea, 
 young as I was, uttered words rising 
 hot from my heart, in the midst of 
 that adverse company, which I did 
 know them to be, if one had not at 
 
lOO 
 
 Constance Sheruood. 
 
 that moment lifted up his voice, whose 
 presence I had already noted, though 
 not acquainted with his name ; a man 
 of reverent and exceedingly benevo- 
 lent aspect ; aged, but with an eye so 
 bright, and silvery hair crowning a no- 
 ble forehead, that so much excellence 
 and dignity is seldom to be observed 
 in any one as was apparent in this 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Good friends," he said, and at the 
 sound of his voice the speakers hushed 
 their eager discoursing, " God defend 
 I should in any way differ with you 
 touching the mascacres in France; 
 for verily it has been a lamentable and 
 horrible thing that so many persons 
 should be killed, and religion to be the 
 pretence for it; but to hear some 
 speak of it, one should think none did 
 suffer in this country for their faith, 
 and bloody law3 did not exist, whereby 
 Papists are put to death in a legal, 
 cold-blooded fashion, more terrible, if 
 possible, than the sudden bursts of 
 wild passions and civ,il strife, which re- 
 venge for late cruelties committed by 
 the Huguenots, wherein many thou- 
 sand Catholics Had perished, the de- 
 struction of churches, havoc of fierce 
 •oldiery, and apprehension of the like 
 attempts in Paris, had stirred up to 
 fury; so that when the word went 
 forth to fall on the leaders of the 
 party, the savage work once begun, 
 even as a fire in a city built of wood, 
 raged as a madness for one while, and 
 men in a panic struck at foes, whose 
 gripe they did think to feel about 
 their throats." 
 
 Here the speaker paused an in- 
 stant. This so bold opening of his 
 speech did seem to take all present by 
 surprise, and almost robbed me of my 
 breath ; for it is well known that now- 
 adays a word, yea a piece of a word, 
 or a nod of the head, whereby any 
 suspicion may arise of a favorable 
 disposition toward Catholics, is often- 
 times a sufficient cause for a man to 
 be accused and cast into prison ; and I 
 waited his next words (which every 
 one, pcradventure from curiosity, did 
 likewise seem inclined to hear) with 
 
 downcast eyes, wliich dared not to 
 glance at any one's face, and cheeks 
 which buraed like hot coals. 
 
 " It is well known," quoth he, " that 
 the sufferings which be endured by 
 recusants at this time in our country 
 are such, that many should prefer to 
 die at once than to be subjected to so 
 constant a fear and terror as doth be- 
 set them. I speak not now of the 
 truth or the falsity of their religion, 
 which, if it be ever so damnable and 
 wicked, is no new invention of their 
 own, but what all Christian people did 
 agree in, one hundred years ago ; so 
 that the aged do but abide by what 
 they were taught by undoubted author- 
 ity in, their youth, and the young have 
 received from their parents as true. 
 But I do solely aver that Papists arc 
 subjected to a thousand vexations, 
 both of bonds, imprisonments, and tor- 
 ments worse than death, yea and oft- 
 entimes to death itself; and that so 
 dreadful, that to be slain by the sword, 
 or drowned, yea even burned at the 
 stake, is not so terrible ; for they do 
 hang a man and then cut him down 
 yet alive, and butcher him in such 
 ways — plucking out his heart and 
 tearing his limbs asunder — that noth 
 ing more horrible can be thought of." 
 
 " They be traitors who arc so 
 used," cried one gentleman, somewhat 
 recovering from the surprise which 
 these bold words had caused. 
 
 " If to be of a different religion from 
 the sovereign of the country be a proof 
 of treason," continued the venerable 
 speaker, " then were the Huguenots, 
 which have perished in France, a 
 whole mass and nest of traitors." 
 
 A gentleman seated behind me, who 
 had a trick of sleeping in his chair, 
 woke up and cried out, " Not half a 
 one, sirs ; not so much as half a one 
 is allowed," meaning the mass, which 
 he did suppose to have been spoken 
 of. 
 
 " And if so, deserved all to die," 
 continued the speaker. 
 
 " Ay, and so they do, sir," quoth the 
 sleeper. " I pray you let them all be 
 hanged." Upon which every one 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 W^ ]IP\ 
 
 laughed, and the aged gentleman also ; 
 
 and then lie said, 
 
 " Good my friends, I ween 'tis a 
 rash thing to speak in favor of recu- 
 sants nowadays, and what few could 
 dare to do but such as cannot be sus- 
 pected of disloyalty to the queen and 
 the country, and who, having drunk of 
 the cup of affliction in their youth, 
 even to the dregs, and held life for a 
 long time as a burden which hath need 
 to be borne day by day, until the 
 wished for hour of release doth come 
 — and the sooner, the more welcome — 
 have no enemies to fear, and no object 
 to attain. And if so be that you will 
 bear with me for a few moments, yea, 
 if ye procure me to be hanged to-mor- 
 row" (this he said with a pleasant 
 smile ; and, "Marry, fear not, Mr. 
 Roper," and " V faith, speak on, sir," 
 was bruited round him by his aston- 
 ished auditors), "I will recite to you 
 some small part of the miseries which 
 have been endured of late years by 
 such as cannot be charged with the 
 least thought of treason, or so much 
 as the least offence against the laws, 
 except in what touches the secret 
 practice of their religion. Women 
 have, to my certain knowledge, been 
 hung up by the hands in prisons (which 
 do overflow with recusants, so that at 
 this time there remaineth no room for 
 common malefactors), and cruelly 
 scourged, for that they would not con- 
 fess by which priest they had been re- 
 conciled or al3solved, or where they 
 had heard mass. Priests are often 
 tortured to force them to declare what 
 they hear in confession, who harbor 
 priests and Papists, where such and 
 such recusants are to be found, and 
 the like questions ; and in so strenu- 
 ous a manner, that needles have been 
 thrust under their nails, and one man, 
 not long since, died of his racking. O 
 sirs and gentle ladies, I have seen 
 with mine own eyes a youth, the son 
 of one of my friends — young Mark 
 Typper, born of honest and rich pa- 
 rents, skilful in human learning, hav- 
 ing left his study for a time, and go- 
 ing home to see his friends — whipped 
 
 through the streets of London, and 
 burnt in the ear, because, forsooth, a 
 forward judge, to whom he had been 
 accused as a Papist, and finding no 
 proof thereof, condemned him as a 
 vagabond. And what think you, good 
 people, of the death of Sir Robe it 
 Tyrwit's son, who was accused for 
 hearing of a mass at the marriage of 
 his sister, and albeit at the time of his 
 arrest in a grievous fever, was pulled 
 out of the house and thrust into prison, 
 even as he then was, feeble, faint, and 
 grievously sick ? His afflicted parents 
 entreat, make intercession, and use all 
 the means they can to move the jus- 
 tices to have consideration of the sick ; 
 not to heap sorrow upon sorrow, nor 
 affliction on the afflicted ; not to take 
 away the life of so comely a young 
 gentleman, whom the physicians come 
 and affirm will certainly die if he 
 should be removed. All this is noth- 
 ing regarded. They lay hold on the 
 sick man, pull him away, shut him up 
 in prison, and within two days next 
 after he dies. They bury him, and 
 make no scruple or regard at all. O 
 sirs, bethink you what these parents 
 do feel when they hear Englishmen 
 speak of the murders of Protestants in 
 France as an unheard of crime. If, 
 in these days, one in a family of recu- 
 sants doth covet the mheritance of an 
 elder brother — yea, of a father — he 
 hath but to conform to the now estab- 
 lished religion (I leave you to think 
 with how much of piety and con- 
 science), and denounce his parent as a 
 Papist, and straightway he doth pro- 
 cure him to be despoiled, and his lands 
 given up to him. Thus the seeds of 
 strife and bitter enmity have been 
 sown broadcast through the land^ 
 the bands of love in families destroyed, 
 the foundations of honor and benefi- 
 cence blown up, the veins and sinews 
 of the common society of men cut 
 asunder, and a fiendly force of violence 
 and a deadly poison of suspicion use.l 
 against such as are accused of no other 
 crime than their religion, which they 
 yet adhere to ; albeit their fortunes be 
 ruined by fines and their lives ia con- 
 
iOi' 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 stant jeopardy from strenuous laws 
 made yet more urgent by private mal- 
 ice. My friends, I would that not 
 one hair of the head of so much as 
 one Huguenot had been touched in 
 France ; that not one Protestant had 
 perished in the flames in the late 
 queen's reign, or in that of her present 
 majesty ; and also that the persecution 
 now framed in this country against 
 Papists, and so handled as to blind 
 men's eyes and work in them a strange 
 hypocrisy, yea and in some an inno- 
 cent belief that freedom of men's souls 
 be the offspring of Protestant religion, 
 should pass away from this land. I 
 care not how soon (as mine honored 
 father-in-law, and in God too, I verily 
 might add, was wont to sayj, — I care 
 not how soon I be sewn up in a bag 
 and cast into the Thames, if so be I 
 might first see religious differences at 
 an end, and men of one mind touching 
 God's truth." 
 
 Here this noble and courageous 
 speaker ceased, and various murmurs 
 rose among the company. One lady 
 remarked to her neighbor : " A mar- 
 vellous preacher that of seditious doc- 
 trines, methinks." 
 
 And one gentleman aid that if 
 such talk were suffered to pass unpun- 
 ished in her majesty's subjects, he 
 should look to see massing and Pop- 
 ery to rear again their heads in the 
 land. 
 
 And many loudly affirmed none 
 could be Papists, or wish them well, 
 and be friends to the queen's govern- 
 ment, and so it did stand to reason that 
 Papists were traitors. 
 
 And another said that, for his part, 
 he should desire to see them less mer- 
 cifully dealt with ; and that the great 
 clemency shown to such as did refuse 
 to come to church, by only laying fines 
 on them, and not dealing so roundly 
 as should compel them to obedience, 
 did but maintain them in their obstin- 
 acy ; and he himself would as lief 
 shoot down a seminary priest as a 
 wolf, or any other evil beast. 
 
 I noticed this last speaker to be one 
 of those who had spoken with most 
 
 abhorrence of the massacres in 
 France. 
 
 One lady called out in a loud voice 
 that Papists, and such as take their 
 part, among which she did lament to 
 see Mr. Roper, should be ashamed so 
 much as to speak of persecution ; and 
 began to relate the cruelties practised 
 upon Protestants twenty years back, 
 and the burning at Oxford of those 
 excellent godly men, the bishops of 
 London and Worcester. 
 
 Mr. Roper listened to her with an 
 attentive countenance, and then said : 
 
 " r faith, madam, I cannot choose 
 but think Dr. Latimer, if it be he 
 you speak of, did somewhat approve of 
 such a method of dealing with persons 
 obstinate touching religion, when others 
 than himself and those of his own way 
 of thinking were tlie subjects of it, if 
 we judge by a letter he wrote in 1538 
 to his singular good friend the Lord 
 Privy Seal Cromwell, at the time he 
 was appointed to preach at the burn- 
 ing at Smithfield of Friar Forest of 
 Greenwich, a learned divine I often 
 did converse with in my young years." 
 
 " What wrote the good bishop ? " 
 two or three persons asked ; and the 
 lady who had spoken before said she 
 should warrant it to be something 
 pious, f6r a more virtuous Protestant 
 never did live than this holy martyr. 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Roper: "This 
 holy bishop did open his discourse 
 right merrily, for in a pleasant man- 
 ner he thus begins his letter : ' And, 
 sir, if it be your pleasure, as it is, that 
 I shall play the fool in my customable 
 manner when Forest shall suffer, I 
 would wish my stage stood near unto 
 Forest ; for I would endeavor myself 
 so to content the people that therewith 
 I might also convert Forest, God so 
 helping.' And further on he doth 
 greatly lament that the Wliite Friars 
 of Doncaster had access to the prison- 
 er, and through the fault of the sheriff 
 or jailers, or both, he should be al- 
 lowed to hear mass and receive the 
 sacrament, by which he is rather com- 
 forted in his way tlian discouraged. 
 And such is his foolishness, this good 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 10' 
 
 man doth humbly say, that if Forest 
 would abjure his religion, he should 
 yet (tor all his past obstinacy) wish 
 liim pardoned. O sirs, think you that 
 when at Oxford this aged man, seven- 
 teen years after, did see the flames 
 gather round himself, that he did not 
 eall to mind what time he preached, 
 l)iaylng the fool, as he saith, before a 
 man in like agonies, and never urged so 
 much as one word against his sen- 
 tence ?" 
 
 *•' Marry, if he did not," said one, 
 whom I take to have been Sir Chris- 
 topher Wray, who had been a silent 
 listener until then, " if his conscience 
 pricked him not thereon, it must needs 
 have been by the same rule as the 
 lawyer used to the countryman, who 
 did put to him this question : ' Sir, if 
 my cow should stray into your field 
 and feed there one whole day, what 
 should be the law touching compensa- 
 tion therefor ?' ' Marry, friend, as- 
 suredly to pay the damage to the full, 
 Avhich thou art bounden at once to do.' 
 ' Ay,' quoth the countryman ; ' but 'tis 
 your cow hath strayed into my field.' 
 Upon which, ' Go to, go to,' cries the 
 hi wye:*; ' for I warrant thee that doth 
 altogether alter the law.' " 
 
 Some smiled, aud others murmured 
 at this story ; and meanwhile one of 
 the company, -who from his dress I 
 perceived to be a minister, and more- 
 over to hold some dignity in the Prot- 
 estant Church, rose from his place, and 
 crossing " the room, came up to Mr. 
 Roper (for that bold speaker was no 
 other than Sir Thomas More's son- 
 in-law, whose great charity and good- 
 ness I had often heard of), and, shak- 
 ing hands with him, said : " I be of 
 the same mind with you, friend Roper, 
 in every w^ord you have uttered to- 
 night. And I pray to God my soul 
 may be with yours after this life, and 
 our end in heaven, albeit I should not 
 sail there in the same boat with 
 you." 
 
 " Good Mr. Dean," quoth Mr. Ro- 
 per, " I do say amen to your prayer." 
 And then he added somewhat in a low 
 voice, and methinks it was that there 
 
 is but one ship chartered for safety in 
 such a voyage. 
 
 At the which the other shook his 
 head and waved his hand, and then 
 calling to him a youth not more than 
 twelve or thirteen years old, his son, 
 he did present him to Mr. Roper. I 
 had observed this young gentleman to 
 listen, with an eagerness betokening 
 more keenness for information than is 
 usually to be found in youths of his 
 years, to the discourses held that even- 
 ing. His father told Mr. Roper that 
 this his son's parts and quick appre- 
 hension in learning did lead him to 
 hope he should be one day, if it pleas- 
 ed God, an ornament to the church. 
 Mr. Roper smiled as he saluted the 
 youth, and said a few words to him, 
 which he answered very readily. I 
 never saw again that father or that 
 son. The one v/as Dr. Mathews, 
 whom the queen made Bishop of Dur 
 ham ; and the other, Toby Mathews, 
 his son, who was reconciled some years 
 ago, and, as I have heard from some, 
 is now a Jesuit. 
 
 The venerable aspect of the good 
 Mr. Roper so engaged my thoughts, 
 that I asked Lady Tregony, by whose 
 side I was sitting, if she was acquaint- 
 ed with him, and if his virtue Avas as 
 great as his appearance was noble. 
 She smiled, and answered that his ap- 
 pearance, albeit honorable and comely, 
 was not *ie half so honorable as his 
 life had been, or so comely as his 
 mind. That he had been the husband 
 of Sir Thomas More's never-to-be- 
 forgotten daughter, Margaret, whose 
 memory he so reverently did cherish 
 that he had never so much as thought 
 of a second marriage; and of late 
 years, since he had resigned the office 
 of sub-notary in the Queen's Bench 
 to his son, he did give his whole sub- 
 stance and his time to the service of 
 the poor, and especially to prisoners, . 
 by reason of which he was called the 
 staff of the sorrowful, and sure refuge 
 of the afflicted. Now, then, I looked 
 on the face of this good aged man with 
 a deeper reverence than heretofore. 
 Now I longed to be favored with td 
 
I04 
 
 Constance Slierwoad. 
 
 much of his notice as one passing word. 
 Now I watched for an opportunity to 
 compass my desire, and I thank God 
 not without effect ; for I do count it 
 as a chief blessing to have been hon- 
 ored, during the remaining years of 
 this virtuous gentleman's life, with so 
 much of his condescending goodness, 
 that if the word friendship may be 
 used in regard to such affectionate feel- 
 ings as can exist between one verging 
 on four-score years of age and of such 
 exalted merit, and a foolish creature 
 yet in her teens, whom he honored with 
 his notice, it should be so in this in- 
 stance; wherein on the one side a sin- 
 gular reverence and humble great af- 
 fection did arise almost on first ac- 
 quaintance, and on the other so much 
 benignity and goodness shown in the 
 pains taken to cultivate such good dis- 
 positions as had been implanted in this 
 young person's heart by careful pa- 
 rents, and to guard her mind against 
 the evils of the times, that nothing 
 could be greater. 
 
 Mr. Roper chancing to come near 
 us. Lady Tregony said somewhat, 
 which caused him to address me in 
 this wise : 
 
 " And are there, then, maidens in 
 these days not averse to the sight of 
 gray hairs, and who mislike not to 
 converse with aged men ?" 
 
 This was said with so kindly a 
 smile that timidity vanished, and con- 
 fidence took its place. 
 
 " Oh, sir," I cried, " when I was not 
 so much as five years old, my good 
 father showed me a picture of Sir 
 Thomas More, and told me he was a 
 man of such angelic wit as England 
 never had the like before, nor is ever 
 like to have again, and of a most fa- 
 mous and holy memory ; and me- 
 thinks, sir, that you, being his son-in- 
 law, who knew his doings and his 
 mind so well, and lived so long in his 
 house, must needs in many things re- 
 semble him." 
 
 "As to his doings and his mind," 
 Mr. Roper replied, "no man living 
 knoweth them so well, and if my mean 
 wit, memory, and knowledge could 
 
 serve me now, could declare so much 
 thereof. But touching resemblance, 
 alas ! there was but one in all the 
 world that represented the likeness of 
 his virtues and perfections ; one whom 
 he loved in a particular manner, and 
 who was worthiest of that love more 
 than any creature God has made." 
 
 Here the good man's voice faltered 
 a little, and he made a stop in his dis- 
 course ; but in a little while said that 
 he had thought it behoved him to set 
 down in writing such matters concern- 
 ing Sir Thomas's life as he could then 
 call to remembrance, and that he would 
 lend me the manuscript to read, which J 
 did esteem an exceeding great favor, 
 and one I could not sufficiently thank 
 him for. Then he spoke somewhat of 
 the times, which were waxing every 
 day more troublesome, and told me ho 
 often called to mind a conversation he 
 once had with Sir Thomas, walking 
 along the side of the Thames at Chel- 
 sea, which he related in these words : 
 
 " * Now would to God, my son Ro- 
 per,' quoth Sir Thomas, ' I were put 
 in a sack, and presently cast into the 
 Thames, upon condition that three 
 things were well established through- 
 out Clu*istendom.' ' And what mighty 
 things are those, sir?' I asked. 
 Whereupon he : ' Wouldst thou know, 
 son Roper, what they be ?' ' Yea, 
 marry, sir, with a good will, if it 
 please you,' quoth I. T laith, son, 
 they be these,' he said : ' The first is 
 that, whereas the most part of Chris- 
 tian princes are at mortal wars, they 
 were all at peace ; the second that, 
 whereas the church of Christ is at 
 present sorely afflicted with so many 
 heresies, it were settled in perfect uni- 
 formity of religion ; the third that, 
 where the matter of the king's mar- 
 riage is now come in question, it were, 
 to the glory of God and the quietness 
 of all parties, brought to a good conclu- 
 sion.' ' Ay, sir,' quoth I, ' those wen* 
 indeed three things greatly to be de- 
 sired ; but' — I continued with a cci*- 
 tain joy — ' where shall one see a hap- 
 pier state than in this realm, that has 
 so Catholic a prince that no hsretic 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 105 
 
 durst show Jiis face ; so virtuous and 
 learned a clergy ; so grave and sound a 
 nobility ; and so loving, obedient sub- 
 jects, all in one faith agreeing togeth- 
 er ?' ' Truth it is indeed, son Roper,' 
 quoth he ; and in all degrees and es- 
 tates of the same went far beyond me 
 in commendation thereof. ' And yet, 
 son Roper, I pray God,' said he, ' that 
 some of us, as high as we seem to sit 
 on the mountains, treading heretics 
 under our feet like ants, live not the 
 day that we would gladly be at league 
 and composition with them, to let them 
 have their churches quietly to them- 
 selves, so that they would be con- 
 tented to let us have ours quietly to 
 ourselves/ After I had told him many 
 considerations why he had no cause 
 to say so : ^ Well,' said he, ' I pray 
 God, son Roper, some of us will live 
 not to see that day.' To whom I re- 
 pUed : ' By my troth, sir, it is very 
 desperately spoken.' These vile terms, 
 I cry God mercy, did I give him, who, 
 perceiving me to be in a passion, 
 said merrily unto me, * It shall not be 
 so ; it shall not be so.' In sixteen 
 years and more, being in the house 
 conversing with him, I could not per- 
 ceive him to be so much as once out 
 of temper." 
 
 This was the first of many conver- 
 sations I held, during the years I lived 
 in Holborn, with this worthy gentle- 
 man, who was not more pleased to re- 
 late, than I to hear, sundry anecdotes 
 concerning Sir Thomas More, his 
 house, and his family. 
 
 Before he left me that day, I did 
 make bold to ask him if he feared not 
 ill consequences from the courageous 
 words he had used in a mixed, yea 
 rather, with few exceptions, wholly 
 adverse, company. 
 
 "Not much," he answered. "Mine 
 age; the knowledge that there are 
 those who would not wilhngly see me 
 roughly handled, and have power to 
 prevent it ; and withal no great con- 
 cern, if it should be so, to have my 
 liberty constrained, yea, my life short- 
 ened by a few years, or rather days, — 
 doth move me to a orrcater freedom -f 
 
 speech than may generally be used, 
 and a notable indifference to the re- 
 sults of such freedom." 
 
 Having whispered the like fears I 
 had expressed to him to Lady Treg- 
 ony, she did assure me his confidence 
 was well based, and that he had con- 
 nexions which would by no means 
 suffer him to be thrown into prison, 
 which should be the fate of any one 
 else in that room who had spoken but 
 one half, yea one tenth part, as boldly 
 as he had ventured on. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It was some time before I could re- 
 store myself to my countenance, after 
 so much moving discourse, so as to 
 join with spirit in the sports and the 
 dancinpj w^hich did ensue amonsc tht; 
 young people that evening. But so- 
 ber thoughts and painful themes af- 
 ter a while gave place to merriment ; 
 and the sound of music, gay tattle, 
 and cheerful steps lured me to sucli 
 enjoyment as youth is wont to take 
 in these kinds of pastimes. It was 
 too much my wont to pursue with 
 eagerness the present humor, and 
 drink deeply of innocent pleasure 
 wherein no harm should exist if en- 
 joyed with moderation. But like in 
 a horse on whose neck the bridle is 
 cast, what began in a gentle ambling 
 ends in wild gallopping ; so lawful mer- 
 riment, if unrestrained, often ends in 
 what is unbeseeming, and in some 
 sort blameable. So this time, when 
 dancing tired, a ring was formed for 
 conversation, and the choice of the 
 night's pastime yielded to my discre- 
 tion ; alack, rather to ray imprudence 
 and folly, methinks I might style it. 
 I chose that arguments should be held 
 by two persons of the company, turn 
 by turn, and that a judge should be 
 named to allot a reward to the worthi- 
 est, and a penance to the worst. This 
 liked them all exceedingly, and by one 
 consent they appointed me to be judge, 
 and to summon such as should dis^nute. 
 
io6 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 There were there two young gentlemen 
 which haunted our house, and Lady 
 Ingoldby's also. One was Martin 
 Tregony, Lady Tregony's nephew, an 
 ill-favored young man, with manners 
 worse than his face, and so apish and 
 foppish in his dress and behavior, that 
 no young woman could abide him, 
 much less would receive his addresses, 
 or if she did entertain him in conversa- 
 tion, it was to make sport of his so great 
 conceit. He had an ill-natured kind 
 of wit, more sharp than keen, more 
 biting than sarcastic. He studied the 
 art of giving pain, and oftentimes did 
 cause shamefaced merit to blush. The 
 other was Mr. Thomas Shei^wood, who, 
 albeit not very near in blood to my 
 father, was, howsoever, of the same fam- 
 ily as ourselves. He had been to the 
 English College in Douay, and had 
 brought me tidings a short time back 
 of my father and Edmund Genings' 
 safe arrival thither, and afterward came 
 often to see us, and much frequented 
 Lady Tregony's house. He had ex- 
 ceedingly good parts, but was some- 
 what diffident and bashful. Martin 
 Tregony was wont to make him a 
 mark, as it were, of his ill-natured wit, 
 and did fancy himself to be greatly 
 his superior in sharpness, partly be- 
 cause Mr. Sherwood's disposition was 
 retiring, and partly that he had too 
 much goodness and sense to bandy 
 Avords with so ill-mannered a young 
 man. I pray you who read this, could 
 aught be more indiscreet than, in a 
 thoughtless manner, to have summon- 
 ed these two to dispute ? which never- 
 theless I did, thinking some sport 
 should arise out of it, to see Master 
 Martin foisted in argument by one he 
 despised, and also from his extrav- 
 agant gestures and affected counte- 
 nances. So I said : 
 
 " Master Tregony, your task shall 
 be to dispute with Master Sherwood ; 
 and this the theme of your argument, 
 ' The Art of Tormenting.' He who shall 
 describe the nicest instances of such 
 skill, when exercised by a master to- 
 ward his servant, a parent to his child, 
 u husband to his wife^ a wife to her 
 
 husband, a lover to his mistress, or a 
 friend to his friend, shall be proclaim- 
 ed victorious ; and his adversary sub- 
 mit to such penance as the court shall 
 inflict." 
 
 Master Sherwood shook his head 
 for to decline to enter these lists ; but 
 all the young gentlemen and ladies 
 cried, he should not be suffered to show 
 contempt of the court, and forced him 
 to stand up. 
 
 Master Martin was nothing loth, and 
 in his ill-favored countenance there 
 appeared a made smile, which did in- 
 dicate an assurance of victory ; so he 
 began : 
 
 " The more wit a man bath, the bel- 
 ter able he shall be at times to torment 
 another ; so I do premise, and at the 
 outset of this argument declare, that 
 to blame a man for the exercise of a 
 talent he doth possess is downright 
 impiety, and that to wound another by 
 the pungency of home-thrusts in con- 
 versation is as just a liberty in an in- 
 genious man, as the use of his sword 
 in a battle is to a soldier.'' 
 
 Mr. Sherwood upon this replied, 
 that he did allow a public disputation, 
 appointed by meet judges, to come un- 
 der the nameof a fair battle ; but even 
 in a battle (he said) generous combat- 
 ants aim not so much at wounding 
 their adversaries, as to the disarming of 
 them ; and that he who in private con- 
 versation doth make a weapon of his 
 tongue is like unto the man who pro- 
 vokes another to a single combat, 
 which for Christians is not lawful, and 
 pierces him easily who has less skill 
 in wielding the sword than himself, 
 
 "Marry, sir," quoth Master Mar- 
 tin, " if you dobring piety into your 
 discourse, methinks the rules of just 
 debate be not observed ; for it is an 
 unfair thing for to overrule a man with 
 arguments he doth not dare to reply 
 to under pain of spiritual censures." 
 
 " I cry you mercy. Master Martin," 
 quoth the other ; "■ you did bring in 
 mpiety,and so methought piety should 
 not be excluded." At the which we 
 all applauded, and Martin began to 
 i^ercelve his adversary to be less 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 107 
 
 contemptible than he had suppos- 
 ed. 
 
 "Now to the pomt," I cried; "for 
 exordiums be tedious. I pray you, 
 gentlemen, begin, and point out some 
 notable fashion wherewith a master 
 might torment his servant." 
 
 Upon which quoth Martin : " If a 
 man hath a sick servant, and doth note 
 his fancy to be set on some indulgence 
 not of strict necessity, and should there- 
 fore deny it tohim,methinks tliat should 
 be a rare opportunity to exercise his 
 talent." 
 
 " Nay," cried Master Sherwood, " a 
 nicer one, and ever at hand afterward, 
 should be to show kindness once to a 
 dependent when sick, and to use him 
 ten times the worse for it when he is 
 well, upbraiding him for such past fa- 
 vors, as if one should say: * Alack, 
 be as kind as you will, see what return 
 you do meet with!'" 
 
 This last piece of ingenuity was al- 
 lowed by the court to surpass the first. 
 " Now," I cried, "what should be the 
 greatest torment a parent could inflict 
 on a child ? " 
 
 Martin answered: " If it should be 
 fond of public diversion, to confine it 
 in-doors. If retirement suits its tem- 
 per, to compel it abroad. If it should 
 delight in the theatre, to take it to see 
 a good play, and at the moment when 
 the plot shall wax most moving, to say 
 it must be tired, and procure to send 
 it home. Or, in more weighty mat- 
 ters, — a daughter's marriage, for in- 
 stance, — ^to detect if the wench hath 
 set her hearten one lover, and if so, to 
 keep from her the knowledge of this 
 gentleman's addresses ; and when she 
 hath accepted another, to let her know 
 the first had sued for her hand, and 
 been dismissed. " 
 
 Here all the young gentlewomen did 
 exclaim that Master Sherwood could 
 by no means think of a more skilful 
 torment than this should prove. He 
 thought for an instant, and then said : 
 
 " It should be a finer and more deli- 
 cate torment to stir up in a young gen- 
 tlewoman's mind suspicions of one she 
 loved, and so work on her natural pas- 
 
 sions of jealousy and pride, that sac 
 should herself, in a hasty mood, discard 
 her lover; and ever after, when the 
 act was not recallable, remind her she 
 herself had wrought her own unhap- 
 piness, and wounded one she loved." 
 
 " Yea, that should be worse than the 
 first torment," all but one young lady 
 cried out ; who, for her part, could bet- 
 ter endure, she said, to have injured 
 herself than to be deceived, as in the 
 first case. 
 
 "Then do come husbands," quoth 
 Mr. Martin; "and I vow," he cried, 
 " I know not how to credit there be 
 such vile wretches in the world as 
 should wish to torment their wives ; 
 but if such there be, methinks the 
 surest method they may practise is, to 
 loving wives to show indiiFerency ; to 
 such as be jealous, secrecy ; to such as 
 be pious, profaneness; and the like in 
 all the points whereon their affections 
 are set." 
 
 "Alack !" cried Mistress Frances 
 Bellamy, " what a study the man hath 
 made of this fine art! Gentlewomen 
 should needs beware of such a one for 
 a husband. What doth Master Sher- 
 wood say?" 
 
 Whereupon he : " Methinks the 
 greatest torment a husband might in- 
 flict on a worthy wife should be to 
 dishonor her love by his baseness ; or 
 if he had injured her, to doubt her 
 proneness to forgive." 
 
 " And wives," quoth Mistress South- 
 well, — " what of their skill therein, 
 gentlemen ?" 
 
 " It be such," cried Martin, " as 
 should exceed men's ability thereof to 
 speak. The greatest instance of tal- 
 ent of this sort I have witnessed is in 
 a young married lady, whose husband 
 is very willing to stay in his house or 
 go abroad, or reside in town, or at his 
 seat in the country, as should most 
 please her, so she would let him know 
 her wishes. But she is so artful in 
 concealing them, that the poor man can 
 never learn so much as should cause 
 him to guess what they may be ; but 
 with a meek voice she doth reply to 
 his asking, ' An it please youj sir, let it 
 
io8 
 
 Cons-ance Shrwood. 
 
 be as you choose, for you very well 
 know I never do oppose your will.' 
 Then if he resolve to leave town, she 
 maketli not much ado till they have 
 rode twenty or thirty miles out of Lon- 
 don. Then she doth begin to sigh 
 and weep, for that she should be a 
 most ill-used creature, and her heart 
 alnost broken for to leave her friends, 
 and be shut up for six months in a 
 swamp, for such she doth term his es- 
 tate ; and if she should not have left 
 London that same day, she should 
 have been at the Lord Mayor's ban- 
 quet, and seen the French princes, 
 which, above all things, she had desir- 
 ed. But some husbands be so hard- 
 hearted, if they can hunt and hawk, 
 'tis little count they make of their 
 wives' pleasures. Then when she hath 
 almost provoked the good man to 
 swear, she hangeth down her head and 
 saith, ' Content you, sir — content you ; 
 'tis your good fortune to have an obe- 
 dient wife.' And so mopes all the 
 time of the journey." 
 
 Wliilst Martin was. speaking, I not- 
 ed a young gentlewoman who did 
 deeply blush whilst he spoke, and tears 
 came into her eyes. I heard after- 
 ward she had been lately married, 
 and that he counterfeited her voice in 
 so precise a manner, so that all such 
 as knew her must needs believe her 
 to be the wife he spoke of; and that 
 there was so much of truth in the pic- 
 ture he had drawn, as to make it seem 
 a likeness, albeit most unjust toward 
 one who, though apt to boast of her 
 obedience, and to utter sundry trifling 
 complaints, was a fond wife and to- 
 ward lady to her dear husband ; and 
 that this malice in Mr. Tregony, over 
 and above his wonted spite, was due 
 to her rejection of his hand some short 
 time before her marriage. Master 
 Sherwood, seeing the ungracious gen- 
 tleman's ill-nature and the lady's con- 
 fusion, stood up the more speedily to 
 reply, and so cut him short. " I will 
 relate," he said, " a yet more ingeni- 
 ous practice of tormenting, which 
 should seem the highest proof of skill 
 in a wife, albeit also practised by hus- 
 
 bands, only not so aptly, or peradven- 
 ture so often. And this is when one 
 hath offered to another a notable in- 
 sult or affront, so to turn the tables, 
 even as a conjuror the cards he doth 
 handle, that straightway the offended 
 par^y shall seem to be the offender, and 
 be obliged to sue forgiveness for that 
 wherein he himself is hurt. I pray 
 you, gentlemen and ladies, can any- 
 thing more ingenious than this prac- 
 tice be thought on ? " 
 
 All did admit it to be a rare exam- 
 ple of ability in tormenting ; but some 
 objected it Avas not solely exercised by 
 wives and husbands, but that friends, 
 lovers, and all sorts of persons might 
 use it. Then one gentleman called 
 for some special instance of the art in 
 lovers. But another said it was a nat- 
 ural instinct, and not an art, in such to 
 torment one another, and likewise their 
 own selves, and proposed the behavior 
 of friends in that respect as a more 
 new and admirable theme. 
 
 "Ah," quoth Master Martin, Avith 
 an affected wave of his hand, " first 
 show me an instance of a true friend- 
 ship betwixt ladies, or a sincere affec- 
 tion betwixt gentlemen ; and then it 
 will be time for to describe the arts 
 whereby they do plague and torment 
 each other." 
 
 Mr. Sherwood answered, " A French 
 gentleman said, a short time since, 
 that it should be a piece of commend- 
 able prudence to live with your friend 
 as looking that he should one day be 
 your enemy. Now we be warranted, 
 by Master Tregony 's speech, to con- 
 clude his friendships to be enmities in 
 fair disguise ; and the practices where- 
 with friends torment each other no 
 doubt should apply to this case also ; 
 and so his exceptions need in no wise 
 alter the theme of our argument. T 
 pray you, sir, begin, and name some 
 notable instance in which, without any 
 apparent breach of friendship, the ap- 
 pearance of which is in both instances 
 supposed, one may best wound his 
 friend, or, as Mr. Tregony hath it, 
 the disguised object of his hatred." 
 
 I noticed that Master Martin glanced 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 log 
 
 maliciously at his adversary, and then 
 answered, " The highest exercise of 
 hiueh ability should be, methinks, to 
 get possession of a secret which your 
 friend, or disguised enemy, has been at 
 great pains to conceal, and to let him 
 know, by such means as shall hold liim 
 in perpetual fear, but never in full as- 
 surance of the same, that you have it 
 in your power to accuse him at any 
 time of that which should procure him 
 to be thrown into prison, or maybe 
 hanged on a gibbet." 
 
 A paleness spread over Master Sher- 
 wood's face, not caused, I ween, by fear 
 so much as by anger at the meanness 
 of one who, from envy and spite, even 
 in the freedom of social hours, should 
 liint at secrets so weighty as would 
 touch the liberty, yea, the life, of one 
 he called his friend ; and standing up, 
 he answered, whilst I, now too late 
 discerning mine own folly in the pro- 
 posing of a dangerous pastime, trem- 
 bled in every limb. 
 
 " I know," quoth ne, — " I know a 
 yet more ingenious instance of the skill 
 of a malicious heart. To hang a 
 sword over a friend's head, and cause 
 him to apprehend its fall, must needs 
 be a well-practised device ; but if it 
 be done in so skilful a manner that the 
 weapon shall tlireatennot himself alone, 
 but make him, as it were, the instru- 
 ment of ruin to others dearer to him 
 than his own life, — ^if, by the appear- 
 ance of friendship, the reality of which 
 such a heart knoweth not, he hath been 
 led to such confidence as shall be the 
 means of sorrow to those who have be- 
 friended him in another manner than 
 this false friend, this true foe, — the 
 triumph is then complete. Malice 
 and hatred can devise naught beyond 
 it.'* 
 
 Martin's eyes glared so fearfully, 
 and his voice sounded so hoarse, as he 
 hesitated in answering, that, in a sort 
 of desperation, I stood up, and cried, 
 " Long enough have these two gentle- 
 men had the tallc to themselves. 
 Verily, methinks there be no con- 
 queror, but a drawn game in this in- 
 stance." 
 
 But a munnur rose among the com- 
 pany that Master Sherwood was vic- 
 torious, and Master Tregony should 
 do penance. 
 
 '*What shall it be?" was asked; 
 and all with one voice did opine Mas- 
 ter Sherwood should name it, for he 
 was as much beloved as Master Treg- 
 ony was misliked. He (Sherwood), al- 
 beit somewhat inwardly moved, I ween, 
 had restrained his indignation, and 
 cried out merrily, "■ Marry, so will I ! 
 Look me in the face, Martin, and give 
 me thy hand. This shall be thy pen- 
 ance." 
 
 The other did so ; but a fiendly look 
 of resentment was in his eyes ; and 
 methinks Thomas Sherwood must 
 needs have remembered the grasp of 
 his hand to forgive it, I doubt not, 
 even at the foot of the scaffold. 
 
 From that day Martin Tregony con- 
 ceived an implacable hatred for Mas- 
 ter Sherwood, whom he had feigned a 
 great friendship for on his first arrival 
 in London, because he hoped, by his 
 means and influence with his aunt, to 
 procure her to pay his debts. But 
 after he had thrown off the mask, he 
 only waited for an opportunity to de- 
 nounce him, being privy to his having 
 brought a priest to Lady Tregony 's 
 house, who had also said mass in her 
 chapel. So one day meeting liim in 
 the streets, he cried out, " Stop the 
 traitor! stop the traitor!" and so 
 causing him to be apprehended, had 
 him before the next justice of the 
 peace ; where, when they were come, 
 he could allege nothing against him, 
 but that he suspected him to be a Pa- 
 pist. Upon which he was examined 
 concerning his religion, and, refusing 
 to admit the queen's church-headship, 
 he was cast into a dungeon in the 
 Tower. His lodgings were plundered, 
 and £25, which he had amassed, as I 
 knew, \vho had assisted him to procure 
 it, for the use of his aged and sick 
 father, who had been lately cast into 
 prison in Lancaster, was carried ofl 
 with the rest. He was cruelly racked, 
 we heard, for that he would not reveal 
 where he had heard mass ; and kept 
 
I lO 
 
 Constanca S^ienoood. 
 
 ill a dark filthy hole, where he en- 
 dured very much from hunger, stench, 
 and cold. No one being allowed to 
 visit him — for the Tower was not like 
 some other prisons where Mistress 
 Ward and others could sometimes 
 penetrate — or afford him any comfort, 
 Mr. Roper had, by means of another 
 prisoner, conveyed to his keeper some 
 money for his use ; but the keeper re- 
 turned it the next day, because the 
 lieutenant of the Tower would not suf- 
 fer him to have the benefit of it. All 
 he could be prevailed upon to do was 
 to lay out one poor sixpence for a lit- 
 tle fresh straw for him to lie on. About 
 six months after, he was brought to 
 trial, and condemned to die, for deny- 
 ing the queen's supremacy, and was 
 executed at Tyburn, according to sen- 
 tence, being cut down whilst he was 
 yet alive, dismembered, bowelled, and 
 quartered. 
 
 Poor Lady Tregony's heart did al- 
 most break at this his end and her 
 kinsman's part in it ; and during those 
 six months — for she would not leave 
 London whilst Thomas Sherwood was 
 yet alive — I did constantly visit her, 
 almost every day, and betwixt us there 
 did exist a sort of fellowship in our 
 sorrow for this worthy young man's 
 sufferings ; for that she did reproach 
 herself for lack of prudence in not 
 sufficient distrust of her own nephew, 
 whom now she refused to see, at least, 
 she said, until he had repented of his 
 sin, which he, glorying in, had told 
 her, the only time they had met, he 
 sfiould serve her in the same manner, 
 and if he could ever find out she 
 heard mass, should get her a lodging 
 in the Tower, and for himself her es- 
 tate in Norfolk, whither she was then 
 purposing to retire, and did do so 
 after Master Sherwood's execution. 
 For mine own part, as once before my 
 father's apprehended danger had di- 
 verted my mind from childish folly, 
 so did the tragical result of an enter- 
 tainment, wherein I had been carried 
 away by thoughtless mirth, somewhat 
 sicken me of company and sports. I 
 went abroad not much the next year ; 
 
 only was often at IMr. Wells's houss, 
 and in Hubert's society, which had be- 
 come so habitual to me that I was al- 
 most persuaded the pleasure I took 
 therein proceeded from a mutual in- 
 clination, and I could observe with 
 what jealousy he watched any whom 
 I did seem to speak with or allow of 
 any civihty at their hands. Even 
 Master Sherwood he would jalouse, 
 if he found me weeping over his fate ; 
 and said he was happier in prison, for 
 whom such tears did flow, than he at 
 liberty, for whom I showed no like re- 
 gard. " Oh," I would answer, " he is 
 happy because. Master Rookwood, his 
 sufferings are for his God and his con- 
 science' sake, and not such as arise 
 from a poor human love. Envy him 
 his faith, his patience, his hope, which 
 make him cry out, as I know he doth, 
 ' O my Lord Jesu ! I am not worthy 
 that I should suffer these things for 
 thee ;' and not the compassionate tears 
 of a paltry wench that in some sort 
 was the means to plunge him in these 
 straits." 
 
 In the spring of the year which 
 did follow, I heard from my father, 
 who had been ordained at the English 
 College at Rheims, and was on the 
 watch, he advertised me, for an oppor- 
 tunity to return to England, for to ex- 
 ercise the sacred ministry amongst 
 his poor Catholic brethren. But at 
 which port he should land, or whither 
 direct his steps, if he effected a safe 
 landing, he dared not for to commit to 
 paper. He said Edmund Genings 
 had fallen into a most dangerous con- 
 sumption, partly by the extraordinary 
 pains he took in his studies, and partly 
 in his spiritual exercises, insomuch 
 that the physicians had almost de- 
 spaired of his recovery, and that tlie 
 president had in consequence resolved 
 to send him into England, to try change 
 of air. That he had left Rheims with 
 great regret, and went on his journey, 
 as far as Havre de Grace, and, after 
 a fortnight's stay in that place, haviiiL' 
 prayed to God very heartily for the 
 recovery of his health, so that lie 
 might return, and, without further de- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 1 1 
 
 lay, continue his studies for the priest- 
 hood, he felt himself very much bet- 
 ter, almost as well as ever he was in 
 his life ; upon which he returned to 
 his college, and took up again, with 
 exceeding great fervor, his former 
 manner of life; "and," my father 
 added, "his common expression, as 
 often as talk is ministered of England 
 and martyrdom there, is this : ' Viva- 
 mus in spe 1 Vivamus in spe /' " 
 
 This letter did throw me into an ex- 
 ceeding great apprehension that my 
 father might fall into the hands of the 
 queen's officers at any time he should 
 land, and the first news I should hear 
 of him to be that he was cast into prison. 
 And as I knew no Catholic priest could 
 dwell in England without he did assume 
 a feigned name, and mostly so one of his 
 station, and at one time well noted as 
 a gentleman and a recusant, I now 
 never heard of any priest arrested in 
 any part of England but I feared it 
 should be him. 
 
 Hubert Rookwood was now more 
 than ever at Mr. Lacy's house, and in 
 his library, for they did both affection 
 the same pursuits, albeit with very dif- 
 ferent abihties; and I was used to 
 transcribe for them divers passages 
 from manuscripts and books, taking 
 greater pleasure, so to spend time, than 
 to embroider in Kate's room, the com- 
 pass of whose thoughts became each 
 day more narrow, and her manner of 
 talk more tasteless. Hubert seemed 
 not well pleased when I told him my 
 father had been ordained abroad. I 
 gathered this from a troubled look in 
 his eyes, and an increasing paleness, 
 which betokened, to my now observant 
 eyes, emotions which he gave not vent 
 to in words at all, or leastways in any 
 that should express strong resentment. 
 His silence always frighted me more 
 than anger in others. He had ac- 
 quired a great influence over me, and, 
 albeit I was often ill at case in his 
 company, I ill brooked his absence. 
 He was a zealous Catholic, and did 
 adduce arguments and proofs in behalf 
 of his religion with rare ability. Some 
 of his writings which I copied at that 
 
 time had a cogency and clearness in 
 their reasons and style, which in my 
 poor judgment betokened a singular 
 sharp understanding and ingenuity of 
 learning ; but in his conversation, and 
 writings also, was lacking the fervency 
 of spirit, the warmth of devout aims, 
 the indifferency to worldly regards, 
 which should belong to a truly Christian 
 soul, or else the nobleness and freedom 
 of speech which some do possess from 
 natural temper. But his attainments 
 were far superior to those of the young 
 men I used to see at Mr. Wells's, and 
 such as gave him an extraordinary v(i- 
 putation amongst the persons I was 
 wont to associate with, which contribu- 
 ted not a Httle to the value I did set on 
 his preference, ofwhichno proofs were 
 wanting, save an open paying of his 
 addresses to me, w4iich by reason of 
 his young age and mine, and the 
 poorness of his prospects, being but 
 a younger son of a country gentleman, 
 was easy of account. He had a great 
 desire for wealth and for. all kind ot 
 greatness, and used to speak of learn- 
 ing as a road to it. 
 
 In the spring of that year, my Lord 
 Surrey left Cambridge, and came to 
 live at Howard House with his lady. 
 They were then both in their eight- 
 eenth years, and a more comely pair 
 could not be seen. The yea-rs that 
 had passed since she had left London 
 had greatly matured her beauty. She 
 was taller of stature than the common 
 sort, and very fair and graceful. The 
 earl was likewise tall, very straight, 
 long-visaged, but of a pleasant and 
 noble countenance. I could not choose 
 but admire her perfect carriage, toward 
 her loid, her relatives, and her ser- 
 vants ; the good order she established 
 in her house ; the care she took of her 
 sister's education, who in two years 
 was to be married to Lord William 
 Howard ; and her great charity to the 
 poor, which she then began to visit 
 herself, and to relieve in all sorts of 
 ways, and was wont to say the angel.-, 
 o( that old house where God had been 
 served by so many prayers and alms 
 must needs assist her in her care for 
 
112 
 
 Constance SJierwood. 
 
 those in trouble. My lord appeared 
 exceedingly fond of her then. One 
 day when I was visiting her ladyship, 
 he asked me if I had read the life of 
 that sweet holy Queen Elizabeth of 
 Hungary ; and as I said I had not met 
 with it, he gifted me with a copy fairly 
 printed and well ornamented, which 
 Mr. Martin had left behind him when 
 he went beyond seas, and said : 
 
 " Mistress Sherwood, see if in this 
 book you find not the likeness of a lady 
 which you mislike not any more than 
 I do. Beshrew me, but I fear I may 
 find some day strange guests in mine 
 house if she do copy the pattern herein 
 set down ; and so I will e'en send the 
 book out of the house, for my lady is 
 too good for me already, and I be no 
 fitting husband for a saint, which a very 
 little more of virtue should make her." 
 And so he laughing, and she pretti- 
 ly checking his wanton speech, and 
 such sweet loving looks and play- 
 ful words passing between them as 
 gladdened my heart to see. 
 
 Some time after, I found one day 
 my Lady Surrey looking somewhat 
 grave and thoughtful. She greeted me 
 with an afiectionate kiss, and said, 
 
 " Ah, sweet Constance, I be glad 
 thou art come ; for methinks we shall 
 soon leave London." 
 
 " So soon ?" I answered. 
 " Not too soon, dear Constance," she 
 said somewhat sadly. 
 
 I did look wistfully in her sweet 
 face. Methought there was trouble 
 in it, and doubt if she should further 
 speak or not ; for she rested her head on 
 her hand, and her dark eyes did fix 
 themselves wistfully on mine, as if ask- 
 ing somewhat of me, but what I kncAV 
 not. " Constance, "she said at last, " I 
 have no mother, no sister of mine own 
 age, no brother, no ghostly father, to 
 speak my mind to. Methinks it should 
 not be wrong to unbosom my cares to 
 thee, who, albeit young, hast a thought- 
 iul spirit, and, as X have often obsei'v- 
 cd, an aptness to give good counsel. 
 And then thou art of that way of think- 
 ing wherein I was brought up, and 
 though in outward show we now do 
 
 differ, I am not greatly changed there- 
 in, as thou well knowest." 
 
 "Alack!" I ciied, "too well I do 
 know it, dear lady; and, albeit my 
 tongue is silent thereon, my heart doth 
 grieve to see you comfortless of that 
 which is the sole source of true com- 
 fort." 
 
 " 'Tis not that troubles me," she 
 answered, a little impatiently. " Thou 
 art unreasonable, Constance. My duty 
 to my lord shapes my outward be- 
 havior; but I have weighty cares, 
 nevertheless. Dost thou mind that 
 passage in the late duke our father's 
 letter to his son and me? — that we 
 should live in a lower degree, and out 
 of London asd from the court. Me- 
 thinks a prophetic spirit did move hini 
 thus to write. My lord has a great 
 heart and a generous temper, and loves 
 to spend money in all sorts of ways, 
 profitable and unprofitable, as I too 
 well observe since we have been in 
 London. And the queen sent him a 
 store of messages by my Lord Essex, 
 and others of his friends, that she was 
 surprised not to see him at court ; and. 
 that it was her highness's pleasure he 
 should wait upon her, and she shall 
 show him so much favor as he deserves, 
 and such like inducements." 
 
 " And liatli, my lord been to court?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Yea, he hath been," she answered, 
 sighiqg deeply. " He hath been forced 
 to kiss the hand which signed his fa- 
 ther's death-warrant. O Constance, it 
 is this which doth so pain me, that her 
 majesty should think he hath in his 
 heart no resentment of that mishap. 
 She said to my Lady Berkeley some 
 days since, when she sued for some fa- 
 vor at her hands, ' No, no, my Lady 
 Berkeley ; you love us not, and never 
 will. You cannot forgive us your 
 brother's death.' AVhy should her 
 grace think a son hath less resentment 
 of a father's loss than a sister ?" 
 
 Willing to minister comfort to her 
 touching that on which I did, neverthe- 
 less, but too much consent to her thuik- 
 ing, I said, "In my lord^s case, he 
 must have needs appeared to mislike 
 
Gons'ance Sherwood, 
 
 113 
 
 the queen and her government if he 
 stayed away from court, and his duty 
 to his soverci;]jn compelleth him to 
 render her so much homage as is due 
 to her majesty." 
 
 " Yea," cried ray lady, " I be of the 
 Kame mind with thee, tliat if my lord do 
 live in London he is in a manner 
 forced to swim with the tide, and God 
 o.ily knoweth into what a flood of troub- 
 les he may thus be led. But I have 
 |)revatled on him to go to Kenninghall, 
 and there to enjoy that retired life his 
 father passionately wished him to be 
 contented with. So I do look, if it 
 j)lease God, to happy days when we 
 leave this great city, where so many and 
 gi-i at d ingers beset us." 
 
 '■■ ILive you been to court likewise, 
 dear lady ?" I asked ; and she answered, 
 
 " No ; her majesty doth deny me 
 that privilege which the wife of a no- 
 bleman should enjoy \vithout so much 
 as the asking for it. My Lord Arun- 
 fleland my Lord Sussex are mad there- 
 on, a:id swear 'tis the gipsy's doing, as 
 tliey do always title Lord Leicester, 
 and a sign of his hatred to my lord, 
 iiut I be not of their mind; for me- 
 hinks he doth but aid my lord to win 
 i.ii' q jeen',,? favor by the slights which 
 arc [)ut on his wife, which, if he doth 
 take jiaiicntly, must needs secure for 
 him sudi favor as my Lord Leicester 
 should wish, if report speaks truly, 
 none should enjoy but himself.'' 
 
 " Bnt surely," I cried, " my lord's 
 spirit is loo noble to stomach so mean 
 u treatment of his lady?" 
 
 A burning blush spread over the 
 countess's face, and she answered, 
 
 '• Constance, nobility of soul is 
 shaped into action by divers motives 
 and influences. And, I pray thee, 
 since his father's death and the loss of 
 his first tutor, wdio hath my lord had 
 t J fashion the aims of his eager spirit 
 to a worthy ambition, and teach him 
 virtuous contentment with a meaner 
 rank and lower fortunes than his birth 
 do en'it'c liim to? lie chafes to be 
 degraded, and would fain rise to the 
 heights his ancestors occupied; and, 
 ahis ! the ladder which those vdio beset 
 
 him — for that they would climb after 
 him — do ever set before his eyes is 
 the queen's majesty's favor. 'Tis the 
 breath of their nostrils, the perpetual 
 theme of their discourse. Mine ears 
 sometimes ache with the sound of their 
 oft-repeated words." 
 
 Then she broke off her speech for 
 an instant, but soon asked me if to 
 consult fortune-tellers was not a sin. 
 
 " Yea," I answered, " the Church 
 doth hold it to be unlawful." 
 
 " Ah ! " she rephed, " I would to 
 God my lord had never resorted to a 
 person of that sort, which hath filled 
 his mind with an apprehension which 
 will work us great evil, if I do mistake 
 not." 
 
 " Alas ! " I said, " hath my lord been 
 so deluded ? " 
 
 " Thou hast heard, I ween," my lady 
 continued, "of one Dr. Dee, whom 
 the queen doth greatly favor, and oft- 
 en charge him to cast her horoscope. 
 Some time ago my lord was riding 
 with her majesty and the most part ot 
 her court near unto this learned gen- 
 tleman's house at Mortlake, which her 
 highness, taking notice of, she must 
 needs propose to visit him with all 
 her retinue, in order, she said, to ex- 
 amine his library and hold conference 
 with him. But learning that his wife 
 had been buried only four hours, her 
 majesty would not enter, but desired 
 my Lord Leicester to take her down 
 from her hoBse at the church-wall at 
 Mortlake and to fetch the doctor unto 
 her, who did bring out for her grace's 
 inspection his magic-glass, of which 
 she and all those with her did see 
 some of the properties. Several of the 
 noblemen thereunto present were great- 
 ly contented and delighted with this 
 cunning Avitchery, and did agree to 
 visit again, in a private manner, this 
 learned man, for to have their nativi- 
 ties calculated ; and my lord, I grieve 
 to say, went with them. And this 
 cheat or wizard, for metliinks one or 
 other of those names must needs be- 
 long to him, predi«ted to ray lord that 
 he should be in groat danger to be 
 overthrown bv a woman. And, I . 
 
114 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 ween, good Constance, there was a 
 craft in this most deep and deceptive, 
 for doth it not tend, whichever way it 
 be understood, to draw and urge on- 
 ward my lord to a careful seeking to 
 avoid this danger by a diligent serving 
 {ind waiting on her majesty, if she be 
 the woman like to undo him, or else to 
 move him to the thought that his mar- 
 riage — as I doubt not many endeavor 
 to insinuate into his mind — should be 
 an obstacle to her favor such as must 
 needs mar his fortunes ? Not that my 
 lord hath breathed so much as one such 
 painful word in my hearing, or abated 
 in his kind behavior; but there are 
 others who be not slow to hint so much 
 to myself; and, I pray you, shall they 
 not then deal with him in the same 
 manner, albeit he is too noble and 
 gentle to let me hear of it ? But since 
 that day he is often thoughtful when 
 Ave are alone, and his mind ever run- 
 ning on means to propitiate her majes- 
 ty, and doth send her many presents, 
 the value of which should rather mark 
 them as gifts from one royal person to 
 another than from a subject to his 
 prince. O Constance, I would Ken- 
 ninghall w^ere a thousand miles from 
 London, and a wild sea to run between 
 it and the court, such as could with 
 difficulty be crossed ; but 'tis vain wish- 
 ing ; and I thank God my lord should 
 be willing to remove there, and so we 
 shall be in quiet." 
 
 " God send it ! " I answered ; " and 
 that you, my sweet lady, may find 
 there all manner of contentment." 
 Then I asked her ladyship if she had 
 tidinsrs of my Lady I'Estrange. 
 
 "Yea," she answered; "excellent 
 good tidings, for that she was a con- 
 tented wife to a loving husband. Sir 
 Hammond," she said, "hath a most 
 imperious temper, and, as I hear, doth 
 not- brook the least contradiction ; so 
 that a woman less mild and affection- 
 ate tl^an INIilicent should not, I ween, 
 live at peace with him. But her 
 sweet temper doth move her to such 
 strict condescension to his humors, that 
 she doth style herself most fortunate 
 in marriage and a singular happy 
 
 wife. Dost mind Master Cliaucer's 
 talc of the patient Grizzel, which Phil 
 read to me some years back, soon af- 
 ter our first marriage, for to give me a 
 lesson on wifely duty, and which I did 
 then write to thee the story of?" 
 
 " Yea, well," I cried ; « and that I 
 was so angered at her patience, which 
 methought was foolish, yea, wicked in 
 its excess, that it did throw me into a 
 passion." 
 
 My lady laughed and said, indeed 
 she thought so too ; but Milicent, in 
 her behavior and the style of her let- 
 ters, did mind her so much of that 
 singular obedient wife, that she did 
 sometimes call her Grizzel to her face. 
 " She is now gone to reside with her 
 husband," she said, "at a seat of his 
 not very far from Lynn. 'Tis a poor 
 and wild district; and the people, I 
 hear, do resort to her in great numbers 
 for assistance in the way of medicine 
 and surgery, and for much help of va- 
 rious sorts. She is greatly contented 
 that her husband doth in nowase im- 
 pede her in these charitable duties, but 
 rather the contrary. She is a crea- 
 ture of such natural good impulses 
 and compassionate spirit that must 
 needs show kindness to all who do 
 come in her w^ay." 
 
 Then my lady questioned me touch- 
 ing Muriel and Mistress Ward, and 
 Kate and Polly, who were noAV both 
 married ; and I told her Kale had a 
 fair son and Polly a little daughter, 
 like to prove as sharp as her mother 
 if her infant vivacity did not belie hei". 
 As to Muriel and her guide and friend. 
 I told her ladyship that few were like 
 to have speech with them, save such 
 as were in so destitute a condition 
 that nothing could exceed it. Now 
 that my two elder cousins had left 
 home, mine uncle's house was become 
 a sort of refuge for the poor, and an 
 hospital for distressed Catholics. 
 
 " And thou, Constance," my lady 
 said, " dost thou not think on mar- 
 
 L'lajje 
 
 ?» 
 
 I smiled and answered I did some- 
 times ; but had not yet met with any 
 one altogether conformable to my liking 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 115 
 
 " Not Mr. Hubert Rook wood ?" 
 she said smiling ; " I have been told 
 he haunts Mrs. Lacy's house, and 
 would fain be admitted as Mistress 
 Sherwood's suitor." 
 
 "I will not deny/* I answered, "but 
 that he doth testify a vast regard for 
 me,^r that he is a gentleman of such 
 great parts and exceedingly winning 
 speech that a gentlewoman should be 
 flattered to be addressed by him; but, 
 dear lady," I continued, opening my 
 heart to her, " albeit I relish greatly 
 his society, mine heart doth not alto- 
 gether incline to his suit; and Mr. 
 Congleton hath lately warned me to 
 be less free in allowing of his atten- 
 tions than hath hitherto been my wont ; 
 for, he said, his means be so scanty, 
 that it behoveth him not to think of 
 marriage until his fortunes do im- 
 prove ; and that his father would not 
 be competent to make such settlements 
 as should be needful in such a case, 
 or without which he should suffer us 
 to marry. As Hubert had never 
 opened to me himself thereon in so 
 pointed a fashion as to demand an an- 
 swer from me, I was somewhat sur- 
 prised at mine uncle's speech ; but I 
 found he had often ministered talk of 
 his passion for me — for so he termed 
 it — to Kate and her husband.'* 
 
 " And did it work in thee, sweet one, 
 no regrets," my lady asked, " that the 
 course of this poor gentleman's true 
 love should be marred by his lack of 
 wealth ?" 
 
 " In truth noj dear lady," I replied ; 
 "except that I did notice, with so 
 much of pain as a good heart must 
 needs feel in the sufferings of another, 
 that he was both sad and wroth at 
 the change in my manner. And in- 
 deed I had always seen — and me- 
 thinks this was the reason that my 
 heart inclined not warmly toward his 
 suit — that his affection was of that 
 Bort that doth readily breed anger ; 
 and that if he had occasion to mis- 
 doubt a return from me of such-like 
 regard as he professed, his looks of 
 love sometimes changed into a scowl, 
 
 or something nearly resembling one. 
 Yet I had a kindness toward him, 
 yea, more than a kindness, an attach- 
 ment, which mcthinks should have led 
 me to correspond to his affection so far 
 as to be willing to marry him, if mine 
 uncle had not forbade me to think on 
 it ; but since he hath laid his com- 
 mands upon me. on that point, me- 
 thinks I have experienced a freedom 
 of soul and a greater peace than 1 
 had known for some time past." 
 
 " 'Tis well then as it is," my lady 
 said ; and after some further discourse 
 we parted that day. 
 
 It had been with me even as I had 
 said to her. My mind had been more 
 at e*,se since the contending would and 
 would not, the desire to please Hu- 
 bert and the fear to be false in so do- 
 ing, had been stayed, — and mostly 
 since he had urged me to entertain 
 him as a friend, albeit defended to re- 
 ceive him as a lover. And that peace 
 lasted until a day — ay, a day which 
 began like other days with no percep- 
 tible presentiment of joy or sorrow, 
 the sun shining as brightly, and no 
 more, at its rise than on any other 
 morning in June ; and the thunder- 
 clouds toward noon overshadowing its 
 glory not more darkly than a storm is 
 wont to do the clear sky it doth in- 
 vade ; nor yet evening smiling again 
 more brightly and peacefully than is 
 usually seen when nature's commotion 
 is hushed, and the brilliant orb of day 
 doth sink to rest in a bed of purple 
 glory ; and yet that day did herald 
 the greatest joys, presage the greatest 
 anguish, mark the most mighty begin- 
 nings of most varied endings that can 
 be thought of in the life of a creature 
 not altogether untried by sorrow, but 
 on the brink of deeper waters than she 
 had yet sounded, on the verge of such 
 passages as to have looked forward to 
 had caused her to tremble with a two- 
 fold resentment of hope and of fear, 
 and to look back to doth constrain her 
 to lay down her pen awhile for 
 to crave strength to recount th© 
 same. 
 
ii6 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 One day there was a great deal of 
 company at Mistress Wells's house, 
 which was the only one I then haunt- 
 ed, being, as afore said, somewhat 
 sickened of society and diversions. 
 The conversation which was mostly 
 ministered amongst such as visited 
 there related to public affairs and for- 
 (ugn countries, and not so much as in 
 some other houses lo private scandals 
 and the tattle of the town. The un- 
 certainty I was in concerning my fa- 
 ther's present abode and his known 
 intent soon to cross over the sea from 
 France worked in me a constant crav- 
 ing for news from abroad, and also an 
 apprehensive curiosity touching re- 
 I)0i1;s of the landing of seminary 
 j)riests at any of the English ports. 
 Some would often tarry at Mr. 
 Wells's house for a night who had 
 lately come from Rheims or Paris, and 
 even Rome, or leastways received let- 
 ters from such as resided in those dis- 
 tant parts. And others I met there 
 were persons who had friends at 
 court; and they often related anec- 
 dotes of the quecH and the ministers, 
 and the lords and ladies of her house- 
 hold, which it also greatly concerned 
 me to hear of, by reason of my dear- 
 est friend having embarked her whole 
 freight of happiness in a frail vessel 
 launched on that stormy sea of the 
 court, so full of shoals and quicksands, 
 whereby many a fair ship was daily 
 chanced to be therein wrecked. 
 
 Nothing notable of this kind had 
 been mentioned on the day I speak of, 
 which, howsoever, proved a very nota- 
 ble one to me. For after 1 had been 
 in the house a short time there came 
 
 there one not known, and yet it should 
 seem not wholly unknown to me ; for 
 that I did discover in his shape and 
 countenance something not unfamiliar, 
 albeit I could not call to mind that I 
 had ever seen this gentleman before. 
 I asked his name of a young lady 
 who sat near to me, and she said she 
 thought he should be the elder brother 
 of Mr. Hubert Rookwood, who was 
 lodging in the house, and that she 
 heard he tabled there also since he 
 had come to town, and that he was a 
 very commendable person, above the 
 common sort, albeit not one of such 
 great parts as his brother. Then 1 
 did instantly take note of the likeness 
 between the brothers which had made 
 the elder's face not strange to me, as 
 also perhaps that one sight of him I 
 had at Bedford some years before. 
 Their visages were very like; but 
 their figures and mostly their counte- 
 nances different. I cannot say where- 
 in that great differency did lie; but 
 methipks every one must have seen, 
 or rather felt it. Basil Avas the tallest 
 and the handsomest of the twain. 1 
 will not be so great a prodigal of time 
 aa to bestow it on commendations of 
 his outward appearance whose inward 
 excellences were his chiefest merit. 
 Howsoever, I be minded to set down 
 in this place somewhat touching his 
 appearance ; as it may so happen that 
 some who read this liistory, and who 
 have known and loved Basil in his 
 old years, should take as much plea- 
 sure in reading as I do in writing the 
 description of his person, and linming 
 as it were the resemblance of him at 
 a period in this history wherein the 
 hitlierto separate currents of his life 
 and mine do meet, like a noble river 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 117. 
 
 and a poor stream, for to flow onward 
 in the same channel. , 
 
 Basil Rookwood was of a tall 
 stature, and well-proportioned shape 
 in all parts. His hair of light brown, 
 very th.*ckly set, and of a sunny hue, 
 curled with a graceful wave. His 
 head had many becoming motions. 
 His mouth was well-made, and his 
 lips ruddy. His forehead not very 
 high, in which was a notable dissem- 
 blance from his brother. His nose 
 raised and somewhat sharply cut. His 
 complexion clear and rosy ; his smile 
 so full of cheer and kindliness that it 
 infected others with mirthfulness. He 
 was very nimble and active in all his 
 movements, and well skilled in rid- 
 ing, fencing, and dancing. I pray you 
 who have known him in his late 
 years, can you in aught, save in a 
 never-altered sweetness mixing with 
 the dignity of age, trace in this picture 
 a likeness to Basil, your Basil and 
 mine ? 
 
 I care not, i:i writing this plain 
 t.howing of mine own life, to use such 
 lisguises as are observed in love- 
 
 tories, whereby the reader is kept 
 ignorant of that which is to follow un- 
 til in due time the course of the tale 
 doth unfold it. No, I may not write 
 Basil's name as that of a stranger. 
 Not for the space of one page ; nay, 
 not with so much as one stroke of my 
 pen can I dissemble the love which 
 had its dawn on the day I have noted. 
 It was sudden in its beginnings, yet 
 steady in its progress. It deepened 
 and widened with the course of years, 
 even as a rivulet doth start Avith a live- 
 ly force from its source, and, gathering 
 strength as it flows, grows into a 
 
 broad and noble river. It was ardent 
 but not idolatrous ; sudden, as I have 
 said, in its rise, but not unconsidered. 
 It w^as founded on high esteem on the 
 one side, on the other an inexpressible 
 
 enderness and kindness. Religion, 
 
 lonor, and duty, were the cements of 
 this love. No blind dotage; but a 
 deathless bond of true sympathy, 
 making that equal which in itself was 
 
 unequal ; for, if a vain world should 
 
 have deemed that on the one side 
 there- did appear some greater bril- 
 liancy of parts than showed in the 
 other, all who could judge of true 
 merit and sound wisdom must needs 
 have allowed that in true merit Basil 
 was as greatly her superior whom he 
 honored with his love, as is a pure dia- 
 mond to the showy setting which en- 
 cases it. 
 
 Hubert presented to me his brother, 
 who, when he heard my name men- 
 tioned, would not be contented till he 
 had got speech of me ; and straight- 
 way, after the first civilities had passed 
 between us, began to relate to me that 
 he had been staying for a few days 
 before coming to town at Mr. Roper's 
 house at Richmond, where I had oft- 
 en visited in the summer. It so be- 
 fel that I had left in the chamber 
 where I slept some of my books, on 
 the margins of which were written 
 such notes as I was wont to make 
 whilst reading, for so Hubert had ad- 
 vised me, and his counsel in this I 
 found very profitable ; for this method 
 teaches one to reflect on what he 
 reads, and to hold converse as it were 
 with authors whose friendship and 
 company he thus enjoys, which is a 
 source of contentment more sufficient 
 and lasting than most other pleasures 
 in this world. 
 
 Basil chanced to inhabit this room, 
 and discovered on an odd by-shelf 
 these volumes so disfigured, or, as he 
 said, so adorned ; and took such de- 
 light in the,reading of them, but most- 
 ly in the poor reflections an unknown 
 pen had affixed to these pages, that 
 he rested not until he had learnt from 
 Mr. Roper the name of the writer. 
 When he found she was the young 
 girl he had once seen at Bedford, he 
 marvelled at the strong impulse he 
 had toward her, and pressed the ven- 
 erable gentleman with so many ques- 
 tions relating to her that he feared ho 
 should have wearied him ; but his in- 
 quiries met with such gracious answers 
 that he perceived Mr. Roper to be as 
 well pleased with the theme of his dis- 
 course as himself, and as glad to set 
 
ii8 
 
 Constance Sherwood^ 
 
 forth her excellences (I be ashamed 
 to write the words which should in- 
 deed imply the speaker to have been 
 in his dotage, but for the excuse of a 
 too great kindness to an unworthy 
 creature) as he had to listen to them. 
 And here I must needs interrupt my 
 narrative to admire that one who was 
 no scholar, yea, no great reader at 
 any time, albeit endowed with excel- 
 lent good sense and needful informa- 
 tion, should by means of books have 
 been drawn to the first thoughts of her 
 who was to enjoy his love which never 
 was given to any other creature but 
 herself. But I pray you, doth it not 
 happen most often, though it is scarce 
 to be credited, that dissemblance in 
 certain matters doth attract in the 
 way of love more than resemblance ? 
 That short men do choose tall wives ; 
 lovers of music women who have no 
 ear to discern one tune from another ; 
 scholars witless housewives ; retired 
 men ambitious helpmates ; and gay 
 iadi'cs grave husbands ? This should 
 seem to be the rule, otherways the ex- 
 ception ; and a notable instance of the 
 same I find in the first motions which 
 did incline Basil to a good opinion of 
 ray poor self. 
 
 But to return. "Mistress Slier- 
 wood," quoth Basil, *' Mr. Roper did 
 not wholly praise you ; he recited 
 your faults as well as your virtues." 
 
 I answered, it did very much con- 
 tent me he should have done so, for 
 that then more credit should be given 
 to his words in that wherein he did 
 commend me, since he was so true a 
 friend as to note my defects. 
 
 " But what," quoth he, archly smil- 
 ing, " if the faults he named are such 
 as pleased me as well as virtues ?" 
 
 " Then," I replied, '• methinks, sir, 
 the fault should be rather in you than 
 in her who doth commit them, for she 
 may be ignorant, or else subject to 
 some infirmity of temper ; but to com- 
 mend faults should be a very danger- 
 ous error." 
 
 " But will you liear," quoth lie, 
 ''your faults as Mr. Roper recited 
 them ?" 
 
 " Yea, willingly," I answered, " and 
 mend them«,lso if I can." 
 
 " Oh, I pray you mend them not," 
 he cried. 
 
 At which I laughed, and said he 
 should be ashamed to give such wan- 
 ton advice. And then he : 
 
 " Mr. Roper declares you have so 
 much inability to conceal your thoughts 
 that albeit your lips should be forcibly 
 closed, your eyes would speak them 
 so clearly that any one who listed 
 should read them." 
 
 " Methinks/' I said, willing to ex- 
 cuse myself like the lawyer in the 
 gospel, " that should not be my fault, 
 who made pot mine own eyes." 
 
 " Then he also says, that you have 
 so sharp an apprehension of wrongs 
 done to others, that if you hear of an 
 injustice committed, or some cruel 
 treatment of any one, you are so 
 moved and troubled, that ho has 
 known you on such occasions to shed 
 tears, which do not flow with a like 
 ease for your own griefs. Do you cry 
 mercy to this accusation, Mistress 
 Sherwood ?" 
 
 "Indeed," I answered, " Godknovr- 
 cth I do, and my ghostly father also. 
 For the strong passions of resent- 
 ment touching the evil usage our 
 Catholics do meet with work in me 
 so mightfuUy, that I often am in 
 doubt if I have sinned therein. And 
 concerning mine own griefs, they have 
 been but few as yet, so that 'tis Httlo 
 praise I deserve for not overmuch re- 
 sentment in instances wherein, if 
 others are afilicted, I have much ado 
 to restrain wrath." 
 
 " Ah," he said, " methinks if you 
 answer in so true and grave a manner 
 my rude catechizing. Mistress j*>her- 
 wood, 1 be not bold enough to continue 
 the inventory of your faults." 
 
 " I pray you do," I answered ; for 
 I felt in my soul an unusual iikmg for 
 liis conversation, and tlie more so 
 when, leaving ofi'jesling, lie s.iicl, " The 
 last fault Mr. Roper aiu ciiarge you 
 with was lack of piiid'-ncc m matters 
 wherein prudence is Most needed in 
 these days," 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 119 
 
 "Alas!" I exclaimed; "for that 
 also do I cry mercy ; but indeed, 
 Master Rook wood, there is in these 
 days so much cowardice and time-serv- 
 ing which doth style itself prudence, 
 that methinks it might sometimes hap- 
 [ien that a right boldness should be 
 called rashness." 
 
 liaising my eyes to his, I thought 
 I saw them clouded by a misty dew ; 
 and he replied, " Yea, Mistress Con- 
 stance, and if it is so, I had sooner that 
 myself and such as I have a friend- 
 ship for should have to cry mercy on 
 their death-beds for too much rash- 
 ness in stemming the tide, than for too 
 much ease in yielding to it. And 
 now," he added, " shall I repeat what 
 Mr. Roper related of your virtues ?" 
 
 " No," I answered, smiling. " For 
 if the faults he doth charge me with 
 be so much smaller than the reality, 
 v.hat hope have I that he should 
 speak the truth in regard to my pocr 
 merits ?" 
 
 Then some persons moving nearer 
 to where we were sitting, some general 
 conversation ensued, in which several 
 look part ; and none so much to my 
 liking as Basil, albeit others might 
 possess more ready tongues and a 
 more sparkling wit. In all the years 
 since I had left my home, I had not 
 found so much contentment in any one's 
 society. His mind and mine were 
 like two instruments with various 
 chords, but one key-note, which main- 
 tained them in admirable harmony. 
 The measure of our agreement stood 
 rather in the drift of our desires and 
 the scope of our approval, than in any 
 parity of tastes or resemblance of 
 disposition. Acquaintanceship soon 
 gave way to intimacy, which bred a 
 mutual fj'iendship that in its turn was 
 not slow to change into a Vvarmer 
 feeling. Wc met very often. It 
 seemed so natural to him to affection 
 me, and to me to reciprocate his af- 
 fection, that if our love began not, 
 which methinks it did, on that first 
 day of meeting, I know not when it 
 had birth. But if it be diflicult pre- 
 cisely to note the earliest buddings of 
 
 the sweet flower bvo, it was easy to 
 discern the moment when the bitter 
 root of jealousy sprang up in Hubert'.-^ 
 heart. He who had been suspicious 
 of every person whose civilities I al- 
 lowed of, did not for some time ap- 
 pear to mislike the intimacy which 
 had arisen betwixt his brother and 
 me. I ween from what he once said, 
 when on a later occasion anger loos- 
 ened his tongue, that he held him in 
 some sort of contempt, even as a fox 
 would despise a nobler animal than 
 himself. His subtle wit disdained his 
 plainness of speech. His confiding 
 temper he derided ; and he had me- 
 thinks no apprehension that a she-wit, 
 as he was wont to call me, should 
 prove herself so witless as to prefer to 
 cue of his brilliant parts a man nota- 
 ble for his indifferency to book leain- 
 ing, and to his smooth tongue and 
 fine genius the honest words and un- 
 varnished merits of his brother. 
 
 Howsoever, one day he either did 
 himself notice some sort of particular 
 kindness to exist between us, or he 
 was advertised thereof by some of tho 
 company we frequented, and I sav/ 
 him fix his eyes on us with so arrested 
 a persistency, and his frame waxed so 
 rigid, that methought Lot's wife must 
 have so gazed when she turned to- 
 ward the doomed city. I was more 
 frighted at the dull lack of expression 
 in his face than at a thousand frowns 
 or even scowls. His eyes were refl 
 of their wonted fire ; the color had 
 flown from his lips ; his always pale 
 cheek was of a ghastly whiteness ; 
 and his hand, which was thrust in his 
 bosom, and his fcei, which seemed 
 rooted to the ground, were as motion- 
 less as those of a statue. A shudder 
 ran through me as he stood in this 
 guise, neither moving nor speaking,, 
 at a small distance from me. I rose 
 and went away, for his looks freezed 
 me. But the next time I met him 
 this strangeness of behavior had van- 
 ished, and I almost misdoubted the 
 truth of what I had seen. He was a 
 daily witness, for several succeeding: 
 weeks, of what neither Basil nor I. 
 
20 
 
 Conslancj Sherwood, 
 
 cared much to conceal — ^the mutual 
 confidence and increasing tenderness 
 of affection, which was visible in all 
 our words and actions at that time, 
 which was one of greater contentment 
 than can be expressed. That sum- 
 mer was a rare one for fineness of the 
 weather and its great store of sun- 
 shiny days. We had often pleasant 
 divertisements in the neighborhood 
 of London, than which no city is more 
 famous for the beauty of its near 
 scenery. One while we ascended the 
 noble river Thames as far as Rich- 
 mond, England's Arcadia, whose 
 smooth waters, smiling meads, and 
 liills clad in richest verdure, do equal 
 whatsoever poets have ever sung or 
 painters pictured. Another time we 
 disported ourselves in the gardens of 
 Hampton, where, in the season of 
 roses, the insects weary their wings 
 over the flower-beds — the thrifty bees 
 with the weight of gathered honey — 
 and the gay butterflies, idlers as our- 
 selves, with perfume and pleasure. Or 
 we went to Greenwich Park, and un- 
 derneath the spreading trees, with 
 England's pride of shipping in sight, 
 and barges passing to and fro on the 
 broad stream as on a watery highway, 
 we whiled away the time in many 
 joyous pastimes. 
 
 On an occasion of this sort it hap- 
 pened that both brothers went with 
 us, and we forecasted to spend the 
 day at a house in the village of Pad- 
 dington, about two miles from London, 
 where Mr. Congleton's sister, a lady 
 of fortune, resided. It stood in a veiy 
 fair garden, the gate of which opened 
 on the high road; and after dinner we 
 sat with some other company which 
 had been invited to meet us under the 
 large cedar trees which lined a broad 
 gravel-walk leading from the house to 
 the gate. The day was very hot, but 
 now a cooling air had risen, and the 
 young people there assembled played 
 at pastimes, in which I was somewhat 
 loth to join ; for jesting disputations 
 and framing of questions and answers, 
 an amusement then greatly in fashion, 
 minded one of that fiital encounter be 
 
 twixt Marun Tregon/ a:id Thom;u^ 
 Sherwood, the end of whicli had baoii 
 the death of the one and a fatal injury 
 to the soul of the other. Hubert was 
 urgent with me to join in the argu- 
 ments proposed; but I refused, partly 
 for the aforesaid reason, and me 
 thinks, also, because I doubted that 
 Basil should acquit himself so admir- 
 ably as his brother in these exercises 
 of wit, wherein the latter did indeed 
 excel, and I cared not to shine in a 
 sport wherein he took no part. So I 
 set myself to listen to the disputants, 
 albeit with an absent mind; for I had 
 grown to be somewhat thoughtful of 
 late, and to forecast the future with 
 such an admixture of hope and fear 
 touching the issue of those passages of 
 love I was engaged in, that the trifles 
 which entertair.ed a disengaged mind 
 lacked ability (o divert me. I ween 
 Polly, if she had been then in London, 
 should have laughed at me for the 
 symptoms I exhibited of what she 
 styled the sighing malady. 
 
 A little whib after the contest had 
 begun, a sound was heard at a distance 
 as of a trampling on the road, but nol 
 discernible as yet whether of men or 
 horsss' fee-. There was mixed witli 
 it cries of hooting and shouts, which 
 increased as this sort of procession 
 (for so it should seem to be) ap- 
 proached. All who were in the garden 
 ran to the iron railing for to discover 
 the cause. From the houses on both 
 sides the road persons came out and 
 joined in the clamor. As the crowd 
 neared the gate where we stood, the 
 words, "Papists — seditious priests — 
 traitors," were discernible, mixed 
 with oaths, curses, and such opprobri- 
 ous epithets as my pen dares not 
 write. At the hearing of them the 
 blood rushed to my head, and my 
 heart began to beat as if it should 
 burst from the violence with which it 
 tlirobbed ; for now the mob was close 
 at hand, and we could see the occasion 
 of their yells and shoutings. . About a 
 dozen persons were riding without bri- 
 dle or spur or other furniture, on lean 
 and bai'c horses, which were fastened 
 
**jHe looked pale and worn tc> a shadow, and hardly able to sit on his hoise."'— Page lai. 
 
Constance Slicnvoo.^. 
 
 ■121 
 
 one to llic other's tails, marching 
 slowly in a long row, each man's feet 
 tied under his horse's belly, and his 
 arms bound hard and fast behind him. 
 A pursuivant rode in front and cried 
 aloud that those coming behind him 
 were certain papists, foes to the gospel 
 and enemies to the commonwealth, for 
 that they had been seized in the act of 
 saying and hearing mass in disobedi- 
 ence to the laws. And as he made 
 this proclamation, the rabble yelled 
 and took up stones and mud to cast at 
 the prisoners. One man cried out, 
 " Four of them be vile priests." O ye 
 who read this, have you taken heed 
 how, at some times in your lives, in a 
 less space than the w^ink of an eye, 
 thought has outrun sight? So did 
 mine with lightning speed apprehend 
 lest my father should be one of these. 
 I scanned the faces of the prisoners as 
 they passed, but he was not amongst 
 them; however I recognized, with a 
 sharp pain, the known countenance 
 of the priest who had shriven my mo- 
 ther on her death-bed. He looked 
 pale and worn to a shadow, and hardly 
 able to sit on his horse. I sunk down 
 on my knees, w^ith my head against 
 the railings, feeling very sick. Then 
 the gate opened, and with a strange 
 joy and trembling fear I saw Basil 
 push through the mob till he stood 
 close to the horse's feet where the 
 crowd had made a stoppage. He 
 knelt and took off his hat, and the 
 lips of the priests moved, as they 
 passed, for to bless him. Murmurs 
 rose from the rabble, but he took no 
 heed of them. Till the last horseman 
 liad gone by he stood Tvith his head 
 uncovered, and then slowly returned, 
 none daring to touch him. " Basil, 
 dear Basil!" I cried, and, weeping, 
 gave him my hand. It was the first 
 time I had called him by his name. 
 Methinks in that moment as secure a 
 troth-plight was passed between us as 
 if ten thousand bonds had sealed it. 
 When, some time afterward, we 
 moved toward the house, I saw Hu- 
 bert standing at the door with the 
 same stony rigid look wliicli had 
 
 frighted me once before. He said n(;t 
 one word as I passed him. I have 
 since heard that a lady, endowed with 
 more sharpness than prudence or 
 kindness, had thus addressed him en 
 this occasion : " Methinks, Master Hu- 
 bert Rookwood, that you did peiform 
 your part excellently w^ell in that in 
 genious pastime which procured us £( 
 much good entertainment awhile ago ; 
 but beshrew me if your brother did 
 not exceed you in the scene we have 
 just witnessed, and if Mistress Sher- 
 wood's looks do not belie her, she 
 thought so too. I ween his tragedy 
 hath outdone your comedy." Then he 
 (well-nigh biting his lips through, as 
 the person who related it to me ob- 
 served) made answer : " If this young 
 gentlewoman's taste be set on tragedy, 
 then will I promise her so much of it 
 another day as should needs satisfy 
 her." 
 
 This malicious lady misliked Hu- 
 bert, by reason of his having denied 
 her the praise of wit, which had been 
 reported to her by a third person. 
 She was minded to be revenged on 
 him, and so the shaft contained in her 
 piercing jest had likewise hit those 
 she willed not to injure. It is not to 
 be credited how many persons have 
 been ruined in fortune, driven into 
 banishment, yea, delivered over to 
 death, by careless words uttered with- 
 out so much as a thought of the evil 
 which should ensue from them. 
 
 And now upon the next day Basil 
 Avas to leave London. Before he went 
 he said he hoped not to be long absent, 
 and that Mr. Congleton should receive 
 a letter, if it pleased God, from his fa- 
 ther ; which, if it should be favorably 
 received, and I willed it not to be oth- 
 erwise, should cause our next meeting 
 to be one of greater contentment than 
 could be thought of. 
 
 I answered, " I should never wis!i 
 otherwise than that we should meet 
 with contentment, or will anything 
 that should hinder it." Which he 
 said did greatly please him to hear, 
 and gave him a comfortable ho^e of a 
 happy return. 
 
122 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 Hg conversed also with Mistress 
 Ward touching tlie prisoners we had 
 seen the day before, and left some 
 money with her in case she should 
 find means to see and assist them, 
 which she strove to do with the dili- 
 gence used by her in all such manage- 
 ments. In a few days she discovered 
 Mr. Watson to be in Bridewell, also 
 one Mr. Richardson in the Marr-halsca, 
 jind three laymen in the Clink. Mr. 
 Watson had a sister who was a Prot- 
 estant, and by her means she succeed- 
 ed in relieving his wants, and dealt 
 with, the gaolers at the other prisons 
 so as to convey some assistance to the 
 poor men therein confined, whose 
 names she had found out. 
 
 One morning when I was at Kate's 
 liouse Hubert came there; and she, 
 the whole compass of whose thoughts 
 was now circled in her nursery, not 
 minding the signs I made she should 
 not leave us alone, rose and said she 
 must needs go and see if her babe was 
 awake, for Hubert must see him, and 
 he should not go away without first he 
 Iiad beheld him walk with his new 
 leading-strings, which were the taste- 
 fullest in the world and fit for a king's 
 son; and that she doubted not we 
 could find good enough entertainment 
 in each other's company, or in Mr. 
 Lacy's books, which must be the wit- 
 tiest ever written, if she judged by her 
 husband's fondness for them. As soon 
 as the door was shut on her, Hubert 
 began to speak of his brother, and to 
 insinuate that my behavior to himself 
 was changed since Basil had come to 
 London, which I warmly denied. 
 
 « If," I said, " I have changed—" 
 
 " If" he repeated, stopping my 
 speaking with an ironical and disdain- 
 ful smile, and throwing into that one 
 little word as he uttered it more of 
 meaning than it would seem possible 
 it should express. 
 
 " Yes !" I continued, angered at his 
 defiant looks. " Yes, if my behavior 
 to you has changed, which, I must 
 confess, in some respects it has, the 
 cause did lie in my uncle's commands, 
 laid on me before your brother's com- 
 
 ing to London. You know it. Master 
 Rook wood, by the same token that you 
 charged me with unkindness for not 
 allowing of your visits, and refusing 
 to read Italian with you, some weeks 
 before ever he arrived." 
 
 '• You have a wqyj obedient disposi 
 tion, madam," he answered in a scorn 
 ful manner, " and I doubt not have at- 
 tended with a like readiness to the be- 
 hest to favor the elder brother's suit as 
 to that which forbade the receiving ot 
 the younger brother's addresses." 
 
 " I did not look upon you as a suit- 
 or," I replied. 
 
 " No !" he exclaimed, " and not as 
 on a lover ? Not as on one whose> lips, 
 borrowing words from enamored poe!xi 
 twenty times in a day, did avow 
 his passion, and was entertained on 
 your side Avith so much good-nature 
 and apparent contentment with this 
 mode of disguised worship, as should 
 lead him to hope for a return of his 
 affection ? Bat why question of that 
 wherein my belief is unshaken ? I 
 know you love me, Constance Sher- 
 wood, albeit you perad venture love 
 more dearly my brother's heirship of 
 Euston and its wide acres. Your eyes 
 deceived not, nor did your flushing 
 cheek dissemble, when we read to- 
 gether those sweet tales and noble 
 poems, wherein are set forth tlie dear 
 pains and tormenting joys of a mutual 
 love. No, not if you did take your 
 oath on it Avill I believe you love my 
 brother !" 
 
 "What warrant have you, sir," I 
 answered with burning clieek, "to 
 minister such tallv to one who, from the 
 moment she found you thought of mar- 
 riage, did plainly discountenance your 
 suit?" 
 
 " You were content, then, madam, 
 to be worsliipped as an idol," he bitterly 
 replied, " if only not sued for in mar- 
 riage by a poor man." 
 
 My sin found me out then, and the 
 hard taunt awoke dormant pangs in 
 my conscience for the pleasure I had 
 taken and doubtless showed in tlie dis- 
 guised ])rofessions of an undisguised 
 admiration ; but anger yet prevailed, 
 
Constance Sho'wood. 
 
 123 
 
 and I cried, " Think you to advance 
 your interest in my friendsliip, sir, by 
 such language and reproaches as 
 these ?' 
 
 "Do you love my brother?" he 
 said again, with an imphed contempt 
 which made me mad. 
 
 " Sir," I answered, " I entertain for 
 your brother so great a respect and es- 
 teem as one must needs feel toward 
 one of so much virtue and goodness. 
 No contract exists between us ; nor 
 has he made me the tender of his 
 hand. More than that it behoves you 
 not to ask, or me to answer." 
 
 *'Ah ! the offer of marriage is then 
 the condition of your regard, and love 
 is to follow, not precede, the settle- 
 ments, r faith, ladies arc very pm- 
 dent in these days ; and virtue and 
 goodness the new names for fortune 
 and lands. Beshrew me, if I had not 
 deemed you to be made of other metal 
 than the common herd. But whatever 
 be the composition of your heart, Con- 
 stance Sherwood, be it hard as the 
 gold you set so much store on, or, like 
 wax, apt to receive each day some ncAv 
 •'mpress, I will have it ; yea, and keep 
 it for my own. No rich fool shall 
 s'.cal it from me." 
 
 " Hubert Rookwood," I cried in an- 
 ger, " dare not so to speak of one whoso 
 merit is as superior to thine as the sun 
 outshines a torchhght." 
 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed, turning pale 
 with rage, "if I thought thou didst 
 love him!" and clenched his hand 
 with a terrible gesture, and ground his 
 teeth. " But 'tis impossible," he added 
 bitterly smiling. "As soon would I 
 believe Titania verily to doat on the 
 ass's head as for thee to love Basil !" 
 
 "Oh!" I indignantly replied, "you 
 do almost constrain me to avow that 
 which no maiden should, unasked, 
 confess. Do you think, sir, that learn- 
 ing and scholarship, and the poor show 
 of wit that lies in a ready tongue, 
 should outweigh honor, courage, and 
 kindliness of heart ? Think you that 
 more respect should be paid to one 
 who can speak, and write also, if you 
 will, fair sounding words, than to him 
 
 who in his daily doings shovrs forth 
 such nobleness as others only incul- 
 cate, and God only knoweth if ever 
 they practise it ?" 
 
 " Lady !" he exclaimed, " I have 
 served you long; sustained torments 
 in your presence ; endured griefs in 
 your absence ; pining thoughts in the 
 day, and anguished dreams in the 
 night ; jealousies often in times past, 
 and now — " 
 
 He drew in his breath ; and then 
 not so much speaking the word " de- 
 spair" as with a smothered vehemence 
 uttering it, he concluded his vehement 
 address. 
 
 I was so shaken by his speech that 
 I remained silent : for if I had spoken 
 I must needs have vv'ept. Holding ray 
 head with both hands, and so shielding 
 my eyes from the sight of Us pale 
 convulsed face, I sat hkc one trans- 
 fixed. Then he again : " These be 
 not times. Mistress Sherwood, for v.o- 
 men to act as you have done ; to lift a 
 man's heart one while to an earthly 
 heaven, and then, without so much a 
 a thought, to cast him into a hellisl 
 sea of woes. These be the dealings 
 which drive men to desperation ; to 
 attempt things contrary to their own 
 minds, to religion, and to honesty ; to 
 courses once abhorred — " 
 
 His violence wrung my heart then 
 vv'ith so keen a remorse that I cried 
 out, " I cry you mercy. Master Rook- 
 wood, if I have dealt thus with you ; 
 indeed I thought not to do it. I pray 
 you forgive me, if unwittingly, albeit 
 peradventure in a heedless manner, I 
 have done you so much wrong as your 
 words do charge me with." And then 
 tears I could not stay began to flow ; 
 and for awhile no talk ensued. But 
 after a little time he spoke in a voice 
 so changed and dissimilar in manner, 
 that I looked up wholly amazed. 
 
 " Sweet Constance," he said, " I 
 have played the fool in my custom- 
 able fashion, and by sucli pretended 
 slanders of one I should rather incline 
 to commend beyond his deserts, if 
 that were possible, than to give him 
 vile terms, have sought — I cry you 
 
124 
 
 Conctcnicc Sherwood. 
 
 mercy for it — to discover your senti- 
 ments, and feigned a resentment and 
 a passion Avhich indeed has proved an 
 excellent piece of acting, if I judge by 
 your tears. I pray you pardon and 
 Ibrget my brotherly device. If you 
 love Basil — as I misdoubt not he 
 loves you — where shall a more suita- 
 ble match be found, or one "which eve- 
 ry one must needs so much approve ? 
 Marry, sweet lady ; I will be his best 
 man wlien he doth ride to church with 
 you, and cry 'Amen' more loudly than 
 the clerk. So now dart no more 
 vengeful lightnings from thine eyes, 
 Bweet one ; and wipe away the pearly 
 drops my unmannerly jesting hath 
 caused to flow. I would not Basil 
 had w^edded a lady in love with his 
 pelf, not with himself." 
 
 "I detest tricks," I cried, "and 
 Guch feigning as you do confess to. I 
 would I had not answered one word 
 of your false discourse." 
 
 Now I wept for vexation to have 
 been so circumvented and befooled as to 
 O'.vn some sort of love for a man who 
 had not yet openly addressed me. And 
 albeit reassured in some wise, touch- 
 ing what my conscience had charged 
 me with when I heard Hubert's vehe- 
 ment reproaches, I misdoubted his 
 present sincerity. He searched my 
 face with a keen mves ligation, for to 
 detect, I ween, if I was most contented 
 or displeased with his late words. I 
 resolved, if he was false, I would be 
 true, and leave not so much as a sus- 
 picion in his mind that I did or ever 
 had cared for him. But Kate, who 
 should not have left us alone, now re- 
 turned, when her absence would have 
 been most profitable. She had her 
 babe in her arms, and must needs call 
 on Hubert to praise its beauty and list 
 to its sweet crowing. In truth, a more 
 winsome, gracious creature could not 
 be seen ; and albeit I had made an 
 impatient gesture when she entered, 
 my arms soon eased liers of their fair 
 burthen, and I set to playing with the 
 boy, and Hubert talking and laughing 
 in such good cheer, that I began to 
 credit his passion had been feigning, 
 
 and his indlCcrcncy to be tnic, wlilch 
 contented mc not a little. 
 
 A few days afterward Mr. Conglc- 
 ton received a letter, in the evening, 
 when we were sitting in my aunt's room, 
 and a sudden fluttering m my heart 
 whispered it should be from Basil's fa- 
 ther. Mine eyes affixed themselves 
 on the cover, which had fallen on the 
 ground, and then travelled to my un- 
 cle's face, wherein was a smile which 
 seemed to say, "This is no other than 
 what I did expect." He put it down 
 on the table, and his hand over it. 
 My aunt said he should tell us the 
 news he had received, to make us 
 merry ; for that the fog had given her 
 the vapors, and she had need of some 
 good entertainment. 
 
 " News !" quoth he. " What news 
 do you look for, good wife?" 
 
 "Itwould not be news, sir," she an- 
 swered, " if I expected it." 
 
 " That is more sharp than true," ho 
 rephed. " There must needs come 
 news of the queen of France's lying- 
 in; but I pray you how will it bei'* 
 Shall she Hve and do well ? Shall it 
 be a prince or a princess ?" 
 
 " Prithee, no disputings, Mr. Con- 
 gleton," she said. " We be not play- 
 ing at questions and answers." 
 
 "Nay, but thou dost mistake," he 
 cried out, laughing. "Methinks we 
 have here in hand some game of that 
 sort, if I judge by this letter." 
 
 Then my heart leapt, I knew not 
 how high or how tumultuously ; for 1 
 doubted not now but he had rc2eived 
 the tidings I hoped for. 
 
 " Constance," he said, " hast a 
 mind to marry ?" 
 
 " If it should please you, sir," I an- 
 swered ; " for my father charged me 
 to obey you." 
 
 " Good," quoth he. " I see thon 
 art an obedient wench. And thou 
 wilt marry who I please ?" 
 
 "Nay, sir ; I said not that." 
 
 " Oh, oh !" quoth he. " Thou wi 
 marry so as to please me, and yet — ^' 
 
 " Not so as to displease myself, sir,' 
 I answered. 
 
 " Come," he said, " another question 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 125 
 
 Here is n, gentleman of fortune and 
 birth, and excellent good character, 
 somewhat advanced in years indeed, 
 hut the more like to make an indulgent 
 husband, and to be prudent in the 
 management of his affairs, hath heard 
 so good a report from two young gen- 
 tlemen, his sons, of thy abilities and 
 proper behavior, that he is minded 
 to make thee a tender of marriage, 
 with 80 good a settlement on his es- 
 tate in Suffolk as must needs content 
 any reasonable woman. Wilt have 
 him, Conny?'* 
 
 " Who, sir ? '* I asked, waxing, I 
 ween, as red as a field-poppy. 
 
 " Mr. Rookwood, wench — Basil and 
 Hubert's father." 
 
 Albeit I knew my uncle's trick of 
 jesting, my folly was so great just 
 then, hope and fear working in me, 
 that I was seized with fright, and from 
 crimson turned so white, that he cried 
 out: 
 
 " Content thee, child ! content thee ! 
 *Tis that tall strapping fellow Basil 
 must needs make thee an offer of his 
 hand; and by my troth, wench, I 
 warrant thee thou wouldst go further 
 and fare worse ; for the gentleman is 
 honorably descended, heir-apparent 
 to an estate worth yearly, to my 
 knowledge, three thousand pounds 
 sterling, well disposed in religion, and 
 of a personage without exception. Mr. 
 Rookwood declares he is more con- 
 tented with his son's choice than if he 
 married Mistress Spencer, or any 
 other heiress ; and beshrew me, if I be 
 not contented also." ^ 
 
 Then he bent his head close to 
 mine ear, and whispered, "And so 
 art thou, methinks, if those tell-tale 
 eyes of thine should be credited. Yea, 
 yea, hang down thy head, and stam- 
 mer ' As you please, sir ! ' And never 
 .so much as a Deo gr alias for thy good 
 ibrtune! What thankless creatures 
 women be !" I laughed and ran out 
 of the room before mine aunt or Mis- 
 tress Ward had disclosed their lips ; 
 for I did long to be in mine own 
 chamber alone, and, from the depths 
 of a heart over full of, yea overflow- 
 
 ing v/ith, such joy as doth incline the 
 knees to bend and the eyes to raise 
 themselves to the Giver of all good — 
 he whom all other goodness doth only 
 mirror and shadow forth — pour out a 
 hymn of praise for the noble blessing 
 I had received. For, I pray you, al- 
 ter the gift of faith and grace for to 
 know and love God, is there aught on 
 earth to be jewelled by a woman like 
 to the affection of a good man ; or a 
 more secure haven for her to anchor 
 in amid the present billows of life, ex- 
 cept that of religion, to which all be 
 not called, than an honorable contract 
 of marriage, wherein reason, passion, 
 and duty do bind the soul in a triple 
 cord of love ? 
 
 And oh ! with what a painful ten- 
 derness I thought in that moving hour 
 on mine own dear parents — ^my mo- 
 ther, now so many years dead ; my fa- 
 ther, so parted from his poor child, 
 that in the most weighty concernment 
 of her life — the disposal of her in 
 marriage — his consent had to be pre- 
 sumed; his authority, for so he had 
 with forecasting care ordained, bein;; 
 left in other hands. But albeit a 
 shade of melancholy from such a re- 
 trospect as the mind is wont to take 
 of the past, when coming events do 
 cast, as it should seem, a new light 
 on what has preceded them, I could 
 not choose but see, in this good which 
 had happened to me, a reward to 
 him "who had forsaken all things — 
 lands, home, kindred, yea his only 
 child, for Christ's dear sake. It 
 minded me of my mother's words con- 
 cerning me, when she lay dying, 
 " Fear not for her." 
 
 I was somewhat loth to return to 
 mine aunt's chamber, and to appear 
 in the presence of Kate and Polly, 
 who had come to visit their mother, 
 and, by their saucy looks when I en- 
 tered, showed they were privy to the 
 treaty in hand. Mine aunt said sho 
 had been thinking that she would not 
 go to church when I was married, but 
 give me her blessing at home ; for she 
 had never recovered from the chilling 
 she had when Kiite was married, and 
 
Constance S^icrtoood, 
 
 had laid abed on Polly's wedding-day, 
 which she liked better. Mistress 
 Ward had great contentment, she said, 
 that I should have so good an husband. 
 Kate was glad Basil was not too fond 
 of books, for that scholars be not as 
 conversable as agreeable husbands 
 should be. Polly said, for her part, 
 s!ie thought the less wit a man had, 
 the better for his v/ife, for she would 
 then be the more like to have her 
 own way. But that being her opinion, 
 she did not wholly wish me joy ; for 
 she had noticed Basil to be a good 
 thinker, and a man of so much sense, 
 that he would not be ruled by a wife 
 more than should be reasonable. I 
 was greatly pleased that she thus 
 commended him, who was not easily 
 pleased, and rather given to despise 
 gentlemen than to praise them. I 
 kissed her, and said I had always 
 tJiought her the most sensible woman 
 in the world. She laughed, and 
 cried, "That was small commenda- 
 tion, for that women were the foolish- 
 ost creatures in the world, and mostly 
 such as were in love.'* 
 
 Ah me ! The days which followed 
 ,vere full of sweet waiting and plea- 
 'sant pining for the effects of the letter 
 mine uncle wrote to Mr. Rook wood,- 
 and looking for one Basil should write 
 himself, when licence for to address 
 me had been }ielded to him. When 
 it came, how unforeseen, how sad 
 were the contents ! Albeit love was ex- 
 pressed in every line, sorrow did so 
 cover its utterance, that my heart 
 overflowed through mine eyes, and I 
 could only sigh and weep that the be- 
 ginning of so fair a day of joy should 
 have set in clouds of so much grief. 
 Basil's father was dead. The day 
 after he wrote that letter, the cause 
 of all our joy, he fell sick and never 
 bettered any more, but the contrary : 
 time was allowed him to prepare his 
 soul for death, by all holy rites and 
 ghostly comforts. One of his sons 
 was on each side of his bed when he 
 died ; and Basil closed his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTEIl XIV. 
 
 Basil came to London after the fu- 
 neral, and methought his sadness 
 then did become him as much as his 
 joyfulness heretofore. His grief waa 
 answerable to the affection he had 
 borne unto his father, and to that 
 gentlemen's most excellent deserts. 
 He informed Mr. Congleton that in 
 somewhat less than one year he 
 should be of age, and until then his 
 wardship was committed to Sir Henry 
 Stafford. It was agreed betwixt them, 
 that in respect of his deep mourning 
 and the greater commodity his being 
 of age would afford for the drawing up 
 of settlements, our marriage should 
 be deferred until he returned from the 
 continent in a year's time. Sir Henry 
 v/as exceeding urgent he should tra- 
 vel abroad for the bettering as he af- 
 firmed of his knowledge of foreign 
 languages, and acquirement of such 
 useful information as should hereafter 
 greatly benefit him ; but methinks, 
 from what Basil said, it was chiefly 
 Avitll the end that he should not be 
 himself troubled d uring his term of guar- 
 dianship with proceedings touching 
 his ward's recusancy, which was so 
 open and manifest, no persuasions 
 dissuading him from it, that he ap- 
 prehended therefrom to meet with dif- 
 ficulties. 
 
 So with heavy hearts and some 
 tears on both sides, a short time aflter 
 Mr. Rookwood's death, we did part, 
 but withal with so comfortable a hope 
 of a happy future, and so great a se- 
 curity of mutual affection, that the 
 pangs of separation were softened, 
 and a not unpleasing melancholy en- 
 sued. We forecasted to hold converse 
 by means of letters, of which he made 
 me promise I should leastways write 
 two for his one ; for he argued, as 1 
 always had a pen in my hand, it 
 should be no trouble to me to write 
 down my thoughts as they arose, but 
 as for himself, it would cost him much 
 time and labor for to compose such a 
 letter as it would content me to re- 
 ceive. But herein he was too modest ; 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 127 
 
 for, indeed, iii everything ho wrote, al- 
 beit short and mostly devoid of such 
 flowers of the fancy as some are v/ont 
 to scatter over their letters, I was al- 
 ways excellently well pleased with his 
 favors of this kind. 
 
 Hubert remained in London for to 
 commence his studies in a house of 
 the law; but when my engagement 
 with his brother became known, he 
 left off haunting Mr. Lacy's house, 
 and even Mr. Wells's, as heretofore. 
 His behavior was very mutable ; at 
 one time exceedingly obliging, and at 
 another more strange and distant than 
 it had yet been ; so that I did dread to 
 meet him, not knowing how to shape 
 mine own conduct in his regard ; for 
 if on tho one hand I niishked to ap- 
 pear estranged from Basil's brother, 
 yet if I dealt graciously toward him, I 
 feared to confirm his apprehension of 
 some sort of unusual liking on my 
 part toward himself. 
 
 One month, or thereabouts, after 
 Basil had gone to France, Lady Sur- 
 rey did invite me to stay with her at 
 Kenninghall, which greatly delighted 
 me, for it was a very long time then 
 since I had seen her. The reports I 
 heard of her lord's being a continual 
 waiter on her majesty, and always at 
 court, whereas she did not come, to 
 London so much as once in the year, 
 worked in me a very uneasy appre- 
 hension that she should not be as hap- 
 py in her retirement as I should wish. 
 I long had desired to visit this dear 
 lady, but durst not be the first to 
 speak of it. Also to one bred in the 
 country from her infancy, the long 
 while I had spent in a city, far from 
 any sights or scenta of nature, had 
 created in me a great desire for pure 
 air and green fields, of which the 
 neighborhood of London had afforded 
 only such scanty glimpses as Gcrved to 
 Avhet, not satisfy, the taste for such- 
 like pleasures. So v/ilh much con- 
 tentment I began my journey into 
 Norfolk, v.'hich was the first I had 
 taken since that long one from Sher- 
 A^ood Hall to London some years be- 
 fore. A coach of my Lord Surrey's, 
 
 with two new pairs of horses, was go- 
 ing from the Charter-house to Ken- 
 ninghall, and a chamber- woman of my 
 lady's to be conveyed therein ; so lor 
 conveniency I travelled with her. 
 We slept two nights on the road (for 
 the horses were to rest often), in very 
 comfortable lodgings ; and about th ; 
 middle of the third day we did arrive, 
 at Kenninghall, which is a place of so 
 great magnitude and magnificence, 
 that to my surprised eyes it showed 
 more like unto a palace, yea, a cluster 
 of palaces, than the residence of a 
 private though illustrious nobleman. 
 The gardens which we passed along- 
 side of, the terraces adorned with ma- 
 jestic trees, the woods at the back of 
 the building, which then wore a gaudy 
 dress of crimson and golden hues, — 
 made my heart leap for joy to be once 
 more in the country. But when we 
 passed through the gateway, and into 
 one court and then another, mc- 
 thought we left the country behind, 
 and entered some sort of city, the 
 buildings did so close around us on 
 every side. At last we stopped at a. 
 great door, and many footmen stood 
 about me, and one led me througii 
 long galleries and a store of empty 
 chambers ; I forecasting in my mind 
 the while how far it should be to tlic: 
 gardens I had seen, and if the birds 
 could be heard to shig in tliis great 
 house, in which was so much fine ta- 
 pestry, and pictures in higli-gilt frames, 
 that the eye was dazzled with their 
 splendor. A little pebbly brook or a 
 tuft of daisies would then have pleased 
 me more than these fine hangings, 
 and the grass than the smooth carpets 
 in some of the rooms, the like of which 
 I had never yet seen. But these dis- 
 contented thoughts vanished quickly 
 when my Lady Surrey appeared ; 
 and I had nothing more to desin; 
 when I received her aff'ectionate em- 
 brace, and saw how joyful was her 
 welcome. Methought, too, when she 
 led me into the chamber wherein slie 
 said her time was chiefly spent, that 
 its rich adornment became her, who 
 had verily a queenly beauty, and a 
 
128 
 
 Coyistance SJierwood. 
 
 presence so sweetly majestic that it 
 alone was sufficient to call for a reve- 
 rent respect from others even in her 
 young years. There was an admira- 
 ble simplicity in her dress ; so that I 
 likened her in my mind, as she sat in 
 'hat gilded room, to a pure fair dia- 
 \iiond enchased in a rich setting. In 
 die next chamber her gentlewoman 
 and chambermaids were at work — 
 some at frames, and others making of 
 clothes, or else spinning ; and another 
 door opened into her bed-chamber, 
 which was very large, like unto a 
 haU, and the canopy of the bed so 
 high and richly adorned that it should 
 have >)eseemed a throne. The tapes- 
 try on the wall, bedight with fruits 
 iind flowers, very daintily wrought, so 
 that nature itself hath not more fair 
 hues than therein were to be seen. 
 
 •" When my lord is not at home, I 
 mislike this grand chamber, and do 
 lie here," she said, and showed me an 
 inner closet ; which I perceived to be 
 plainly furnished, and in one corner 
 of it, which pleased me most for to 
 see, a crucifix hung against the wall, 
 over above a kneeling-stool. Seeing 
 my eyes did rest on it, she colored a 
 little, and said it had belonged to Lady 
 Mounteagle, who had gifted her with 
 it on her death-bed ; upon which ac- 
 count she did greatly treasure the jjos- 
 session thereof. 
 
 I answered, it did very much con- 
 tent me that she should set store on 
 what had been her grandmother's, for 
 verily she was greatly indebted to 
 that good lady for the care she had 
 taken of her young years ; " but me- 
 thinks," I added, " the likeness of your 
 Saviour Avhich died for you should not 
 need any other excuse for the prizing 
 of it than what arises from its being 
 what it is, his own dear image." 
 
 She said she thought so too ; but 
 that in the eyes of Protestants she 
 must needs allege some other reason 
 lor the keeping of a crucifix in her 
 room than that good one, which never- 
 theless in her own thinking she allow- 
 ed of. 
 
 'I'hen she showed rao mine own 
 
 chamber, which was very commodious 
 and pleasantly situated, not far from 
 hers. From the window was to be 
 seen the town of Norwich, and an ex- 
 tensive plain intersected with trees ; 
 and underneath the wall of the house 
 a terrace lined with many fair shrubs 
 and strips of flower-beds, very pleas- 
 ing to the eye, but too far off for 
 a more familiar enjoyment than the 
 eyesight could afford. 
 
 When we liad dined, and I was sit- 
 ting with my lady in her dainty sit- 
 ting-room, she at her tambour-frame, 
 and I with a piece of patch-work on 
 my knees which I had brought from 
 London, she began forthwith to ques- 
 tion me touching my intended mar- 
 riage, Mr. Rookwood's death, and 
 Basil's going abroad, concerning which 
 she had heard many reports. I satis- 
 fied her thereon; upon which she ex- 
 pressed great contentment that my 
 prospects of happiness were so good ; 
 for all which knew Basil thought well 
 on him, she said; and mostly his 
 neighbors, which have the chiefest 
 occasions for to judge of a man's dis- 
 position. And Euston, she thought, 
 should prove a very commendable resi- 
 dence, albeit the house was small for 
 so good an estate; but capable, she 
 doubted not, of improvements, which 
 my fine taste would bestow on it ; not 
 indeed by spending large sums on out- 
 ward show, but by small adornments 
 and dehcate beautifying of a house 
 and gardens, such as women only do 
 excel in ; the which kind of care Mr. 
 Rook wood's seat had lacked for many 
 years. She also said it pleased her 
 much to think that Basil and I should 
 agree touching religion, for there was 
 little happiness to be had in marriage 
 where consent doth not exist in so im- 
 portant a matter. I answered, that I 
 was of that way of thinking also. But 
 then this consent must be veritable, not 
 extorted; ibr in so weighty a point the 
 least shadow of compulsion on the one 
 side, and feigning on the other, do end by 
 destroying happiness, and virtue also, 
 which is more urgent. She made no 
 answer ; and 1 then asked her if she 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 129 
 
 liked Kenuingliall more llian London, 
 and had ibund in a retired life the con- 
 tentment she had hoped for. She bent 
 down her head over her work-frame, 
 Ko as partly to conceal her face ; but 
 how beautiful what was to be seen of 
 it appeared, as she thus hid the rest, 
 lier snowv neck supporting her small 
 head, and the shape of her oval cheek 
 just visible beneath the dark tresses of 
 jet-black hair ! When she raised that 
 noble head methought it wore a look of 
 becoming, not unchristian, pride, or 
 ;:;omewhat better than should be titled 
 l)ride ; and her voice betokened more 
 emotion than her visage betrayed 
 when she said, " I am more contented, 
 Constance, to inhabit this my husband's 
 cluefest house than to dwell in Lon- 
 don or anywhere else. Where should 
 a v.'ife abide -with so much pleasure 
 us in a place where she may be some- 
 times visited by her lord, even though 
 slie should not always be so happy as 
 to enjoy his company? My Lord 
 Arundel hath often urged me to re- 
 side with him in London, and pleaded 
 ihc comfort my Lady Lumley and 
 himself, in his declining years, should 
 (hid in my filial care ; but God helping 
 me — and I tliink in so doing I fulfil his 
 will — naught shall tempt me to leave 
 my husband's house till he doth him*- 
 ise!f compel me to it; nor by rcsent- 
 jncnt of his absence lose one day of his 
 dear company I may yet enjoy." 
 
 "O my dear lady," I exclaimed, 
 *• and is it indeed thus with you ? 
 Doth ray lord so forget your love and 
 !iis duty as to forsake one he should 
 cherish as his most dear treasure ?" 
 
 "Nay, nay," she hastily replied; 
 *• Philip doth not forsake me ; a little 
 neglectful he is" (this she said with a 
 Ibrced smile), "as all the queen's cour- 
 tiers must needs be of their wives ; for 
 she is so exacting, that such as stand 
 in her good graces cannot be stayers 
 at home, but ever waiters on her plea- 
 sure. If Philip doth only leave Lon- 
 don or Richmond for three or four 
 days, she doth suspect the cause of his 
 absence; her smiles are turned to 
 frowns, and his enemies immediately 
 
 do take advantage of it. I tried to 
 stay in London one while this year, 
 after Bess was married ; but he suf- 
 fered so much in consequence from 
 the loss of her good graces when she 
 hoard I w^as at the Charter-house, that 
 I was compelled to return here." 
 
 " And hath my lord been to see yon 
 since ?" I eagerly asked. 
 
 " Once," she answered ; " for three 
 shprt days. O Constance, it was a 
 brief, and, from its briefness, an al- 
 most painful joy, to see him in his 
 ov/n princely home, and at the head of 
 his table, which he doth grace so no- 
 bly ; and when he went abroad saluted 
 by every one with so much reverence, 
 that he should be taken to be a king 
 when he is here ; and himself so con- 
 tented with this show of love and ho- 
 mage, that his face beamed with plea- 
 sant smiles ; and when he observed 
 what my poor skill had effected in the 
 management of his estates, which do 
 greatly suffer from the prodigalities of 
 the court, he commended me with so 
 great kindness as to say he was not 
 worthy of so good a wife." 
 
 I could not choose but say amen in 
 mine own soul to this lord's true esti- 
 mation of himself, and of her, one 
 hair of w^hose head did, in my think- 
 ing, outweigh in merit his whole 
 frame ; but composed my face lest she 
 should too plainly read my resentment 
 that the hke of her should be so used 
 by an ungrateful husband. 
 
 "Alas," she continued, "this joy 
 should be my constant portion if an 
 enemy robbed me not of my just 
 rights. 'Tis very hard to be hated by 
 a queen, and she so great and power- 
 ful that none in the compass of her 
 realm can dare to resent her ill treat- 
 ment. I had a letter from my lord 
 last week, in which he says if it be 
 possible he will soon visit me again ; 
 but he doth add that he has so much 
 confidence in my affection, that he is 
 suie I would not will him to risk that 
 w^hich may undo him, if the queen 
 should hear of it. * For, Nan,* he 
 wTites, ' I resemble a man scrambhng 
 up unto ti slippery rock, who, if he 
 
I30 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 galneth not tlio topmost points, must 
 needs fall backward into a precipice ; 
 for if I lose but an inch of her ma- 
 jesty's fa.vor, I am like to fall as my 
 fathers have done, and yet lower. So 
 bo patient, good Nan, and bide the 
 t "mc when I shall have so far ascended 
 as to be in less danger of a rapid de- 
 scent, in which thine own fortunes 
 would be involved.' " 
 
 She folded this letter, which she had 
 taken out of her bosom, with a deep 
 sigh, and I doubt not with the same 
 thought which was in mine own mind, 
 that the higher the ascent, the greater 
 doth prove the peril of an overthrow, 
 albeit to the climber's own view the 
 further point doth seem the most se- 
 cure. She then said she would not 
 often speak with me touching her 
 troubles ; but wc should try to forget 
 absent nusbands and lovers, and enjoy 
 so much pleasure in our mutual good 
 company as was possible, and go hawk- 
 in;^ also and riding on fine days, and 
 be as merry as the days were long. 
 And, verily, at times youthful spirits 
 assumed the lead, and like two wanton 
 children we laughed sometimes with 
 hearty cheer at some pleasantry in 
 which my little wit but fanciful humor 
 did evince itself for her amusement. 
 But the fair sky of these sunshiny 
 hours was often overcast by sudden 
 clouds; and weighty thoughts, ill as- 
 sorting with soaring joylity, wrought 
 sad endings to merry beginnings. I 
 restrained the expression of mine own 
 sorrow at my father's uncertain fixte 
 and Basil's absence, not to add to her 
 heaviness ; but sometimes, whilst play- 
 ing in some sort the fool to make her 
 smile, w^hich smiles so well became 
 her, a sharp aching of the heart caused 
 mo to fail in the effort ; which when 
 s!ic perceived, her arm was straight- 
 way thrown round my neck, and she 
 v.'ouM speak in this wise: 
 
 "0 sweet jester! poor dissembler I 
 llie heart will have its say, albeit not 
 aided by the utterance of the tongue. 
 Believe me, good Constance, I am 
 not unmindful of thy griefs, albeit 
 somewhat silent concerning them, as 
 
 also mine own; for that I eschew 
 melancholy themes, having a well- 
 spring of sorrow ia my bosom which 
 doth too readily overflow if the sluices 
 be once opened." 
 
 Thus spake this sweet lady ; but 
 her unconscious tongue, following thr; 
 current of her thoughts more frequent 
 ly than she did credit, dwelt on tli 
 theme of her absent husband ; and on 
 whichever subject talk was ministered 
 between us, she was ingenious to pro- 
 cure it should end with some refer- 
 ence to this worshipped object. But 
 verily, I never perceived her to ex- 
 press, in speaking of that then un- 
 worthy husband, but what, if he WmI 
 been present, must needs have moved 
 him to regret his negligent usage of 
 an incomparable, loving, and virtuous 
 wife, than to any resentment of her 
 complaints, which were rather of 
 others who diverLodhls affections from 
 her than of him, the prime cause of 
 her grief. One day that we walked 
 in the pleasaunce, slie led the way to 
 a seat which she said during her lord's 
 last visit he had commended for the fair 
 prospect it did command, and said 
 should be called "My Lady's Arbor." 
 
 *• He sent for the head-gardener," 
 quoth she, " and charged him to 
 plant about it so many sweet floweis 
 and gay shrubs as should make it in 
 time a most damty bower fit for u 
 queen. These last words did, I 
 ween, unwittingly escape his lips, and, 
 I fear me, I was too shrewish ; for I. 
 exclaimed, 'O no, my lord; I pray 
 you let it rather bo z^wlitted for a 
 queen, if so be you would have me to 
 enjoy it!' Ho made no answer, and 
 his countenance was overcast and sad 
 w^hen he returned to the house. 1 
 misdoubted my hasty speech had an- 
 gered him ; but when his horse camo 
 to the door for to carry him away to 
 London and the court, he said very 
 kindly, as he embraced me, 'Fare- 
 well, dear heart! mine own good 
 Nan !' and in a letter he since wrote 
 he inquired if his orders had been 
 obeyed touching his sweet countess's 
 pleasure-house." 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 131 
 
 I always noticed Lady Surrey to be 
 very eager for the coining of the mes- 
 senger which brought letters from 
 London mostly twice in the week, and 
 that in the untying of the strings 
 which bound them her hand trembled 
 so much that she often said, " Prithee, 
 Constance, cut this knot. My fingers 
 be so cold I have not so much patience 
 as should serve to the undoing there- 
 of." 
 
 One morning I perceived she was 
 more sad than usual aftei the coming 
 of this messenger. The cloud on her 
 countenance chased away the joy I 
 had at a letfer from Basil, which was 
 written from Paris, and wherein he 
 said he had sent to Rheims for to in- 
 quire if my father was yet there, for 
 in that case he should not so much 
 fail in his duty as to omit seeking to 
 see him ; and so gai at once, he trust- 
 ed, a father and a priest's blessing." 
 
 *'What ails you, sweet lady?" I 
 asked, seeing her lips quiver and her 
 eyes to fill with tears. 
 
 *' Nothing should ail me," she an- 
 swered more bitterly than was her 
 wont. " It should be, methinks, the 
 part of a wife to rejoice in her hus- 
 band's good fortune ; and here is one 
 that doth write to me that my lord's 
 favor with the queen is so great that 
 nothing greater can be thought of: 
 so that some do say, if he was not 
 married he would be like to mount, 
 not only to the steps, but on to the 
 throne itself. Here should be grand 
 news for to rejoice the heart of the 
 Countess of Surrey. Prithee, good 
 wench, why dost thou not wish thy 
 poor friend joy "i" 
 
 I felt so much choler that any one 
 should v/rite to my lady in this fash- 
 ion, barbing with cruel malice, or 
 leastways careless lack of thought, 
 this wanton arrow, that I exclaimed 
 in a passion it should be a villain had 
 thus written. She smiled m a sad 
 manner and answered : 
 
 "Alas, an innocent villain I war- 
 rant the writer to be, for the letter is 
 from my Bess, who has heard others 
 soeak of that v/hich she doth unwit- 
 
 tingly repeat, thinking it should 
 be an honor to my lord, and to mo 
 also, that he should be spoken of in 
 this wise. But content thee; 'tis no 
 great matter to hear that said again 
 which I have had hints of before, and 
 am like to hear more of it, maybe." 
 
 Then hastily rising, she prepared 
 to go abroad ; and we went to a lodge; 
 in the park, wherein she harbored a 
 great store of poor children which lack- 
 ed their parents ; and then to a barn 
 she had fitted up for to afford a night's 
 lodging to travellers ; and to tend sick 
 people — albeit, saving herself, she had 
 no one in her household at that time 
 one half so skilful in this way as my 
 Lady I'Estrange. I ween this was 
 the sole place wherein her thoughts 
 were so much occupied that she did 
 for a while forget her own troubles 
 in curing those of others. A woman 
 had stopped there the past night, who, 
 when we w^ent in, craved assistance 
 from her for to carry her to her na- 
 tive village, which was some fifteen 
 miles north of Norwich. She was 
 afraid, she said^ for to go into the 
 town; for nowadays to be poor was 
 to be a wicked person in men's eyes; 
 and a traveller w^ithout money was 
 like to be whipi and put into the 
 stocks for a vagabond, which she 
 should die of if it should happen to 
 her, who had been in the service of a 
 countess, and had not thought to sec 
 herself in such straits, which she 
 should never have been reduced to if 
 her good lady had not been foully 
 dealt with. Lady Surrey, wishing, I 
 ween, by some sort of examination, to 
 detect the truth of her w ords, inquired 
 in whose service she had lived. 
 
 "Madam," she answered, "I wa? 
 kitchen maid in the Countess of Lei- 
 cester's house, and never left her ser- 
 vice till she was murthered some 
 years back by a black villain in her 
 household, moved by a villain yet 
 more black than himself." 
 
 "Murthered!" my lady exclaimed. 
 "It was bruited at the time that 
 lady had died of a fall." 
 
 "Ay, marry," quoth the begga-, 
 
132 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 shaking her head, "I warrant you, 
 ladies, that fall was compassed by more 
 hands than two, and more minds than 
 one. But it be not safe for to say 
 so ; as Mark Hewitt could witness if 
 he was not dead, who was my sweet- 
 heart and a scullion at Curanor Place, 
 and was poisoned in prison for that he 
 offered to give evidence touching his 
 lady's death which would have hanged 
 some which deserved it better than ho 
 did — albeit he had helped to rob a 
 <!oach in Wales after he had been dis- 
 charged, as we all were, from the old 
 place. Oh, if folks dared to tell all 
 they do know, some which ride at the 
 queen's side should swing on a gibbet 
 before this day twelvemonth." 
 
 Lady Surrey sat down by this wo- 
 man ; and albeit I pulled her by the 
 sleeve and whispered in her car to 
 come away — for methought her talk 
 was not fitting for her to hear, whose 
 mind ran too much already on melan- 
 choly themes — she would not go, and 
 questioned this person very much 
 touching the manner of Lady Leices- 
 ter's life, and what was reported con- 
 cerning her death. This recital was 
 given in a homely but wuthal moving 
 manner, which lent a greater horror 
 to it than more studied language 
 should have done. She said her lady 
 had been ill some time and never left 
 her room ; but that one day, when one 
 of her lord's gentlemen had come from 
 London, and had been examining of 
 the house with the steward for to 
 order some repairing of the old walls 
 and staircases, and the mason had 
 been sent for also late in the evening, 
 a so horrible shriek was heard from 
 the part of the house wherein the 
 countess's chamber was, that it 
 frighted every person in the place, so 
 that they did almost lose their senses ; 
 but that she herself had run to the 
 passage on which the lady's bed-cham- 
 ber did open, and saw some planking 
 removed, and many feet below the 
 body of the countess lying quite still, 
 and by the appearance of her face per- 
 ceived her to be gone. And when the 
 steward came to look also (this the 
 
 woman said, lowering her voice, with 
 her hollow eyes fixed on Lady Sur- 
 rey's countenance, which did express 
 fear and sorrow), " I'll warrant you, 
 my lady, he did wear a murtherer's 
 visage, and I noticed that the corpse 
 bled at his approach. But methink- 
 eth if that earl which rides by the 
 queen's side, and treads the world un- 
 der his feet, had then been nigh, tho 
 mangled form should have raised it- 
 self and the cold dead lips cried out, 
 * Thou art the man ! ' Marry, when 
 poor folks do steal a horse, or a sheep, 
 or shoot the fallow-deer in a noble- 
 man's park, they straightway do suf- 
 fer and lose their hfe ; but if a lord 
 which is a courtier shall one day 
 choose to put his wife out of his way 
 for the bettering of his fortunes, even 
 though it be by a foul murther, no 
 more ado is made than if he had s4iot 
 a pigeon in his woods." 
 
 Then changing her theme, she 
 asked Lady Surrey to dress a wound 
 in her leg, for that she did hear from 
 some in that place that she often did 
 use such kindness toward poor people 
 Without such assistance, she said, to 
 walk the next day would be very pain- 
 ful. My lady straightway began to 
 loosen the bandages which covered the 
 sore, and inquired how long a time it 
 should be since it had been dressed. 
 
 "Four days ago," the beggar an- 
 swered, "Lady I'Estrange had done 
 her so much good as to salve the 
 wound with a rare ointment which had 
 greatly assuaged the pain, until much 
 walking had inflamed it anew." 
 
 We both did smile ; and my lady 
 said she feared to show herself less 
 skilful than her old pupil ; but if the 
 beggar should be credited, she did ac- 
 quit herself indifferently well of her 
 charitable task ; and the bounty she 
 bestowed upon her afterward, I doubt 
 not, did increase her patient's esteem 
 of her abiHty. But I did often wish 
 that evening my lady had not heard 
 this woman's tale, for I perceived her 
 to harp upon it with a very notable 
 persistency ; and when I urged no 
 credit should attach itself to her re- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 133 
 
 port, and it was most like to be untrue, 
 she affirmed that some similar sur- 
 mises had been spoken of at the time 
 of Lady Leicester's death ; and that 
 Lord Sussex and Lord Arundel had 
 once mentioned, in her hearing, that 
 'the gypsy was infamed for his wife's 
 death, albeit never openly accused 
 thereof. She had not taken much 
 heed of their discourse at the time, she 
 said ; but now it came back into her 
 mind witli a singular distinctness, and 
 it was passing strange she should 
 have heard from an eye-witness the 
 details of this tragedy. She should, 
 she thought, write to her husband 
 Avhat the woman had related ; and then 
 she changed her mind, and said she 
 would not. 
 
 All my pleadings to her that she 
 should think no more thereon were 
 vain. She endeavored to speak of 
 other subjects, but atill this one was 
 uppennost in her thoughts. Once, in 
 the midst of an argument touching the 
 uses of pageants, which she maintained 
 to be folly and idle waste, but which I 
 defended, for that they sometimes serv- 
 ed to exercise thp wit and memory of 
 such as contrive them, carrying on 
 the dispute in a lively fashion, hoping 
 thus to divert her mind, she broke 
 forth in these exclamations: "Oh, 
 what baneful influences do exist in 
 courts, when men, themselves honor- 
 able, abhor not to company with such 
 as be accused of foul crimes never 
 disproved, and if they will only 
 stretch forth their blood-stained hands 
 to help them to rise, disdain not to 
 clasp them !" 
 
 Then later, when I had persuaded 
 her to play on the guitar, which she 
 did excellently well, she stopped be- 
 fore the air was ended to ask if I did 
 know if Lady Leicester was a fair 
 woman, and if her husband was at 
 any time enamored of her. And 
 when I was unable to resolve these 
 questions, she must needs begin to 
 argue if it should be worse never to 
 be loved, or else to lose a husband's 
 affection , and then asked me, if Basil 
 should alter in his liking of me, which 
 
 she did not hold to be possible, except 
 that men be so wayward and incon- 
 stant that the best do sometimes 
 change, if I should still be glad he had 
 once loved me. 
 
 "If he did so much alter," I an 
 swered, " as no longer to care for me, 
 methinks I should at once cast him 
 out of my heart ; for then it would 
 not have been Basil, but a fancied be- 
 ing coined by mine own imaginings, I 
 should have doted on." 
 
 " Tut, tut 1" she cried ; "thou art too 
 proud. If thou dost speak truly, I 
 misdoubt that to be love which could 
 so easily discard its object." 
 
 " For my part," I replied, somewhat, 
 nettled, " I think the highest sort of 
 passion should be above suspecting 
 change in him which doth inspire it, 
 or resenting a change which should 
 procure it freedom from an unworthy 
 thrall." 
 
 " I ween," she answered, " we do 
 somewhat misconceive each one th(! 
 other's meaning; and moreover, no 
 parallel can exist between a wife's af- 
 fection and a maiden's liking." Then 
 she said she hoped the poor woman 
 would stay another day, so that she 
 might speak with her again ; for she 
 would fain learn from her what was 
 Lady Leicester's behavior daring her 
 sorrowful years, and the temper of her 
 mind before her so sudden death. 
 
 " Indeed, dear lady," I urged, "what 
 likelihood should there be that a serv 
 ing-wench in her kitchen should be 
 acquainted with a noble lady's 
 thoughts ?" 
 
 " I pray God," my lady said, " our 
 meanest servants do not read in our 
 countenance, yea in the manner of 
 our common and indifferent actions, 
 the motions of our souls when we be 
 in such trouble as should only be 
 known to God and one true friend." 
 
 Lady Surrey sent in the morning foi 
 to inquire if the beggar was gone. To 
 my no small content she had departed 
 before break of day. Some days af- 
 terward a messenger from London 
 brought to my lady, from Arundel 
 House, a letter from my Lady Lum- 
 
134 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 ley, wherein she urged her to repair 
 instantly to London, for that the earl, 
 her grandfather, was very grievously 
 sick, and desired for to see her. My 
 lady resolved to go that very day, and 
 straightway gave orders touching the 
 manner of her journey, and desired 
 her coach to be made ready. She 
 proposed that the while she was ab- 
 sent I should pay a visit to Lady I'Es- 
 trange, which I had promised for to do 
 before I left Norfolkshire ; " and then," 
 quoth my lady, " if my good Lord Ar- 
 undel doth improve in his health, so 
 that nothing shall detain me at Lon- 
 don, I will return to my banishment, 
 wherein my best comfort shall ever 
 be thy company, good Constance. 
 But if peradventurc my lord should 
 will me to stay with him" (oh, how her 
 eyes did brighten ! and the fluttering 
 of her heart could be perceived in her 
 quick speech and the heaving of her 
 bosom as she said these words), " I 
 will then send one of my gentlewomen 
 to fetch thee from Lynn Court to Lon- 
 don ; and if that should happen, why 
 methinks our msetmg may prove more 
 merry than our parting." 
 
 . She then dispatched a messenger 
 on horseback to Sir Hammond I'Es- 
 trange's house, which did return in 
 some hours with a very obliging an- 
 swer ; for his lady did write that she 
 almost hoped my Lady Surrey would 
 be detained in London, if so be it 
 would not discontent her, and so she 
 should herself have the pleasure of 
 ray company for a longer time, which 
 was what she greatly desired. 
 
 For some miles, when she started, 
 I rode with my lady in her coach, and 
 then mounted on a horse she had pro- 
 vided for my commodity, and, accom- 
 panied by two persons of her house- 
 hold, went to Sir Hammond TEs- 
 trango's seat. It stood in a bleak 
 country without scarce so much as 
 one tree in its neighborhood, but a 
 store of purple heath, then in flower, 
 surrounding it on all sides. As we 
 approached unto it, I for the first time 
 beheld the sea. The heath had 
 minded me of Cannock Chase and my 
 
 childhood. ' I ween not what the sea 
 caused me to think of; only I know 
 that the waves which I heard break 
 on the shore had, to my thinking, a 
 wonderful music, so exceeding sweet 
 and pleasant to mine ears that one 
 only sound of it v/cre able to bring, so ' 
 it did seem to me, all the hearts of 
 this world asleep. Yet although I 
 listed thereunto with a quiet joy, and 
 mine eyes rested on those vasty 
 depths with so much contentment, as 
 if perceiving therein some image of 
 the eternity which doth await us, the 
 words which rose in my mind, and 
 which methinks my lips also framed, 
 were these of Holy Writ : " Great as 
 the sea is thy destruction." If it be 
 not that some good angel whispered 
 them in mine ear for to temper, by a 
 sort of forecasting of what was soon 
 to follow, present gladness, I know 
 not what should have caused so great 
 a dissimilarity between my then 
 thinking and the words I did unwit- 
 tingly utter. 
 
 Lady I'Estrange met me on the 
 steps of her house, which was small, 
 but such as became a gentleman of 
 good fortune, and lacking none of the 
 commodities habitual to such country 
 habitations. The garden at the back 
 of it was a true labyrinth of sweets ; 
 and an orchard on one e.ide of it, and 
 a wood of fir-trees beyond the wall, 
 shielded the shrubs which grew there- 
 in from the wild sea-blasts. Milicent 
 was delighted for to show me every 
 part of this her home. The bettering 
 of her fortunes had not wrought any 
 change ia the gentle humility of this 
 young lady. The attractive sweet- 
 ness of her manner was the same, al- 
 beit mistress of a house of her own. 
 She set no greater store on herself 
 than she had done at the Charter- 
 house, and paid hor husband as much 
 respect and timid obedience as she had 
 ever done her mistress. Verily, in his 
 presence I soon perceived she scarce 
 held her soul to be her own ; but 
 studied his looks with so much dili- 
 gence, and framed each word she ut- 
 tered to his liking with so much i.ijj- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 135 
 
 nulty, that I marvelled at the wit she 
 showed therein, which was not very 
 apparent in other ways. He was a 
 tall man, of haughty carnage and 
 well-proportioned features. His eyes 
 were large and gray ; his nose of a 
 hawkish shape; his lips very thin. 
 I never in any face did notice the 
 signs of so set a purpose or such un- 
 yielding lineaments as in this gentle- 
 man. Milicent told me he was pious, 
 liberal, an active magistrate, and an 
 exceeding obhging and indulgent hus- 
 band; but methought her testimony 
 on this score carried no great weight 
 with it, for that her meekness would 
 read the most ordinary kindnesses as 
 rare instances of goodness. She seem- 
 ed very contented with her lot; and 
 I heard from Lady Surrey's waiting- 
 maid (which she had sent with me 
 from Kenninghall) that all the ser- 
 vants in her house esteemed her to be 
 ti most virtuous and patient lady ; 
 and so charitable, that all who knew 
 her experienced her bounty. On the 
 next day she showed me her garden, 
 her dairy, poultry-yard, and store- 
 room ; and also the closet where she 
 kept the salves and ointments for the 
 dressing of wounds, which she said she 
 was every moniing employed in for sev- 
 eral hours. I said, if she would per- 
 mit me, I would try to learn this art 
 under her direction, for that nothing 
 could be thought of more useful for 
 su-3h as lived in the countiy, where 
 su;h assistance was often needed. 
 Then she asked me if I was like to 
 li>e in the country, which, from my 
 words, she hoped should be the case ; 
 and I told her, if it pleased God, in 
 one year I would be married to Mr. 
 llookwood, of Euston Hall ; which 
 she was greatly rejoiced to learn. 
 
 Then, as we walked under the 
 trees, talk ensued between us touch- 
 ing former days at the Charter-house ; 
 and when the sun was setting amidst 
 gold and purple clouds, and the wind 
 blew freshly from the sea, whilst the 
 bai'king of Sir Hammond's dogs, and 
 the report of his gun as he discharged 
 it behind the house, minded me more 
 
 than ever of old country scenes in 
 past time, my thoughts drew also fu- 
 ture pictures of what mine own home 
 should be, and the joy with which I 
 should meet Basil, when he returned 
 from the field-sports in which he did so 
 much delight. And a year seemed a 
 long time to wait for so much happi- 
 ness as I foresaw should be ours when 
 we were once married. " If Lady I'Es- 
 trange is so contented," I thought, 
 " whose husband is somewhat churlish 
 and stern, if his countenance and the 
 reports of his neighbors are to be 
 credited, how much enjoyment in her 
 home shall be the portion of my dear 
 Basil's wife ! than which a more sweet- 
 tempered gentleman cannot be seen, 
 nor one endued with more admirable 
 qualities of all sorts, not to speak of 
 youth and beauty, which are perish- 
 able advantages, but not without at- 
 tractiveness." 
 
 Mrs. I'Estrange, an unmarried sis- 
 ter of Sir Hammond, lived in the 
 house, and some neighbors which 
 had been shooting wdth him came to 
 supper. The table was set with an 
 abundance of good cheer; and Mili- 
 cent sat at the head of it, and used a 
 sweet cordiality toward all her 
 guests, so that every one should 
 seem welcome to her hospitality ; but 
 I detected looks of apprehension in 
 her face, coupled with hasty glances 
 toward her husband, if any one did 
 bring forward subjects of discourse 
 which Sir Hammond had not first 
 broached, or did appear in any way 
 to differ with liim in what he him- 
 self advanced. Once when Lord 
 Burleigh was mentioned, one of the 
 gentleman said somewhat in dis- 
 paragement of this nobleman, as if 
 he should have been to blame in 
 some of liis dealings with the parlia- 
 ment, which brought a dark cloud 
 on Sir Hammond's brow. Upon 
 which Milicent, the color coming in- 
 to her cheeks, and her voice tremblhig 
 a little, as she seemed to cast about 
 her for some subject which should 
 turn the current of this talk, began to 
 tell what a store of patients slie had 
 
136 
 
 Constance Shcncood. 
 
 seen that day, and to describe 
 them, as if seeking to stop the 
 mouths of the disputants. " One," 
 quoth she, " hath been three times 
 to me tliis week to have his hands 
 dressed, and I be verily in doubt 
 Avhat his station should be. Ho 
 hath a notable appearance of good- 
 breeding, albeit but poorly ap- 
 parelled, and his behavior and dis- 
 course should show him to be a 
 gentleman. The wounds of his 
 hands Avere so grievously galled 
 for want of proper dressing, when 
 lie iirst came, I feared they should 
 mortify, and the curing of them to 
 exceed my poor skill. The skin 
 was rubbed off the whole palms, as 
 if scraped off by handling of ropes. 
 A more courageous patient could 
 not be met with. Methought the 
 dressing should have been very 
 painful, but he never so much as 
 once did wince under it. He is 
 somewhat reserved in giving an 
 account of the manner in which lie 
 came by those wounds, and an- 
 swered jestingly when I inquired 
 thereof. But to-morrow I will 
 hear more on it, for I charged him 
 to come for one more dressing of 
 his poor hands." 
 
 " Where doth this fellow lodge ?" 
 Sir Hammond asked across the 
 table in a quick, eager manner. 
 
 " At Master Rugeley's house, I 
 have heard," quoth his wife. 
 
 Then his fist fell on the table so 
 that it shook. 
 
 " A lewd recusant, by God !" 
 he cried. *'ril be sworn this 
 is the popish priest escaped out 
 of Wisbeach, for whom I have 
 this day received orders to make 
 diligent search. Ah, ah ! my 
 lauy hath trapped the Jesuit 
 fox." 
 
 I looked at Milicent, and she at 
 me. O my God, what looks those 
 Avcrc ! 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TnEN methought was Avitnesiv. d 
 (I speak of the time when Sir 
 Hammond FEstrange made the 
 savage speech which caused hi^ 
 lady and me to exchange affright- 
 ed looks) a rare instance of the 
 true womanly courage which doth 
 sometimes lie at the core of a 
 timid heart. The meek wife, 
 which dared not so much as to 
 lift up her eyes to her lord if he 
 did only frown, or to oppose his 
 will in any trilling matter ; whose 
 color I had seen fly from her cheek 
 if he raised his voice, albeit not in 
 anj]jer a2;ainst herself, now in 
 the presence of those at table, 
 with a face as pale as ashes, but 
 a steady voice, and eyes fixed 
 on him, thus addressed her lius- 
 band : 
 
 " Sir, since we married I have 
 never opposed your will, or in 
 anything I wot of oftended you, or 
 ever would if I could help it. 
 Do not, therefore, displeasure me 
 so much, I beseech you, in this 
 grave instance, as to make me an 
 instrument in the capture. And 
 God knoweth what should follow 
 of one which came to me for 
 help, and to whom the service I 
 rendered him would prove the 
 means of his ruin if you persist 
 thereim." 
 
 " Go to, madam, go to," cried 
 Sir Hammond ; " your business 
 doth lie with poor people, mine 
 with criminals. Go your way. 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 13/ 
 
 and intrude not yourself in weighti- 
 er matters than belong to your 
 
 sex. 
 
 " Sir," slie answers, braving liis 
 frowning looks, albeit her limbs 
 began to tremble, " I humbly 
 crave your patience ; but I will 
 not leave you, neither desist from 
 my suit, exce^jt thereunto com- 
 pelled by force. I would to God 
 my tongue had been plucked out 
 rather than that it should utter 
 words which should betray to 
 prison, yea, perhaps to death, the 
 poor man whose wounds I tend- 
 ed." 
 
 The cloud on Sir Hammond's 
 brow waxed darker as she spoke. 
 He glanced at me, and methinks 
 perceived my countenance to be as 
 much disturbed as his lady's. A 
 sudden thought, I ween, then pass- 
 ed through his mind ; and with a 
 terrible oath he swore that he mis- 
 liked this strenuous urging in 
 favor of a vile- popish priest, and 
 yet more the manner of this inter- 
 cession. 
 
 " Heaven shield, madam," he 
 cried, " you have not companied 
 with recusants so as to become in- 
 fected with a lack of zeal for the 
 Protestant religion !" 
 
 The color returned for a moment 
 to Lady I'Estrange's cheeks as she 
 answered : 
 
 " Sir, I have never, from the 
 time my mother did teach me my 
 prayers, been of any other way of 
 thinking than that wherein she 
 then instructed me, or so much as 
 allowed myself one thought con- 
 trary to true Protestant religion ; 
 or ever lent an ear, and with God's 
 help never will, to what papists do 
 advance ; but nevertheless, if this 
 priest do fall into any grievous 
 
 trouble through my speeches, I 
 shall be a most unhappy woman all 
 my life." 
 
 And then the poor soul, rising 
 from her seat, went round to her 
 husband's side, and, kneeling, 
 sought to take his hands, beseecli- 
 ing him in such moving and pite- 
 ous terms to change his purposes 
 as I could see did visibly affect 
 some present. But I also noticed 
 in Sir Hammond's face so re- 
 solved an intent as if nothing in 
 earth or heaven should alter it. 
 A drowning wretch would a:', 
 soon have moved a rock to ad- 
 vance toward him as she suc- 
 ceeded in swerving his will by her 
 entreaties. 
 
 A sudden thought inspired me 
 to approach her where she liad 
 sunk down on her knees at her 
 husband's feet, he seeking angrily 
 to push her away. I took her by 
 the hand, and said : 
 
 "I pray you, dear lady, come 
 with me. These be indeed mat- 
 ters wherein, as Sir Hammond 
 salth, women's words do not 
 avail." 
 
 Both looked at me surprised ; 
 and she, loosing her hold of him, 
 suffered me to lead her away. We 
 went into the parlor, Mrs. I'Es- 
 trange following us. But as I did 
 try to whisper in her ear that I 
 desired to speak with her alone, 
 the bell in the dining-room began 
 to ring violently ; upon which she 
 shuddered and cried out ; 
 
 " Let me go back to him. Mis- 
 tress Sherwood. I'll warrant you 
 he is about to send for the con- 
 stables ; but beshrew me if I die 
 not first at his feet ; for, if this 
 man should be hung, peace will be 
 a stranger to me all my life." 
 
'3« 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 Mistress I'Estrange essayed to 
 comfort her; but failing therein, 
 said she was very foolish to be so 
 discompo'sed at what was no fault 
 of hers, and she should think no 
 more thereon, for in her condition 
 to fret should be dangerous ^ and 
 if people would be priests and 
 papists, none could help if they 
 should suffer for it. And then she 
 left the parlor somewhat ruffled, 
 like good people sometimes feel 
 when they perceive their words 
 have no effect. When we were 
 alone, " Lady I'Estrange," I said, 
 " where is Master liugeley's 
 house ?" 
 
 " One mile, or thereabouts, across 
 the heath," she answered. 
 
 " And the way to it direct ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yea, by the footpath," she re- 
 plied ; " but much longer by the 
 high-road." 
 
 T went to the window, and 
 opened the shutter and the lattice 
 also. The moon was shining very 
 brightly. 
 
 " Is it that cottage near to the 
 wood ?" I inquired, pointing to a 
 thatched roof nigh unto the dark- 
 some line of trees against the 
 sky. 
 
 " Yea," she answered ; " how 
 near it doth seem in this light ! 
 Constance, what think you to 
 do ?" she exclaimed, when I went 
 to her cupboard, and took out 
 the keys she had showed me 
 that morning opened the doors 
 of the kitchen garden and the 
 orchard. 
 
 "Did you not say," I answered, 
 *' that the gentleman now in so 
 great peril did lodge with Master 
 Ilugeley ?" 
 
 " Would you go there ?" she 
 
 said, looking aghast. "Not alone; 
 you durst not do it !" 
 
 "Twenty times over," I an- 
 swered, " for to save a man's life, 
 and he — he a — " But there I 
 stopped ; for it was her fellow- 
 creature she desired to save. Her 
 heart bled not like mine for the 
 flock which should be left without 
 a shepherd ; and albeit our " fears 
 were the same, we felt not alike. 1 
 went into the hall, and she pur- 
 sued me — one-half striving to stay 
 me from my purpose, one-half 
 urging me to fulfil it ; yet re- 
 tracting her words as soon as 
 uttered. 
 
 " When I issue from the door of 
 the orchard unto the heath," I said, 
 the while wrapping round me a 
 cloak with a hood to it, " and pur- 
 sue the path in front, by what 
 token may I find Master Rugeley's 
 house if the moon should be ob- 
 scured ?" 
 
 "Where two roads do- meet," 
 she said, at the edge of the heath, 
 a tall oak doth stand near to a 
 gate ; a few steps to the right 
 should then lead to it. But verily, 
 Mistress Constance, I be frighten- 
 ed to let you go ; and oh, I do fear 
 my husband's anger." 
 
 " Would you, then, have a man 
 die by your means ? " I asked, 
 thinking for to cure one terror by 
 another, as indeed it did ; for she 
 cried : 
 
 " Nay, I will speed you on your 
 way, good Constance ; and show 
 so brave a face during your ab- 
 sence as God shall help me to do ; 
 yea, and open the door for you my- 
 self, if my husband should kill me 
 for it !" 
 
 Then she took the keys in her hand 
 and glided like unto a pale ghost be- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 139 
 
 fore me through the passage into the 
 hall, so noiselessly that I should have 
 doubted if aught of flesh and blood 
 could have moved so lightly, and un- 
 did the bars of the back door without 
 i»o much as a sound. Then she would 
 ietch some thick shoes for me to wear, 
 which I did entreat her not to stay me 
 for ; but nothing else would content 
 the poor soul, and, as she had the 
 keys in her hand, I was forced to wait 
 her return with so much impatience as 
 may be guessed. I heard the voices 
 of the gentlemen still carousing after 
 supper; and then a servant's below 
 in the hall, who said the constables 
 liad been sent for, and a warrant issued 
 for the apprehension of a bl&.ck papist 
 at Master Rugeley's. Then Milicent 
 returned, and whilst I put on the shoes 
 she had brought, and she was tying 
 with trembling fingers the hood of my 
 cloak, the rusthng of Mrs. I'Estrange's 
 silk gown was heard on the stair 
 above our heads, from whence we 
 were like to be seen ; and, fear awak- 
 ening contrivance, I said aloud, 
 
 " Oh, what a rare pastime it should 
 be to dress as a ghost, and frighten 
 the good lady your sister-in-law ! I 
 pray you get me some white powder 
 to pale my face. Melshinks we need 
 some kind of sport to drive away too 
 nmch thinking on that dismal business 
 in hand." 
 
 The steps over our head sounded 
 more hurried, and we heard the door 
 of the parlor close with a bang, and 
 the lattice also violently shut. 
 
 *' Now," I whispered, " give me the 
 keys, good Lady I'Estrange, and go 
 to your sister yourself. Say I was 
 ashamed to have been overheard to 
 plan so rank a piece of folly (and ver- 
 ily you will be speaking no other than 
 the truth), and that you expect I shall 
 not so much as show my face in the 
 parlor this evening ; and lock also my 
 chamber-door, that none may for a 
 surety know me for to be absent." 
 
 " Yea," answered the poor lady, 
 with so deep a sigh as seemed to rend 
 her heart ; " but, God forgive me, I 
 never did think to hide anything from 
 
 my husband ! And who shall tell me 
 if I be doing right or wrong ?" 
 
 I could not stay, though I grieved 
 for her; and the sound of her voice 
 haunted me as I went through the gar- 
 den, and then the orchard, unto the 
 common, locking the doors behind me. 
 "When tliis was done, I did breathe 
 somewhat more freely, and began to 
 run along the straight path amidst the 
 heath. I wot not if my speed was 
 great — the time seemed long ; yet me- 
 thinks I did not slacken my pace once, 
 but rather increased it, till, perceiving 
 the oak, and near it the gate Lady 
 I'Estrange had mentioned, I stopped 
 to consider where to turn ; and after I 
 had walked a little to the right I saw 
 a cottage and a light gleaming inside. 
 Then my heart beat very fast ; and 
 when I knocked at the door I felt 
 scarce able to stand. I did so three 
 times, and no answer came. Then I 
 cried as loudly as I could, "Master 
 Rugeley, I beseech you open the door." 
 I heard some one stirring within, but 
 no one came. Then I again cried out, 
 "Oh, for our Blessed Lady's sake, 
 some one come." At last the lattice 
 opened, and a man's head appeared. 
 
 " Who are you ?" he said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "A friend," I answered, in a whis- 
 per ; " a Catholic. Are you Master 
 Rugeley?" 
 
 "Yea," he answered. 
 " Oh, then, if Mr. Tunstall is here, 
 hide him quickly, or send him away. 
 I am a friend of Lady I'Estrange's and 
 staying in her house. Sir Hammond 
 hath received tidings that a priest 
 is in this neighborhood, and a warrant 
 is issued for to apprehend him. His 
 lady unwittingly, and sorely troubled 
 she is thereat, showed by her speeches 
 touching your guest, that he is like to 
 be Mr. Tunstall; and the constables 
 will soon be here." 
 
 " Thank you," he replied whom 
 I was addressing ; " but Mr. Tunstall 
 is not the name of my friend." 
 
 Then I feared he did take me for a 
 spy, and I cried out, greatly moved, 
 "As I do hope to go to heaven one 
 
I40 
 
 Co.iztzincc Sherwood. 
 
 day, and not to liell, Master Rugeley, 
 I speak the truth, and my warning 
 is an urgent one." 
 
 Then I heard some one within the 
 Iiouse, who said, " Open the door, Mas- 
 ter Rugeley. I should know that 
 voice. Let the speaker in." 
 
 Methought I, too, knew the voice of 
 the person who thus spoke. The 
 door was opened, and I entered a 
 room dimly lighted by one candle. 
 
 « Oh, for God's sake," I cried, " if 
 a priest is here, liide him forthwith." 
 
 " Are you a Catholic, my child ?" 
 
 I looked up to the person who put 
 this question to me, and gave a sudden 
 cry, I know not whether of terror or 
 joy ; for great as was the change which 
 the lapse of years, and great inward 
 and outward changes, had wrought in 
 his aspect, I saw it was my father. 
 
 " I am Constance," I cried ; " Con- 
 stance Sherwood ! Oh, my dear fa- 
 ther !" and then fell at his feet weeping. 
 
 After an instant's astonishment and 
 fixed gazing on my face, he recognized 
 me, who was, I doubt not, more changed 
 than himself, and received me with a 
 great paternal kindness and the tender- 
 est greeting imaginable, yet tempered 
 with reserve and so much of restraint 
 as should befit one who, for Christ's 
 sake, had dissevered himself from the 
 joys, albeit not from the affections, of 
 the natural heart. 
 
 " Oh, my good child, my own dear 
 Constance," he said; "hath God in 
 his bounty given thy poor father a 
 miraculous sight of thee before his 
 death, or art thou come verily in flesh 
 and blood to warn him of his danger ?" 
 
 "My dear and honored father," I 
 replied, " time presses ; peril is indeed 
 at hand, if you and Mr. Tunstall are 
 the same person." 
 
 " The wounds in my hands," he an- 
 swered, " must prove me such, albeit 
 now healed by the care of that good 
 Samaritan, Lady TEstrange. But pri- 
 thee, my good child, whence comest 
 thouP' 
 
 " Alas !" I said ; " and yet not alas, 
 if God should be so good to me as by 
 my means to save you, I am Sir Ham- 
 
 mond's guest, being a friend of his 
 lady's. I came there yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, my good child, I thought not 
 to have seen thee in these thy grown- 
 up years. Master Rugeley," he added, 
 turning to his host, " this is the little 
 girl I forsook four years ago, for to 
 obtain the hundredfold our Lord doth 
 promise." 
 
 " My very dear father," I said, "joy 
 is swallowed up in fear. God help 
 me, I came to wani a stranger (if so 
 be any priest in these times should be 
 a stranger to a Catholic), and I find 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, but I am mightfully pleased," 
 quoth he, " to see thee, my child, even 
 in this Avise, and to hear thee speak 
 like a true daughter of Holy Church. 
 And Lady I'Estrange is then thy 
 friend?" 
 
 "Yea, my dear father; but for 
 God and our lady's sake hide your- 
 self. I warrant you the constables 
 may soon be here. Master Rugeley, 
 where can he be concealed, or whither 
 fly, and I with him ?" 
 
 " Nay, prithee not so fast," quoth 
 he. " Flight would be useless ; and in 
 the matter of hiding, one should be 
 more easily concealed than two ; be- 
 side that, the hollow of a tree, which 
 Master Rugeley will, I ween, appoint 
 me for a bed-chamber to-night, should 
 hardly lodge us both with comfort." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Rugeley, " do not 
 tarry." 
 
 " For thy sake, no ; not for more 
 than one minute, Thomas ; but ere I 
 part from this wench, two questions I 
 must needs ask her." 
 
 Then he drew me aside, and in- 
 quired what facilities I continued to 
 have in London for the exercise of 
 Catholic religion, and if I was punc- 
 tual in the discharge of my spiritual 
 duties. When I had satisfied him 
 thereon, he asked if the report was 
 true which he heard from a pris- 
 oner for recusancy in "Wisbeach Cas- 
 tle, concerning my troth-phght with 
 Mr. Rookwood. 
 
 " Yea," I said, " it is true, if so be 
 you now do add your consent to it." 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 141 
 
 He answered he should do so with 
 all his heart, for he knew him to bo a 
 good Catholic and a virtuous gentle- 
 man ; and as we might lack the op- 
 portunity to receive his blessing later, 
 he should now give it unto me for 
 both his most dear children. Which he 
 did, laying his hand on my head with 
 many fervent benisons, couched in 
 such words as these, that he prayed 
 for us to be stayed up with the shore 
 of God's grace in this world; and 
 after this transitory life should end, 
 tQ ascend to him, and appear pure 
 and unspotted before his glorious seat. 
 Then he asked me if it was Lady 
 ^Estrange who had detected him ; 
 whereupon I briefly related to him 
 what had occurred, and how sore her 
 grief was therein. 
 
 " God bless her," he answered ; 
 " and tell her I do thank her and pray 
 for her with all mine heart." 
 
 And more he would have added, 
 but Master Rugeley opened the door 
 impatiently. So, after kissing once 
 more my father's hand, I went away, 
 compelled thereunto by fears for his 
 safety, if he should not at once con- 
 ^;eal himself. 
 
 Looking back, I saw him and his 
 guide disappear in the thicket, and 
 then, as I walked on toward Lynn 
 Court, it did almost seem to me as if 
 the whole of that brief but pregnant 
 interview should have been a dream ; 
 nor could I verily persuade myself 
 that it was not a half habitant of an- 
 other world I had seen and spoken 
 with rather than mine own father; 
 and in first thinking on it I scarcely 
 did fully apprehend the danger he 
 was in, so as to feel as much pain as 
 i did later, w^hen the joy and astonish- 
 ment of that unexpected meeting had 
 given way to terrifying thoughts. 
 Ever and anon I turned round to gaze 
 on the dark wood wherein his hopes of 
 safety did lie, and once I knelt down 
 on the roadside to pray that the night 
 should be also dark and shield his es- 
 cape. But still the sense of fear w^as 
 dulled, and w^oke not until the sound 
 of horses' feet on the road struck on 
 
 my car, and I saw a party of men 
 riding across the common. The light 
 in the cottage was extinguished, but 
 the cruel moon shone out then more 
 brightly than heretofore. Now I felt so 
 sick and faint that I feared to sink 
 down on the path, and hurried through 
 the orchard-door and the garden to 
 the house. "When I had unlocked 
 the back door and stood in the hall 
 where a lately kindled fire made a 
 ruddy light to glow, I tried again to 
 think I had been dreaming, like one 
 in a nightmare strives to shake ofiT an 
 oppressive fancy. I could not remain 
 alone, and composed my countenance 
 for to enter the parlor, when the door 
 thereof opened and Mrs. i'Estrange 
 came out, who, when she perceived me 
 standing before her, gave a start, but 
 recovering herself, said, good-natur- 
 edly : 
 
 *' Marry, if this be not the ghost we 
 have been looking for ; now ashamed, 
 I ween, to show itself. J. hope, Mis- 
 tress Sherwood, you do not Launt 
 quiet folks in their beds at night ; for 
 I do, I warn you, mislike living ghosts, 
 and should be disposed to throw a jug 
 cf water at the head of such a one." 
 And laughing, she took my liand in a 
 kind manner, wliich when she did, 
 almost a cry broke from her : " How 
 now, Milicent ! she is as cold as a 
 stone figure. Where has she been 
 chilling herself ?" 
 
 Milicent pressed forward and led 
 me to my chamber, wherein a fire had 
 been lighted, and would make me 
 drink a hot posset. But when I 
 thought of the cold hoUow of a tree 
 wherein my father was enclosed, if it 
 pleased God no worse mishap had be- 
 fallen him, little of it could I force 
 myself to swalloSv, for now tears had 
 come to my relief, and concealing my 
 face in the pillow of the bed wdiereon 
 for weariness I had stretched myself, 
 I wept very bitterly. 
 
 '' Is that poor man gone from Ruge- 
 ley's house ?" Milicent whispered. 
 
 Alas ! she knew not who that poor 
 man was to me, nor with what an- 
 guish I answered : " He is not in the 
 
142 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 cottage, I hope ; but God only knoweth 
 if his pursuers shall not discover him." 
 The thought of what would then fol- 
 low overciime me, and I hid my face 
 with mine hands. 
 
 "Oh, Constance," she exclaimed, 
 "was this poor man known to thee, 
 that thy grief is so great, whose con- 
 science doth not reproach thee as 
 mine doeth?" 
 
 I held out my hand to her without 
 unshading my face with the other, and 
 said : " Dear Milicent ! thou shouldst 
 not sorrow so much for thine own part 
 in this sore trial. It was not thy fault. 
 He said so. He blest thee, and prays 
 for thee." 
 
 Uncomforted by my words, she 
 cried again, what she had so often 
 exclaimed that night, " If this 
 man should die, my happiness is 
 over." 
 
 Then once more she asked me if I 
 know this priest, and I was fro ward 
 with her (God forgive me, for the sus- 
 pense and fear overthrew better feel- 
 ings for a moment), and I cried, an- 
 grily, "Who saitii he is a priest? 
 Who can prove it ?" 
 
 " Think you so ?" she said joyfully ; 
 " then all should be right." 
 
 And once more, with some mis- 
 doubting, I ween, that I concealed 
 somewhat from her, she inquired 
 touching my knowledge of this stran- 
 ger. Then I spoke harshly, and bade 
 her leave me, for I had sorrow enough 
 without her intermeddling with it; 
 but then grieving for her, and also 
 afraid to be left alone, I denied my 
 words, and prayed her to stay, which 
 she did, but did not speak much again. 
 The silence of the night seemed so 
 deep as if the rusthng of a leaf could 
 be noticed ; only now and then the 
 voices of the gentlemen below, and 
 some loud talking and laugliter from 
 some of them was discernible through 
 the closed doors. Once Lady I'Es- 
 trange said : " They be sitting up very 
 late ; I suppose till the constables re- 
 turn. Oil, when will that be ?" 
 
 The great clock in the hall then 
 struck twelve ; and soou after, starling 
 
 up, I cried, " What should be that 
 noise ?" 
 
 " I do hear nothing," she answered, 
 trembling as a leaf. 
 
 " Hush," I replied, and going to the 
 window, opened the lattice. Tiie 
 sound in the road on the other side of 
 the house was now plain. On that 
 we looked on naught was to be seen 
 save trees and grass, with the ghastly 
 moonlight shining on them. A loud 
 opening and shutting of doors and 
 much stir now took place within the 
 house, and, moved by the same im- 
 pulse, we both went out into the pas- 
 sage and half way down the stairs. 
 Milicent was first. Suddenly she 
 turned round, and falling down on her 
 knees, with a stifled exclamation, she 
 hid her face against me, whispering : 
 " He is taken !" 
 
 We seemed both turned to stone. 
 O ye which have gone through a like 
 trial, judge ye; and you who have 
 never been in such straits, imagine 
 what a daughter should feel who, after 
 long years' absence, beholdeth a be- 
 loved father for one instant, and in 
 the next, under the same roof where 
 she is a guest, sees him brought in a 
 prisoner and in jeopardy of his life. 
 Every word which was uttered we 
 could hear where we sat crouching, 
 fearful to advance — she not daring to 
 look on the man she had ruined, and I 
 on the countenance of a dear parent, 
 lest the sight of me should distract 
 him from his defence, if that could be 
 called such which he was called on to 
 make. They asked him touching his 
 name, if it was Tunstall. He an- 
 swered he was known by that name. 
 Then followed the murtherous ques- 
 tion, if he was a Romish priest ? To 
 Avhich he at once assented. Then 
 said Sir Hammond 
 
 " How did you presume, sir, to re- 
 turn into England contrary to the 
 laws ?' 
 
 " Sir," he answered, " as I was law- 
 fully ordained a priest by a Catholic 
 bishop, by authority derived from the 
 see of Rome" (one person here ex- 
 claimed, "Oh, audacious papist! his 
 
ConsU 
 
 Sherwood. 
 
 H3 
 
 I 
 
 tongne should be cut out ;" but Sir 
 IhuinnoiKi imposed silence), " so like- 
 Wise," he coiitinue<l, "am I lawfully 
 8611 1 to preach the word of God, and 
 to administer the sacraments to my 
 Catholic countrymen. As the mission 
 of priests lawfully ordained is from 
 Christ, who did send his apostles even 
 as his Father sent him, I do humbly 
 conceive no human laws can justly 
 hinder my return to England, or make 
 it criminal ; for this should be to pre- 
 fer the ordinances of man to the com- 
 mands of the supreme legislator, which 
 is Christ himseli'." 
 
 Loud murmurs were here raised by 
 some present, which Sir Hammond 
 again silencing, he then inquired if he 
 would take the oath of allegiance to 
 the queen ? He answered (my strain- 
 ing ears taking note of every word he 
 uttered) that he would gladly pay 
 most willing obedience to her majesty 
 in all civil matters ; but the oath of 
 allegiance, as it was worded, he could 
 not take, or hold her majesty to pos- 
 sess any supremacy in spiritual mat- 
 ters. He was beginning to state the 
 reasons thereof, but was not suffered to 
 proceed, for Sir Hammond, interrupt- 
 ing him, said he was an escaped prison- 
 er, and by his own confession condemn- 
 ed, so he should straightway commit 
 him to the gaol in Norwich. Then I 
 lost my senses almost, and seizing Lady 
 TEstrange's arm, I cried, " Save him ! 
 he is mine own father, Mr. Sherwood !'* 
 She uttered a sort of cry, and said, 
 " Oh, I have feared this, since I saw 
 his face !" and running forward, I fol- 
 lowing her, affrighted at what should 
 happen, she called out, " It shall not 
 be ! Pic shall not do it!" and with, a 
 face as v/hite as any smock, runs to 
 her husband, and perceiving the con- 
 stables to be putting chains on my 
 father's hands and feet, which I like- 
 wise beheld with what feelings -you 
 who read this may think, she falls on 
 lier knees and gasps out these words 
 in such a mournful tone, that I shud- 
 dered to hear her, "Oh, sh'! if this 
 man leaves this house a chained pris- 
 oner, I £hall never be the like of my- 
 
 self again. There shall be no morc^ 
 joy for me in hfe." And then faint,-? 
 right away, and Sir Hammond car- 
 ries her in his anus out of the hail. 
 Mine eyes the while met my father's ; 
 who smiled on me with kind cheec. 
 but signed for me to keep away. I 
 stretched my arms toward him, and 
 with his chained hand he contrived 
 yet once more for to bless me ; then 
 was hurried out of my sight. Far 
 more time than I ever did perceive or 
 could remember the length of I re- 
 mained in that now deserted hall, mo- 
 tionless, alone, near to the dying em- 
 bers, the darkness still increasing, too 
 much confused to recall at once the 
 comforts which sacred thoughts do 
 yield in such mishaps, only able to 
 clasp my hand and utter broken sen- 
 tences of prayer, such as " God, ha' 
 mercy on us," and the like ; till about 
 the middle of the night. Sir Ham- 
 mond comes down the stairs, with a 
 lamp in liis hand, and a strange look 
 in his face. 
 
 "Mistress Shenvood," he says, 
 " come to my lady. She is very ill, and 
 hath been in labor for some time. Slie 
 doth nothing but call for you, and rav<3 
 about that accursed priest she will 
 have it she hath murthered. Come 
 and feign to her he hath escaped." 
 
 " O God I" I cried, " my words may 
 fall on her car. Sir Hammond, but my 
 face cannot deceive her." 
 
 He looked at me amazed and angry. 
 "What meaneth this passion of grief? 
 What is this old man to you, that his 
 misfortune should thus disorder you ?'* 
 And as I could not stay my weeping, 
 he asked in a scornful manner, " Do 
 papists so dote on their priests as to 
 die of sorrow when they get theu- 
 deserts ?" This insulting speech did 
 so goad rac, that, unable to restrain 
 myself, I exclaimed, " Sir Hammond, 
 he whom you liave sent to a dungeon, 
 and perhaps to death also (God par- 
 don you for it I), is my ti-uc father ! — 
 the best parent and the noblest gentle- 
 man that ever breathed, which for 
 many years I had not seen ; and here 
 under your roof, myself your guest, I 
 
44 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 have beheld him loaded with chains, 
 and dared not to speak for fear to in- 
 jure him yet further, which I pray 
 God I have not now done, moved 
 thereunto by your cruel scoffs." 
 
 " Your father I" he said amazed ; 
 •^ Mr. Sherwood ! These cursed feign- 
 ihgs do work strange mishaps. But 
 he did own himself a priest." 
 
 Before I had time to answer, a serv- 
 ing woman ran into the hall, crying 
 out, " Oh, sir, I pray you come to my 
 lady. She is much worse ; and the 
 nurse says, if her mind is not eased she 
 is, like to die before the child is bom." 
 
 "Oh, Miliccnt! sweet Milicent!" I 
 cried, wringing my hands ; and when 
 I looked at that unhappy husband's 
 face, anger vanished and pity took its 
 place. He turned to me with an im- 
 ploring countenance as if he should 
 wish to say, " None but you can saVe 
 her." I prayed to Our Lady, who 
 stood and fainted not beneath the 
 Rood, to get me strength for to do my 
 part in that sick chamber whither I 
 signed to him to lead the way. " God 
 will help me," I whispered in his ear, 
 '' to comfort her." 
 
 " God bless you !" he answered in a 
 hoarse voice, and opened the door of 
 the room in which his sweet lady was 
 sitting in her bed, with a wild look in 
 her pale blue eyes, which seemed to 
 start out of her head. 
 
 " Sir," I heard her say, as he ap- 
 proached, " what hath befallen the 
 j)Oor man you would not dismiss ?" 
 
 I took a light in my hand, so that 
 she should see my face, and smiled on 
 her with such good cheer, as God in 
 his mercy gave me strength to do 
 c,ven amidst the two-fold anguish of 
 that moment. Then she threw her 
 arms convulsively round my neck, and 
 her pale lips gasped the same question 
 as before. I bent over her, and said, 
 "'Trouble yourself no longer, dear 
 lady, touching this prisoner. He is 
 safe (in God's keeping, I added, inter- 
 iially). He is where he is carefully 
 tended (by God's angels, I mentally 
 subjoined) ; he hath no occasion to be 
 afraid (for God is his strength), and I 
 
 warrant you is as peaceful as his near- 
 est friends should wish him to be." 
 
 " Is this the truth ?" she murmured 
 in my ear. 
 
 " Yea," I said, " the trutli, the very 
 truth," and kissed her flushed cheek. 
 Then feeling like to faint, I went away, 
 Sir Hammond leading me to my cham- 
 ber, for I could scarce stand. 
 
 '" God bless you !" he again said, 
 when he left me, and I think he was 
 weeping. 
 
 I fell into a heavy, albeit troubled, 
 sleep, and when I awoke it was broad 
 daylight. When the waiting-maid came 
 in, she told me Lady I'Estrange had 
 been delivered of a dead child, and Sir 
 Hammond was almost beside himself 
 with grief. My lady's mind had wan- 
 dered ever since ; but she was more 
 tranquil than in the night. Soon after 
 he sent to ask if he could see me, and 
 I went down to him into the parlor. 
 A more changed man, in a few hours, 
 I ween, could not be seen, than this 
 poor gentleman. Ho spoke not of his 
 lady ; but briefly told me he had sent 
 in the night a messenger on horseback 
 to Norwich, with a letter to. the gov- 
 ernor of the gaol, praying him to show 
 as much consideration, and allow so 
 much liberty as should consist with 
 prudence, to the prisoner in his cus- 
 tody, sent by him a few hours before, 
 for that he liad discovered him not to 
 be one of the common sort, nor a lewd 
 person, albeit by his own confession 
 amenable to the laws, and escaped 
 from another prison. Then he added, 
 that if I wished to go to Norwich, and 
 visit this prisoner, he would give me a 
 letter to the governor, and one to a 
 lad}--, who would conveniently harbor 
 me for a while in that city, and his 
 coach should take mo there, or he 
 would lend me a horse and a servant 
 to attend me. I answered, I should 
 be glad to go, and then said somewhat 
 of his lady, hoping she should now do 
 well. He made no reply for a mo- 
 ment, and then only said, 
 
 " God knoweth ! she is not like her- 
 self at the present." 
 
 The words she had so mournfully 
 
 i 
 
Constance Slierwood. 
 
 145 
 
 spoken the clay befbrc came into my 
 mind, " I shall never be like myself 
 again, and there shall be no more joy 
 in this house." And. methinks, they 
 did haunt him also. 
 
 I sat for some time by her bedside 
 tliat day. She seemed not ill at ease, 
 but there was something changed in 
 lier aspect, and her words when she 
 spoke had no sense or connection. 
 And here I will set down, before I re- 
 late the events v.^hich followed my 
 brief sojourn under their roof, what I 
 have heard touching the sequel of Sir 
 Hammond and his wife's lives. 
 
 In that perilous and sorely troubled 
 childbirth her understanding was alien- 
 ated, and the art of the best physicians 
 in England could never restore it. 
 She was not frantic ; but had such a 
 j)rctty deliration, that in her ravings 
 there was oftentimes more attractive- 
 ness than in many sane persons' con- 
 v(U'sation. They mostly ran on pious 
 themes, and she was wont to sing 
 psalms, and talk of heaven, and that 
 she hoped to see God there; and 
 in many things she showed her old 
 ability, such as fine embroidery and 
 tlie making of preserves. One day 
 her waiting- woman asked her to dress 
 a i)erson's wounds, which did greatly 
 need it, and she set herself to do it in 
 lier accustomed manner ; but at the 
 sight of the wounds, she was seized 
 with convulsions, and became violent- 
 ly delirious, so that Sir Hammond 
 sharply reprehended the imprudent 
 attendant, and forbade the hke to be 
 ever proposed to her again. He gave 
 himself up to live retired with her, 
 and ceased to be a magistrate, nor ever, 
 that I could hear of, took any part 
 again in the persecution of Catholics. 
 The distemper which had estranged 
 her mind in all things else, had left 
 her love and obedience entire to her 
 husband ; and he entertained a more 
 visible fondness, and evinced a greater 
 respect for her after she was dlstem- 
 }>ered, than he had ever done in the 
 early days of their marriage. Me- 
 thinks, the gentleness of her heart, and 
 delicacy of her conscience, which till 
 
 thdt misfortune had never, I ween, 
 been burdened by any, even the least, 
 self-reproach, and the lack of strength 
 in her mind to endure an unusual stress, 
 ma-lc the stroke of that accidental 
 harm done to another through her 
 means too heavy for her sufferance, 
 and, as the poet saith, unsettled rea- 
 son on her throne. For mine own 
 part, but let others consider of it as 
 they list, I think that had she been a 
 Catholic by early training and dis- 
 tinct belief, as verily I hope she was 
 in rightful intention, albeit unconsci- 
 ously to herself (as I make no doubt 
 many are in these days, wherein per- 
 sons are growing up with no know- 
 ledge of religion except what Protest- 
 ant parents do instill into them), that 
 she would have had a greater courage 
 for to bear this singular trial ; which 
 to a feeling natural heart did prove 
 unbearable, but which to one accus- 
 tomed to look on suffering as not the 
 greatest of evils, and to hold such as 
 are borne for conscience sake as great 
 and glorious, would not have been 
 so overwhelming. But herein I write, 
 methinks, mine own condemnation, 
 for that in the anguish of fihal grief I 
 failed to point out to her during those 
 cruel moments of suspense that which 
 in retrospection I do so clearly see. 
 And so, may God accept the blighting 
 of her young life, and the many suffer- 
 ings of mine which I have still to re- 
 cord, as pawns of his intended mercies 
 to both her and to me in his everlast- 
 ing kingdom ! 
 
 When I was about to set out for 
 Norwich, late in the afternoon of that 
 same day. Sir Hammond's messenger 
 returned from thence with a letter 
 from the governor of the gaol ; where- 
 in he wrote that the prisoner he had 
 sent the night before was to proceed 
 to London in a few hours with some 
 other priests and recusants v.'hich the 
 government had ordered to be con- 
 veyed thither and committed to divers 
 prisons. He added, that he had com- 
 plied with Sir Hammond's request, 
 and shown so much favor to Mr. Tun- 
 skill as to transfer him, as soon as he 
 
146 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 received his letter, from tlie common 
 dungeon to a private cell, and to al- 
 low him to speak Avith another Catho- 
 lic prisoner who had desired to see 
 him. Upon this I prayed Sir Ham- 
 mond to forward me on my journey to 
 London, as now I desired nothing so 
 much as to go there forthwith ; which 
 he did with no small alacrity and good 
 disposition. Then, with so much speed 
 as was possible, and so much suffering 
 from the lapse of each hour that it 
 seemed to me the journey should never 
 
 ■ end, I proceeded to what was now the 
 
 ■ object of my most impatient pinings, — 
 the place where I should hear tidings 
 of my father, and, if it should be possi- 
 ble, minister assistance to him in his 
 great straits. At last I reached Hol- 
 born ; and, to the no small amazement 
 of my uncle, Mrs. Ward, and Muriel, 
 revealed to them who Mr. Tunstall 
 was, whose arrival at the prison of 
 Bridewell Mrs. Ward had had notice 
 of that morning, when she had been 
 to visit Mr. Watson, which she had 
 contrived to do for some time past in 
 the manner I will soon relate. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 One of the first persons I saw in 
 London was Hubert Rookwood, who, 
 when he heard (for being Basil's 
 brother I would not conceal it from 
 him) that my father was in prison at 
 Bridewell, expressed so much concern 
 therein and resentment of my grief, 
 that I was thereby moved to more 
 kindly feelings toward him than I had 
 of late entertained. He said that in 
 the houses of the law which he fre- 
 quented he had made friends which he 
 hoped would intercede in his behalf, 
 and thereby obtain, if not his release, 
 yet so much alleviation of the hard- 
 ships of a common prison as should 
 render his condition more tolerable, 
 and that he would lose no time in 
 seeking to move them thereunto ; but 
 that our chief hope v/ould lie in Sir 
 Francis Walsingliam, who, albeit 
 
 much opposed to pupists, had always 
 showed himself willing to assist his 
 friends of that way of thinking, and 
 often procured for them some relief, 
 which indeed none had more ex- 
 perienced than Mr, Congleton himself. 
 Hubert commended the secrecy which 
 had been observed touching my fa- 
 ther's real name ; for if he should be 
 publicly known to be possessed of 
 lands and related to noble famihes, it 
 should be harder for any one to get 
 him released than an obscure person ; 
 but nevertheless he craved license to 
 intimate so much of the truth to Sir 
 Francis as should appear convenient, 
 for he had always observed that gen- 
 tlemen are more compassionate to 
 those of their own rank than to others 
 of meaner birth. Mr. Congleton 
 prayed him to use his own discretion 
 therein, and said he should acquaint 
 no oae himself of it except his very 
 good friend the Portuguese ambassa- 
 dor, who, if all other resources failed, 
 might yet obtain of the queen herself 
 some mitigation of his sentence. 
 Thereupon followed some days of 
 weary watcliing and waitings in which 
 my only comfort was Mistress Ward, 
 who, by means of the gaoler's wife, 
 who had obliged her in the like man- 
 ner before, did get access from time to 
 time to Mr. Watson, and brought him 
 necessaries. From him she discover- 
 ed that the prisoner in the nearest cell 
 to his own was the so-called Mr. Tun- 
 stall, and that by knocks against the 
 wall, ingeniously numbered so as to 
 express the letters of the alphabet, as 
 one for a, two for h, and so to the end 
 thereof, they did communicate. So 
 she straightway began to practice this 
 management ; but time allowed not of 
 many speeches to pass between them. 
 Yet in this way he sent me his bless- 
 ing, and that ho was of very good 
 cheer ; but that none should try for t(; 
 visit him, for he had only one fear, 
 which was to bring others into trouble : 
 and, for himself, he was much behold- 
 en to her majesty, which had provided 
 him with a quiet lodging and time to 
 look to his Soul's welfiire ; whidi ev:- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 147 
 
 dcnce of his cheerful and pious spirit 
 comforted me not a little. Then that 
 dear friend which had brought mc this 
 good comfort spoke of Mr. Watson, 
 and said she desired to procure his es- 
 cape from prison more than that of 
 any other person in the same plight, 
 not excepting my father. " For, good 
 Constance," quoth she, " when a man 
 is blest with a stout heart and cheerful 
 mind, except it be for the sake of 
 others, I pray you what kind of ser- 
 vice ^o you think we render him by 
 delaying the victory he is about to 
 gain, and peradventure depriving him 
 of the long-desired crown of martyr- 
 dom? But this good Mr. Watson, 
 who as you well know was a zealous 
 priest and pious missioner, neverthe- 
 less, some time after his apprehension 
 and confinement in Bridewell, by force 
 of torments and other miseries of that 
 place, was prevailed upon to deny his 
 faith so far as to go once to the Prot- 
 estant service — not dragged there by 
 force as some have been, but compel- 
 led thereunto by fear of intolerable suf- 
 ferings, and was then set at liberty. 
 But the poor man did not thus better 
 his condition ; for the torments of his 
 mind, looking on himself as an apos- 
 tate and traitor to the Church, he found 
 to be more insupportable than any 
 sufferings his gaolers put upon him. 
 So, after some miserable weeks, he 
 went to one of the prisons where some 
 other priests were confined for to seek 
 comfort and counsel from them ; and, 
 having confessed his fault with great 
 and sincere sorrow, he received abso- 
 lution, and straightway repaired to 
 that church in Bridewell wherein he 
 had in a manner denied his faith, and 
 before all the people at that time 
 therein assembled, declared himself a 
 CathoJic, and willing to go to prison 
 and to death sooner than to join again 
 in Protestant worship. Whereupon 
 he was laid hold of, dragged to prison, 
 and thrown into a dungeon so low and 
 so straight that he could neither stand 
 up in it nor lay himself down at his 
 full length to sleep. They loaded 
 him witli irons, and kept him one 
 
 whole month on bread and water; 
 nor would suffer any one to come near 
 liira to comfort or speak with him." 
 
 " Alas !" I cried, " and is this, then, 
 the place where my father is con- 
 fined?" 
 
 " No," she answered ; " after the 
 space of a month Mr. Watson Ava< 
 translated to a lodging at the top of 
 the house, wherein the prisoners are 
 leastways able to stretch their Hmbs 
 and to see the light; but he having 
 been before prevailed on to yield 
 against his conscience touching that 
 point of going to Protestant worship, 
 no peace is left to him by his persecu- 
 tors, which never cease io urge on him 
 some sort of conformity to their reli- 
 gion. And, Constance, when a man 
 hath once been weak, what security 
 can there be, albeit I deny not hope, 
 that he shall always after stand firm ?" 
 
 "But by what means," I eagerly 
 asked, " do you forecast to procure his 
 escape ?" 
 
 " I have permission," she answered, 
 " to bring him necessaries, which I do 
 in a basket, on condition that I be 
 searched at going in and coming out, 
 for to make sure I convey not any let- 
 ter unto him or from him ; and this 
 was so strictly observed the first 
 month that they must needs break 
 open the loaves or pies I take to him 
 lest any paper should be conveyed in- 
 side. But they begin now to weary of 
 this strict search, and do not care al- 
 ways to hearken when I speak with 
 him ; so he could tell me the last time 
 I did visit him that he had found a 
 Avay by which if he had but a cord 
 long enough for his purpose, he could 
 let himself down from the top of the 
 house, and so make his escape in the 
 night," 
 
 "Oh," I cried, "dear Mistress 
 Ward, but this is a perilous venture, 
 to aid a prisoner's escape. One 
 which a daughter might run for her 
 father, oh, how willingly, but for a 
 stranger — " 
 
 " A stranger !" she answered. " Is 
 he a stranger for whom Christ died, 
 and whose precious soul is in danger, 
 
148 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 even if riot a priest ; and being so, is 
 he not entitled to more than common 
 reverence, chiefly in these days when 
 God's servants minister to us in the 
 midst of such great straits to both soul 
 and body ?" 
 
 " I cry God mercy,'* I said ; " I did 
 term him a stranger who gave ghostly 
 comfort to my dear mother on her 
 death-bed ; but oh, dear Mistress 
 Ward, I thought on your peril, who, 
 he knoweth, hath been as a mother 
 to me for these many years. And 
 then — ^if you are resolved to run this 
 danger, should it not be possible to 
 save my father also by the same 
 means ? Two cords should not be 
 more difficult to convey, me thinks, 
 than one, and the peril not greater." 
 
 "If I could speak with him," she 
 replied, " it would not be impossible. 
 I will tell Muriel to make two instead 
 of one of these cords, w^hich she doth 
 twine in some way she learnt from a 
 Frenchman, so strong as, albeit slight, 
 to have the strength of a cable. But 
 without we do procure two men with 
 a boat for to fetch the prisoners when 
 they descend, 'tis little use to make 
 the attempt. And it be easier, I war- 
 rant thee, Constance, to run one's self 
 into a manifest danger than to entice 
 others to the like." 
 
 " Should it be safe," I asked, " to 
 speak thereon to Hubert Rookwood? 
 He did exhibit this morning much 
 zeal in my father's behalf, and promis- 
 ed to move Sir Francis Walsingham 
 to procure his release." 
 
 " How is he disposed touching reli- 
 gion ?" she asked, in a doubtful man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Alas !" I answered, " there is a 
 secrecy in his nature which in more 
 ways than one doth prove unvestiga- 
 ble, leastways to me ; but when he 
 comes this evening I will sound him 
 thereon. AVould his brother were in 
 London ! Then wc should not lack 
 counsel and aid in this matter." 
 
 " We do sorely need both," she Jin- 
 swered ; " for your good uncle, than 
 which a better man never lived, wanes 
 feeble in body, and hence easily over- 
 
 come by the fears such enterprises in- 
 volve. Mr. Wells is not in London 
 at this time, or he should have been a 
 very palladium of strength in this ne- 
 cessity. Hubert Rookwood hath, I 
 think, a good head." 
 
 " What we do want is a bravo 
 heart," I replied, thinking on Basil. 
 
 " But wits also," she said. 
 
 " Basil hath them too," I answered, 
 forgetting that only in mine own 
 thinking had he been named. 
 
 " Yea," she cried, " who doth doubt 
 it ? but, alas ! he is not here." 
 
 Then I prayed her not to be too 
 rash in the prosecution of her design. 
 "Touching my father," I said, "I have 
 yet some hope of his release ; and as 
 long as any remaineth, flight should 
 be methinks a too desperate attempt 
 to be thought of." 
 
 " Yea," she answered, " in most 
 cases it would be so." But Mr. Wat- 
 son's disposition she perceived to be 
 such as would meet a present danger 
 and death itself, she thought, with 
 courage, but not of that stamp which 
 could endure prolonged fears or inflic- 
 tion of torments. 
 
 Since my coming to London I had 
 been too much engaged in these 
 weighty cares to go abroad ; but on 
 that day I resolved, if it were possible, 
 to see my Lady Surrey. A report 
 had reached me that the breach be- 
 tween her and her husband had so 
 much deepened that a separation had 
 ensued, which if true, I, which knew 
 her as well almost as mine own self, 
 could judge what her grief must be. I 
 was also Moved to this endeavor by 
 the hope that if my Lord Arundel was 
 not too sick to be spoken with, she 
 should perhaps obtain some help 
 through his means for that dear pris- 
 oner whose captivity did weigh so 
 heavily on my heart. 
 
 So, with a servant to attend on me, 
 I went through the city to the Char- 
 ter-house, and with a misgiving mind 
 heard from the porter that Lady Sur- 
 rey lodged not there, but at Arun- 
 del House, whither she had removed 
 soon after her coming to London. Me- 
 
Constance Shericood. 
 
 149 
 
 thought that in the telling of it this 
 man exhibited a sorrowful counte- 
 nance; but not choosing to question 
 one of his sort on so weighty a mat- 
 ter, I went on to Arundel House, 
 where, after some delaj, I succeeded 
 in gaining admittance to Lady Sur- 
 rey's chamber, whose manner, when 
 she first saw me, lacked the warmth 
 which I was used to in her greetings. 
 There seemed some fear in her lest I 
 should speak unadvisedly that which 
 she would be loth to hear ; and her 
 strangeness and reserve methinks 
 arose from reluctance to have the 
 wound in her heart probed, — too sore 
 a one, I ween, even for the tender 
 handling of a friend. I inquired of 
 her if my Lord Arundel's health 
 had improved. She said he was 
 better, and like soon to be as well as 
 could be hoped for now-a-days, when 
 his infirmities had much increased. 
 
 " Then you will return to Kenning- 
 hall ?" I said, letting my speech out- 
 run discretion. 
 
 " No," she replied ; " I purpose 
 never more to leave my Lord Arundel 
 or my Lady Lumley as long as they 
 do live, w^iich I pray God may be 
 many years." 
 
 And then she sat without speaking, 
 biting her lips and wringing the ker- 
 chief she held in her hands, as if to 
 keep her grief from outbursting. I 
 dared not to comment on her resolve, 
 for I foresaw that the least w^ord which 
 should express some partaking of her 
 sorrow, or any question relating to it, 
 would let loose a torrent weakly stayed 
 by a mightful effort, not like to be of 
 long avail. So I spoke of mine own 
 troubles, and liiie events which had oc- 
 casioned my sudden departure from 
 Lynn Court. She had heard of Lady 
 I'Estrange's mishap, and that the follow- 
 ing day I had journeyed to London ; but 
 naught of the causes thereof, or of the 
 apprehension of any priest by Sir 
 Hammond's orders. Which, when 
 she learnt the manner of this misfor- 
 tune, and the poor lady's share therehi, 
 and that it was my father she had 
 thus unwittingly discovered,- her coun- 
 
 tenance softened, and throwing her 
 arms round my neck, she bitterly wept, 
 which at that moment methinks did 
 her more good than anything else. 
 
 *^0h, mine own good Constance," 
 she said, "I doubt not nature raiseth 
 many passionate workings in your 
 soul at this time ; but, my dear wench, 
 when good men are in trouble our 
 grief for them should be as noble as 
 their virtues. Bethink thee what a 
 worst sorrow it should be to have a 
 vile father, one that thou must needs 
 love, — for w^ho can tear out of his 
 heart affection strong as life? — ^and ha 
 should then prove unworthy. Be- 
 lieve me, Constance, God gives to 
 each, even in this world, a portion of 
 their deserts. Such griefs as thy pres- 
 ent one I take to be rare instances of 
 his favor. Other sorts of trials are 
 meet for cowardly souls which refuse 
 to set their Hps to a chalice of suffer- 
 ing, and presently find themselves sub- 
 merged in a sea of woes. But can I 
 help thee, sweet one ? Is there aught 
 I can do to lighten thy affliction.'^ 
 Hast thou license for to see thy 
 father?" . 
 
 " No, dear lady," I answered ; " and 
 his name being concealed, I may not 
 petition as his daughter for this per- 
 mission ; but if my Lord Arundel 
 should be so good a lord to me as to 
 obtain leave lor me to visit this pris- 
 oner, without revealing his name and 
 condition, he should do me the great- 
 est benefit in the world." 
 
 " I will move him thereunto," my 
 lady said. " But he who had formerly 
 no equal in the queen's favor, and to 
 whom she doth partly owe her crown, 
 is now in his sickness and old age of 
 so little account in her eyes, that tri- 
 fling favors are often denied him to 
 whom she would once have said : 
 ' Ask of me Avhat thou wilt, and I will 
 give it unto thee.' But w^hat my poor 
 endeavors can effect through him or 
 others shall not be lacking in this thy 
 need. But I am not in that condition 
 I was once like to have enjoyed.'' 
 Then with her eyes cast on the ground 
 she seemed for to doubt if she should 
 
I50 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 speak plainly, or still slmt up her 
 grief in silence. As I sat painfully 
 expecting her next words, the door 
 opened, and two ladies were announc- 
 ed, which she whispered in mine ear 
 she would fain not have admitted at 
 that time, but that Lord Arundel's de- 
 sh'e did oblige her to entertain them. 
 One was Mistress Bellamy, and the 
 other her daughter, Mistress Frances, 
 a young gentlewoman of great beauty 
 and very lively parts, which I had 
 once before seen at Lady Ingoldsby's 
 house. She was her parents' sole 
 daughter, and so idoHzed by them that 
 they seemed to live only to minister to 
 her fancies. Lord Arundel was much 
 bounden to this family by ancient ties of 
 friendship, which made him urgent 
 with his granddaughter that she should 
 admit them to her privacy. I admir- 
 ed in this instance how suddenly those 
 which have been used to exercise such 
 self-command as high breeding doth 
 teach can school their exterior to seem 
 at ease, and even of good cheer, when 
 most ill at ease interiorly, and with 
 hearts very heavy. Lady Surrey 
 greeted these visitors with as much 
 courtesy, and listened to their dis- 
 course with as much civility and 
 smiles when called for, as if no bur- 
 thensome thoughts did then oppress 
 her. 
 
 Many and various themes were 
 touched upon in the random talk 
 which ensued. First, that wonted one 
 of the queen's marriage, which some 
 opined should verily now take place 
 with Monsieur d'Alengon ; for that 
 since his stealthy visits to England, 
 she did wear in her bosom a brooch 
 of jewels in a frog's shape. 
 
 "Ay," quoth Mistress Frances, 
 " that stolen visit which awoke the ire 
 of the poor soul Stubbs, who styled 
 it * an unmanlike, unprincelike, French 
 kind of wooing,' and endeth his book 
 of ' Tlie Gaping Gulph ' in a loyal rage : 
 • Here is, therefore, an imp of the 
 crown of France, to marry the crown- 
 ed nymph of England,' — a nymph in- 
 deed well stricken in years. My 
 brother was standing by when Stubbs' 
 
 hand was cut off; for nothing else 
 would content that sweet royal nymph, 
 albeit the lawyers stoutly contended 
 the statute under which he suffered to 
 be null and void. As soon as his 
 right hand is off, the man takes his 
 hat off with the left, and cries * God 
 bless the queen !' " 
 
 " Here is a wonder," I exclaimed ; 
 " I pray you, what is the art this queen 
 doth possess by which she holdeth the 
 hearts of her subjects in so great 
 thrall, albeit so cruel to them which do 
 offend her ?" 
 
 " Lady Harrington hath told me her 
 majesty's own opinion thereon," said 
 Mrs. Bellamy; "for one day she did 
 ask her in a merry sort, ' How she kept 
 her husband's good-will and love ?' To 
 which she made reply that she per- 
 suaded her husband of her affection, 
 and in so doing did command his. 
 Upon which the queen cries out, 'Go 
 to, go to. Mistress Moll! you are 
 wisely bent, I find. After such sort 
 do I keep the good wills of all my 
 husbands, my good people ; for if they 
 did not rest assured of some special 
 love toward them, they would not 
 readily yield me such good obedi- 
 ence.' " 
 
 "Tut, tut!" cried Mistress Frances ; 
 " all be not such fools as John Stubbs ; 
 and she knoweth how to take rc*bukes 
 from such as she doth not dare to 
 offend. By the same token that Sir 
 Philip Sydney hath written to dissuade 
 her from this French match, and like- 
 wise Sir Francis Walsingham, which 
 last did hint at her advancing years ; 
 and her highness never so much as 
 thought of striking off their hands. 
 But 1 warrant you a rebellion shall 
 arise if this queen doth issue such 
 prohibitions as she hath lately done." 
 
 " Of what sort ?" asked Lady Sur- 
 rey. 
 
 "First, to forbid," Mrs. Bellamy 
 said, "any new building to be raised 
 within three thousand paces of the 
 gates of London on pain of imprison- 
 ment, and sundiy other penalties ; or 
 for more than one family to inhabit in 
 one house. For her majesty holda it 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 151 
 
 should be an impossible thing to gov- 
 ern or maintain order in a city larger 
 than this London at the present time." 
 
 Mistress Frances declared this law 
 to be more tolerable than the one 
 against the size of ladies' ruffs, which 
 were forsooth not to exceed a certain 
 measure ; and officers appointed for to 
 stand at the corners of streets and to 
 clip such as overpassed the permitted 
 dimensions, which sooner than submit 
 to she should die. 
 
 Lady Surrey smiled, and said she 
 should have judged so from the size 
 of her fine ruff. 
 
 "But her majesty is impartial," 
 quoth Mrs. Bellamy ; " for the gentle- 
 men's rapiers are served in the same 
 manner. And verily this law hath 
 nearly procured a war with France; 
 for in Smithfield Lane some clownish 
 constables stayed M. de Castelnau, 
 and laid hands on his sword for to 
 shorten it to the required length. I 
 leave you to judge, Lady Surrey, of 
 this ambassador's fury. Sir Henry 
 Seymour, who was taking the air in 
 Smithfield at the time, perceived him 
 standing with the drawn weapon in his 
 hand, threatening to kill whosoever 
 should approach him, and destruction 
 on this realm of England if the offi- 
 cers should dare to touch his sword 
 again ; and this with such frenzy of 
 speech in French mixed with English 
 none could understand, that God 
 knowelh what should have ensued if 
 Sir Henry had not interfered. Her 
 majesty vvas forced to make an apolo- 
 gy to this mounseer for that her offi- 
 cers had ignorantly attempted to clip 
 the sword of her good brother's en- 
 voy." 
 
 " Why doth she not clip," Mistress 
 Frances said, "if such be her present 
 humor, the orange manes of her gray 
 Dutch horses, which are the fright- 
 fullest things in the world ?" 
 
 "'Tis said," quoth Mrs. Bellamy, 
 " that a new French embassy is soon 
 expected, with the dauphin of Au- 
 vergne at its head." 
 
 " Yea," cried her daughter, " and 
 four handsome English noblemen to 
 
 meet them at the Tower stairs, and 
 conduct them to the new banqueting- 
 liousc at Westminster, — my Lord Sur- 
 rey, Lord Windsor, Sir Philip Syd*- 
 ney, and Sir Fulkc Grevillc, Me* 
 thinks this should be a very fin 3 sight., 
 if rain doth not fall to spoil i'." 
 
 I saw my Lady SuiTcy's counte" 
 nance change when her husband was 
 mentioned ; and Mrs. Bellamy looked 
 at her daughter forasmuch as to check 
 her thoughtless speeches, v/hich caus- 
 ed this young lady to glance round 
 the room, seeking, as it seemed, for 
 some other topic of conversation. 
 
 Methinks I should not have pre- 
 served so lively a recollection of the 
 circumstances of this visit if some dis- 
 mal tidings which reached me after- 
 ward touching this gentlewoman, then 
 so thoughtless and innocent, had not 
 revived in me the memory of her gay 
 prattle, bright unabashed eyes, and 
 audacious dealing with subjects so 
 weighty and dangerous, that any one 
 less bold should have feared to handle 
 them. After the pause wliicli ensued 
 on the mention of Lord Surrey's name, 
 she took for her text wliat had been 
 said touching the prohibitions lately 
 issued concerning ruffs and rapiers, 
 and began to mock at her majesty's 
 favorites ; yea, and to mimic her ma- 
 jesty herself with so much humor 
 that her well-acted satire must have 
 needs constrained any one to laugh. 
 Then, not contented with these dan- 
 gerous jests, she talked such direct 
 treason against her highness as to say 
 she hoped to see her dethroned, and a 
 fair Catholic sovereign to reign in her 
 stead, who would be less shrewish to 
 young and handsome ladies. Then her 
 mother cried her, for mercy's sake, to 
 restrain her mad speech, which would 
 serve one day to bring them all into • 
 trouble, for all she meant it in jest. 
 
 " Marry, good mother," she answer- 
 ed, " not in jest at all ; for I do verily 
 hold myself bound to no allegiance to 
 this queen, and would gladly see her 
 get her deserts." 
 
 Then Lady Surrey prayed her not 
 to speak so rashly ; but methought in . 
 
152 
 
 Oonstance SJierwood. 
 
 her heart, and somewhat I could per- 
 ceive of this in her eyes, she misHked 
 not wholly this young lady's words, 
 who then spoke of religion ; and oh, 
 how zealous therein she did appear, 
 how boldly affirmed (craving Lady 
 Surrey's pardon, albeit she would war- 
 rant, she said, there was no need to do 
 so, her ladyship she had heard being 
 half a papist herself) that she had as 
 lief be racked twenty times over and 
 die also, or her face to be so disfigur- 
 ed that none should call her ever after 
 anything but a fright — which martyr- 
 dom she held would exceed any yet 
 thought of — than so much as hold her 
 tongue concerning her faith, or stay 
 from telling her majesty to her face, if 
 she should have the chance to get 
 speech with her, that she was a foul 
 heretic, and some other truths beside, 
 which but once to utter in her presence, 
 come of it what would, should be a 
 delicious pleasure. Then she railed 
 at the Catholics which blessed the 
 queen before they suffered for their re- 
 ligion, proving them wrong with in- 
 genious reasons and fallacious argu- 
 ments, mixed with pleasantries not 
 wholly becoming such grave themes. 
 But it should have seemed as reason- 
 able to be angry with a child babbhng 
 at random of life and death in the 
 midst of its play, as with this creature, 
 the lightest of heart, the fairest in 
 face, the most winsome in manner, 
 and most careless of danger, that ever 
 did set sail on life's stream. 
 
 Oh, how all this rose before me 
 again, when I heard, two years after- 
 ward, that for her bold recusancy — • 
 alas ! more bold, as the sequel proved, 
 than deep, more passionate than fer- 
 vent — this only cherished daughter, 
 this innocent maiden, the mirror of 
 whose fame no breath had sullied, and 
 on whose name no shadow had rested, 
 was torn by the pursuivants from her 
 parents' home, and cast into a prison 
 with companions at the very aspect of 
 which virtue did shudder. And the 
 unvaliant courage, the weak bravery, 
 of this indulged and wayward young 
 lady had no strength wherewith to re- 
 
 sist the surging tides of adversity. 
 No voice of parent, friend, or ghostly 
 father reached her in that abode of 
 despair. No visible angel visited her, 
 but a fiend in human form haunted her 
 dungeon. Liberty and pleasure he 
 offered in exchange for virtue, honor, 
 and faith. She fell ; sudden and 
 great was that fall. 
 
 There is a man the name of which 
 hath blenched the cheeks and riven 
 the hearts of Catholics, one who hath 
 caused many amongst them to lose 
 their lands and to part from their 
 homes, to die on gibbets and their 
 limbs to be torn asunder — one Richard 
 Topcliffe. But, methinks, of all the 
 voices which shall be raised for to ac- 
 cuse him at Christ's judgmeiijt-seat, the 
 loudest will be Frances Bellamy's. 
 Her ruin was his work ; one of those 
 works which, when a man is dead, 
 do follow him; whither, God know- 
 eth! 
 
 Oh, you who saw her, as I did, in 
 her young and innocent years, can 
 you read this without shuddering? 
 Can you think on it without weeping ? 
 As her fall was sudden, so was th? 
 change it wrought. With it vanished 
 aflfections, hopes^ womanly feelings, 
 memory of the past ; nay, methinks 
 therein I err. Memory did yet abide, 
 but linked with hatred ; Satan's mem- 
 ory of heaven. From depths to 
 depths she hath sunk, and is now wed- 
 ded to a mean wretch, the gaoler of 
 her old prison. So rank a hatred 
 hath grown in her against recusants 
 and mostly priests, that it rages like a 
 madness in her soul, which thirsts for 
 their blood. Some months back, 
 about the time I did begin to write 
 this history, news reached me that she 
 had sold the life of that meek saint, 
 that sweet poet. Father Southwell, of 
 which even an enemy. Lord Mount- 
 joy, did say, when he had sec:i him 
 suffer, " I pray God, where thai m in's 
 soul now is, mine may one d.iy be." 
 Her father had concealel him in th:it 
 house wliere she had dwelt in her in- 
 nocent days. None b:it the tainily 
 knew the secret of its hiding-place. 
 
Constance SJieituood. 
 
 153 
 
 I 
 
 She (lid reveal it, and took gold for 
 her wages ! "What shall be that wo- 
 man's death-bed? What trace doLh 
 remain on her soul of what was once 
 a share in the divine nature ? May 
 one of God's ministers be nigh unto 
 her in that hour for to bid her not de- 
 spair ! If Judas had repented, Jesus 
 would have pardoned him. Perad- 
 venture, misery without hope of relief 
 overthrew her brain. I do pray for 
 her always. 'Tis a vain thought per- 
 haps, but I sometimes wish I might, 
 though I see not how to compass it, 
 yet once speak with her before she or 
 I die. Methinks I could say such 
 words as should touch some old chord 
 in her dead heart. God knoweth ! 
 That day I write of, little did I ween 
 what her end would be. But yet it 
 feared me to hear one so young and of 
 so frail an aspect speak so boastfully ; 
 and it seemed even then to my inex- 
 perienced mind, that my Lady Surrey, 
 who had so humbly erewhile accused 
 herself of cowardice and lamented her 
 weakness, should be in a safer plight, 
 albeit as yet unreconciled. 
 
 The visit I have described had 
 lasted some time, when a servant came 
 with a message to her ladyship from 
 Mr. Hubert Rook wood, who craved 
 to be admitted on an urgent matter. 
 She glanced at me somewhat surprised, 
 upon which I made her a sign that she 
 should condescend to his request ; for 
 I supposed he had seen Sir Francis 
 Walsingliam, and was in haste to con- 
 fer with me touching that interview ; 
 and she ordered him to be admitted. 
 Mrs. Bellamy and her daughter rose 
 to go soon after his entrance ; and 
 whilst Lady Surrey conducted them to 
 the door he asked me if her ladyship 
 was privy to the matter in hand. 
 When I had satisfied him thereof, he 
 related what had passed in an inter- 
 view he had with Sir Francis, whom 
 he found ill-disposed at first to stir in 
 the matter, for he said his frequent re- 
 monstrances in favor of recusants had 
 been like to bring him into odium 
 with some of the more zealous Protest- 
 ants, and that he must needs, in every 
 
 case of that sort, prove it to be nis 
 sole object to bring such persons more 
 surely, albeit slowly, by means of tol- 
 eration, to a rightful conformity ; and 
 that with regard to priests he was 
 very loth to interfere. 
 
 "I was compelled," quoth Hubert 
 " to use such arguments as fell in with 
 the scope of his discourse, and to flatter 
 him with the hope of good results in 
 that which he most desired, if he would 
 procure Mr. Sherwood's release, which 
 I doubt not he hath power to effect. 
 And in the end he consented to lend 
 his aid therein, on condition he should 
 prove on his side so far conformable 
 as to suffer a minister to visit and con- 
 fer with him touching religion, which 
 would then be a pretext for his release, 
 as if it were supposed he was well dis- 
 posed toward Protestant religion, and 
 a man more like to embrace the 
 truth when at liberty than if driven 
 to it by stress of confinement. Then 
 he would procure," he added, " an or- 
 der for his passage to France, if he 
 promised not to return, except h*' 
 should be willing to obey the laws." 
 
 " I fear me much," I answered, " my 
 father will not accept these terms 
 which Sir Francis doth offer. Me- 
 thinks he will consider they do involve 
 some lack of the open profession of his 
 faith." 
 
 "It would be madness for one in 
 his plight to refuse them," Hubert 
 exclaimed, and appealed thereon to 
 Lady Surrey, who said she did in- 
 deed think as he did, for it was not 
 like any better could be obtained. 
 
 It pained me he should refer to her, 
 who from conformity to the times 
 could not well conceive how tender a 
 Catholic conscience should feel at the 
 least approach to dissembling on this 
 point. 
 
 "AVherein," he continued, "is the 
 harm for to confer with a minister, or 
 how can it be construed into a denial 
 of a man's faith to listen to hi:: argu- 
 ments, unless, indeed, he feels himself 
 to be in danger of being shaken by 
 them?" 
 
 " You very well know," I exclaimed 
 
154 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 with some warmth, " that not to be my 
 meaning, or what I suppose his should 
 be. Our priests do constantly crave 
 for public disputations touching reli- 
 gion, albeit they eschew secret ones, 
 which their adversaries make a pre- 
 text of to spread reports of their ina- 
 bility to defend their faith, or willing- 
 ness to abandon it. But heaven for- 
 bid I should anyways prejudge this 
 question ; and if with a safe conscience 
 — and with no other I am assured will 
 he do it — ^my father doth subscribe to 
 this condition, then God be praised for 
 it!" 
 
 " But you will move him to it, Mis- 
 tress Constance ?" he said. 
 
 " If I am so happy," I answered, 
 " as to get speech with him, verily I 
 will entreat him not to throw away 
 his life, so precious to others, if so be 
 he can save it without detriment to his 
 conscience." 
 
 " Conscience !" Hubert exclaimed, 
 " methinks that word is often misap- 
 plied in these days." 
 
 *' How so ?" I asked, investigating 
 his countenance, for I misdoubted his 
 meaning. Lady Surrey likewise 
 seemed desirous to hear what he 
 should say on that matter. 
 
 " Conscience," he answered, " should 
 make persons, and mostly women, 
 careful how they injure others, and 
 cause heedless suffering, by a too great 
 stiffness in refusing conformity to the 
 outward practices which the laws of 
 the country enforce, when it affects 
 not the weightier points of faith, which 
 God forbid any Catholic should deny. 
 There is often as much of pride as of 
 virtue in such rash obstinacy touching 
 small yieldings as doth involve the 
 ruin of a family, separation of parents 
 and children, and more evils than can 
 be thought of." 
 
 " Hubert," I said, fixing mine eyes 
 on him with a searching look he cared 
 not, I ween, to meet, for he cast his on 
 a paper he had in his hand, and raised 
 tl)em not while I spoke, " it is by such 
 reasonings first, and then by such 
 small yieldings as you commend, that 
 some have been led two or three 
 
 times in their lives, yea, ofcener per- 
 haps, to profess different religions, 
 and to take such contradictory oaths 
 as have been by turns prescribed to 
 them under different sovereigns, and 
 God each time called on to witness 
 their perjuries, whereby truth and 
 falsehood in matters of faith shall come 
 in time to be words without any mean- 
 ing." 
 
 Then he : " You do misapprehend 
 me. Mistress Constance, if you think 
 I would counsel a man to utter a false- 
 hood, or feign to believe that which in 
 his heart he thinketh to be false. But, 
 in heaven's name, I pray you, what 
 harm will your father do if he listens 
 to a minister's discourse, and suffers it 
 to be set forth he doth ponder thereon, 
 and in the meantime escapes to 
 France? whereas, if he refuses the 
 loophole now offered to him, he causeth 
 not to himself alone, but to you and 
 his other friends, more pain and sor- 
 sow than can be thought of, and de- 
 prives the Church of one of her ser- 
 vants, when her need of them is 
 greatest." 
 
 I made no reply to this last speech ; 
 for albeit I thought my father would 
 not accede to these terms, I did not so 
 far trust mine own judgment thereon 
 as to predict with certainty what his 
 answer should be. And then Hubert 
 said he had an order from Sir Francis 
 thats would admit me on the morrow 
 to see my father ; and he offered to go 
 with me, and Mistress Ward too, if I 
 listed, to present it, albeit I alone 
 should enter his cell. I thanked him, 
 and fixed the time of our going. 
 
 When he had left us, Lady Surrey 
 commended his zeal, and also his mod- 
 erate spirit, which did charitably 
 allow, she said, for such as conformed 
 to the times for the sake of others 
 which their reconcilement would very 
 much injure. 
 
 Before I could reply she changed 
 this discourse, and, putting her hands 
 on my shoulders and kissing my fore- 
 head, said, 
 
 " My Lady Lumley hath heard so 
 much from her poor niece of one Mis- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 155 
 
 tress Constance Sherwood, tliat she 
 doth greatly wish to see this young 
 gentlewoman and very resolved 
 papist." And then taking me by 
 the arm she led me to that lady's 
 (chamber, where I had as kind a 
 welcome as ever I received from 
 uny one from her ladyship, who 
 said " her dear Nan's friends should 
 be always as dear to her as her 
 own," and added many fine com- 
 mendations greatly^ exceeding my 
 deserts. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 When I had been a short time 
 in my Lady Lumley's chamber, my 
 Lord Arundel sent for his grand- 
 daughter, who was wont, she told 
 me, at that hour to write letters 
 for him ; and I stayed alone with 
 her ladyship, who, as soon as Lady 
 Surrey left us, thus broke forth in 
 her praise : 
 
 " Hath any one, think you. Mis- 
 tress Sherwood, ever pictured or 
 imagined a creature more noble, 
 more toward in disposition, more 
 virtuous in allher actions, of greater 
 courage in adversity or patience 
 under ill-usage than this one, which 
 God hath sent to this house to cheer 
 two lonely hearts, whilst her own 
 is well-nigh broken ?" 
 
 " Oh ! my Lady Lumley," I ex- 
 claimed, " I fear some new misfor- 
 tune hath befallen this dear lady, 
 who is indeed so rare a piece of 
 goodness that none can exceed in 
 describing her deserts. Hitherto 
 she hath condescended to impart 
 her sorrows to her poor friend ; but 
 to-day she shut up her griefs in her 
 own bosom, albeit I could read un- 
 spoken suffering in every lineament 
 of her sweet countenance." 
 
 " God forgive me," her ladyship 
 replied, "if in speaking of her 
 wrongs I should entertain over-re- 
 sentful feelings toward her ungra- 
 cious husband, whom once I did 
 love as a mother, and very loth 
 
 hath my heart been to condemn 
 liim; but now, if it were not that 
 I myself received him in my arms 
 what time he was born, whose life 
 was the cause of my sweet young 
 sister's death, I should doubt he 
 could be her son." 
 
 "What fresh injury," I timidly 
 asked, "hath driven Lady Surrey 
 from her house ? " 
 
 "-Ser house no longer," quoth 
 Lady Lumley. " She hath no house, 
 no home, no husband worthy of the 
 name, and only an old man nigh 
 unto the grave, alas ! and a poor 
 feeble woman such as I am to raise 
 a voice in her behalf, who is spurn- 
 ed by one who should have loved 
 and cherished her, as twice before 
 God's altar he vowed to do. Oh ! ' 
 cried the poor lady, weeping, '• she 
 hath borne all things else wiili a 
 sweet fortitude, which angels look- 
 ing down on her must needs have 
 wondered at. She would ever be 
 excusing this faithless hu^band 
 with many pretty wiles and lot ing 
 subterfuges, making, sweet sophist, 
 the worst appear the better reason. 
 'Men must needs be pardoned,' she 
 would say, when my good father 
 waxed wroth at his ill-usage of her, 
 ' for such outward neglect as many 
 practise in these days toward their 
 wives, for that it was the fashion at 
 the court to appear unhusbandly ; 
 but if Avomen would be patient, she 
 would warrant them their love 
 should be requited at last.' And 
 Avhen news came that Phil had sold 
 an estate for to purchase — God 
 save the mark! — a circlet of black 
 pearls for the queen : and Lord 
 Arundel swore he should leave 
 him none of his lands but what 
 by act of Parliament he was com- 
 pelled to do, she smiled Avin- 
 somely, and said : " Yea, my 
 lord, I pray you, let my dear 
 Phil be a poor man as his father 
 wished him to be, and then, if it 
 please God, we may live in a cot- 
 tage and be happy.' And so turned 
 away his anger by soft w^ords, for he 
 
156 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 laughed and answered : * Heaven help 
 thee, Nan ! but I fear that cottage 
 must needs be Arundel Castle, for my 
 hands are so tied therein that thy 
 knavish husband cannot fail to in- 
 herit it. And beshrew me if I would 
 either rob thee of it, mine own good 
 Nan, or its old walls of thy sweet 
 presence when I shall be dead/ And 
 so she always pleaded for him, and 
 never lost heart until . . . Oh, Mis- 
 tress Sherwood, I shall never forget 
 the day when her uncle, Francis Da- 
 cre — wisely or unwisely I know not, 
 but surely meaning well— gave her to 
 read in this house, where she was 
 spending a day, a letter which had 
 fallen into liis hands, I wot not how, 
 in the which Phihp — God forgive 
 him ! — expressed some kind of doubt 
 if he was truly married to her or not. 
 Some wily wretch had, I ween, whis- 
 pered to him, in an evil hour, this ac- 
 cursed thought. When she saw this 
 misdoubt written in his hand she 
 straightway fell down in a swoon, 
 Avhich recovering from, the first thing 
 she did was to ask for her cloak and 
 liat, and would have walked alone to 
 her house if I had not stayed her 
 almost by force, until Lord Arundel's 
 coach could be got ready for her. In 
 less than two hours she returned with 
 so wan and death-like a countenance 
 that it frighted me to see her, and 
 for some time she would not speak of 
 what had passed between her lord and 
 herself; only she asked for to stay 
 always in this house, if it should please 
 her grandfather, and not to part from us 
 any more. At the which speech I could 
 but kiss her, and with many tears pro- 
 test that this should be the joyfuUest 
 news in the world to Lord Arundel 
 and to me, and what he would most 
 desire, if it were not for her grief, 
 which, like an ill wind, yet did blow 
 us this good. *Yea,' she answered, 
 with the deepest sigh which can be 
 thought of, *a cold, withering blast 
 which driveth me from the shelter 
 which should be mine 1 I have heard 
 it said that when Cardinal Wolsey lay 
 a-dying he cried, " It were well with 
 
 me now if I had served my God with 
 the like zeal with which I have served 
 my king," or some words of that sort. 
 Oh, my Lady Lumley !' the poor child 
 exclaimed, ' if I had not loved Philip 
 more than God and his Church, me- 
 thinks I should not thus be cast off!' 
 ' Cast off,' I cried ; ' and has my grace- 
 less nephew, then, been so wicked ?' 
 *0h, he is changed,' she answered — 
 ' he is changed. In his eyes, in his 
 voice, I found not Philip's looks, nor 
 Phihp's tones. Nought but harshness 
 and impatience to dismiss me. The 
 queen, he said, was coming to rest at 
 his house on her way to the city, and 
 he lacked leisure to listen to my com 
 plaints. Then I felt grief and anger 
 rise in my breast with such vehemen- 
 cy that I charged him, maybe too 
 suddenly, with the doubt he had ex- 
 pressed in his letter to my Lord Ox- 
 ford. His face flushed deeply ; but 
 drawing up haughtily, as one aggriev- 
 ed, he said the manner of our marry- 
 ing had been so unusual that there were 
 some, and those persons well qualified 
 to judge, who misdoubted if there did 
 not exist a flaw in its validity. That 
 he should himself be loth to think so , 
 but that to seek at that moment to 
 prove the contrary, when his fortunes 
 hung on a thread, would be to ruin 
 him.' 
 
 " There she paused, and clasped her 
 hands together as if scarce able to 
 proceed : but soon raising her head, 
 she related in a passionate manner 
 how her heart had then swelled well- 
 nigh to bursting, pride and tenderness 
 restraining the utterance of such re- 
 sentful thoughts as rose in her when 
 she remembered his father's last let- 
 ter, wherein he said his chief prop 
 and stay in his fallen estate should 
 be the wife he had bestowed on him ; 
 of her own lands sold for the supply 
 of his prodigal courtiership ; of her 
 long patience and pleading for him to 
 others ; and this his present treatment 
 of her, which no wife could brook, 
 even if of mean birth and virtue, 
 much less one his equal in condition, 
 as well dowered as any in the land, 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 157 
 
 ;r:id an faithful and tender to him as 
 he did prove untoward to her. But 
 none of these reproaches passed her 
 lips ; for it was an impossible thing to 
 her, she said, to urge her own deserts, 
 or so much as mention the fortune she 
 liad brought him. Only twice she re- 
 peated, ' Ruin your fortunes, my lord ! 
 ruin your fortunes ! God help me, I 
 had thought rather to mend them!' 
 And then, when he tried to answer 
 her in some sort of evading fashion, 
 as if unsaying, and yet not wholly 
 denying his former speech, she broke 
 forth (and in the relation of this scene 
 the passion of her grief renewed 
 itself) in vehement adjurations, which 
 seemed somewhat to move him, not to 
 be so unjust to her or to himself as to 
 leave that in uncertainty which so 
 nearly touched both their honors ; and 
 if the thought of a mutual love 
 once existing between them, and a 
 lirm bond of marriage relied on with 
 unshaken security, and his father's dy- 
 ing blessing on it, and the humble 
 duty she had shown him from the time 
 she had borne his name, sufficed not 
 to resolve him thereunto, yet for the 
 sake of justice to one fatherless and 
 brotherless as herself, she charged 
 him without delay to make that clear 
 which, left uncertain, concerned her 
 more nearly than fortune or state, and 
 without which no, not one day, would 
 she abide in his house. Then the 
 f sweet soul said she hoped, from his 
 not ungracious silence and the work- 
 ing of his features, which visibly re- 
 vealed an inward struggle, that his 
 next words should have been of com- 
 fort to her ; but when she had drawn 
 nigh to him, and, taking his hand, call- 
 ed him by his name with so much of 
 reproachful endearment as could be 
 expressed in the utterance of it, a 
 gentleman broke into the room crying 
 out : * My lord, my lord, the trumpets 
 do sound ! The queen's coach is in 
 sight.' Upon which, she said that, 
 with a muttered oath, he started up 
 and almost thrust her from him, say- 
 ing, ' For God's sake, be gone !' ' And 
 by a back-door/ she added, ' I went 
 
 
 out of mine owii house into the street, 
 where I had left my Lord Arundel's 
 coach, and crept into it, very faint and 
 giddy, the while the queen's coach did 
 enter the court with gay banners wav- 
 ing, and striking-up of music, and the 
 people crying out, " God bless th 
 queen !" I cry God mercy for it,' she 
 said, ' but I could not say amen.' Now 
 she is resolved," my Lady Lumley 
 continued, " never to set her foot again 
 in any of her husband's houses, ex- 
 cept he doth himself entreat her to it, 
 and makes that matter clear touching 
 his belief in the validity of their mar- 
 riage; and methinks she is right 
 therein. My Lord Arundel hath 
 written to remonstrate with his grand- 
 son touching his ill-usage of his lady, 
 and hath also addressed her majesty 
 thereupon. But all the comment she 
 did make on his letter, I have been 
 told, was this : * That she had heard 
 my Lord Arundel was in his dotage ; 
 and verily she did now hold it to bo 
 so, for that she had never received i* 
 more foolish letter; and she did pit} 
 the old white horse, which was no\7 
 only lit to be turned out to grasi3 ; 
 and other biting jests, which, when a 
 sovereign doth utter them, carry with 
 them a rare poignancy." 
 
 Then my Lady Lumley wiped her 
 eyes, and bade me to be of good cheer, 
 and not to grieve overmuch for Lady 
 Surrey's troubles (but all the v/hile 
 her own tears continued to flow), for 
 that she had so noble and religious a 
 disposition, with germs of so much 
 virtue in it, that she thought her to be 
 one of those souls whom Almighty 
 God draws to himself by means of 
 such trials as would sink common na- 
 tures ; and that she had already mark- 
 ed how, in much prayer, ever-increas- 
 ing good works, an^ reading of books 
 which treat of wholesome doctrine 
 and instruction, she presently recalled 
 the teachings of her childhood, and 
 took occasion, when any Catholics came 
 to the house, to converse with them 
 touching religion. Then, with many 
 kind expressions, she dismissed me ; 
 and on the stairs, as T went out, I met 
 
158 
 
 Constance Shcnoood. 
 
 Lady Surrey, who noticed mine eyes 
 to be red with weeping, and, embrac- 
 ing me, said : 
 
 "I ween Lady Lumley hath been 
 no hider of my griefs, good Constance, 
 and, i* faith, I am obliged to her if she 
 hath told thee that which I would fain 
 not speak of, even to thee, dear wench. 
 There are sorrows best borne in si- 
 lence; and since the last days we 
 talked together mine have grown to 
 be of that sort. And so farewell for 
 to-day, and may God comfort thee in 
 thy nobler troubles, and send his an- 
 gels to thine aid." 
 
 When I returned to Holbom, Mis- 
 tress Ward met me with the news that 
 she had been to the prison, and heard 
 that Mr. Watson was to be strenuous- 
 ly examined on an approaching day 
 — and it is well known what that doth 
 signify — touching the names of the 
 persons which had harbored him since 
 his coming to England. And albeit 
 he was now purposed steadily to 
 endure extreme torments sooner than 
 to deny his faith or injure others, 
 she did so much apprehend the weak- 
 ness of nature should betray him, that 
 her resolve was taken to attempt the 
 next day, or rather on the following 
 night, to further his escape. But how, 
 she asked, could my father be dealt 
 with in time touching that matter ? 
 I told her I was to see him on the 
 morrow, by means of an order from 
 Sir Francis Walsingham, and should 
 then lay before him the issues offered 
 unto his election. She said she was 
 very much contented to hear it ; and 
 added, she must now secure boatmen 
 to assist in the escape who should be re- 
 liable Catholic men ; and if in this she 
 did succeed, she feared not to fail in 
 her design. 
 
 At the hour I had fixed upon with 
 Hubert, on the next day, he came to 
 carry me to the prison at Bridewell. 
 Mistress Ward prevailed on Mr. Con- 
 gleton to go thither with us, for she 
 was loth to be seen there in company 
 with known persons, and added privily 
 in mme ear, " The more so at a time 
 when it may happen I should get into 
 
 trouble touching the matter I have i:i 
 hand." When we reached the place, 
 Hubert presented to the gaoler Sir 
 Francis's letter, which was also signed 
 by the governor, and I was forthwith 
 conducted to my father's cell. When 
 I entered it, and advanced toward that 
 dear prisoner, I dared not in the man's 
 presence to show either the joy or 
 grief I felt at that meeting, but stood 
 by his side like one deprived of the 
 power of speech, and only struggling 
 to restrain my tears. I feared vre 
 should not have been left alone, and 
 then this interview should have prov- 
 ed of little use or comfort ; but after 
 setting for me a chair, which he had 
 sent for — for there was only one 
 small bench in the cell — this officer 
 withdrew, and locked the door on me 
 and that dear parent, whose face was 
 very white and wan, but who spoke in 
 as cheerful and kind a manner as can 
 be thought of, albeit taxing me with 
 wilfulness for that I had not complied 
 with his behest tliat none should come 
 to visit him. I would not have the 
 chair which had been sent for mc— 
 for I did hold it to be an unbecoming 
 thing for a daughter to sit down in her 
 father's presence (and he a priest), 
 who had only a poor bench to rest his 
 limbs on — ^but placed myself on the 
 ground at his feet ; which at first he 
 misliked, but afterward said it should 
 be as I pleased. Then, after some af- 
 fectionate speeches, wherein his great 
 goodness toward me was shown, and 
 my answers to them, which dis- 
 burthened my heart of some of the 
 weight which oppressed it, as did like- 
 wise the shedding of a few tears on 
 his hand, which was clasped in mine, I 
 spoke, in case time should press, of 
 Sir Francis's offer, and the condition 
 thereunto attached, which I did with 
 a trembling voice, and yet such indif- 
 ferent tones as I could affect, as ir 
 showing no leaning to one way of 
 thinking or the other, touching his ac- 
 ceptance of these terms. In the brief 
 time which did elapse between my 
 speaking and his reply, methinks 1 
 had an equal fear lest he should as- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 159 
 
 sent or dissent tlierein — filial love 
 mightfully prompting me to desire his 
 acceptance of this means of deliver- 
 ance, yet coupled with an apprehen- 
 sion that in that case he should stand 
 one degree less high in the favor of 
 God and the eyes of men. But I was 
 angered witli myself that I should have 
 mine own thoughts therein, or in any 
 way form a judgment forestalling his, 
 which peradventure would see no evil 
 in this concession ; and forecasting 
 also the consequences which should 
 ensue if he refused, I resolved to 
 move him thereunto by some such 
 words as these : " My dearly beloved 
 father, if it be possible, I pray you 
 yield this small matter to those that 
 seek to save your life. Let the min- 
 ister come to satisfy Sir Francis, and 
 all shall be w^ell, yea, without your 
 speaking one word, or by so much as 
 one look assenting to his arguments." 
 I dared not to meet his eyes, which he 
 fixed on me, but kept kissing his hand 
 v/hilst he said : " Daughter Constance, 
 labor not to move me in this matter > 
 for far above all other things I may 
 have to suffer, nothing would touch me 
 so near, or be so grievous to me, as to 
 see you, my well-beloved child, try to 
 persuade me unto that which in re- 
 spect of my soul I will never consent 
 to. For, I pray you, first as regards 
 religion, can I suffer any to think, al- 
 beit I should give no cause for it but 
 silence, that my faith is in any wise 
 shaken, which peradventure would 
 prove a stumbling-block to others ? or, 
 touching truth and honesty, shall I ac- 
 cept life and freedom on some such 
 supposition as that I am like to change 
 my religion, when I should as soon 
 think to cast myself into hell of mine 
 own free will as to deny one point of 
 Catholic belief? No, no, mine own 
 good child ; 'tis a narrow path which 
 doth lead to heaven, and maybe it 
 shall prove exceeding narrow for me 
 ere I reach its end, and not over easy 
 to the feet or pleasant to the eye ; but 
 God defend I should by so much as 
 one hair's-breadth overpass a narrow- 
 ness which tendeth to so good a con- 
 
 clusion ; and verily, to be short, my 
 good child, tender my thanks to Sir 
 Francis Walsingham — who I doubt 
 not meaneth excellently well by me— 
 and to young Master llookwood, who 
 hath dealt with him therein ; but tell 
 them I am very well pleased with my 
 present abode as long as it shall please 
 God to keep me in this world ; and 
 when he willeth me to leave it, believe 
 me, daughter Constance, the quickest 
 road to heaven shall be the most pleas- 
 ing to me." 
 
 His manner was so resolved that I 
 urged him no further, and only heav- 
 ed a deep sigh. Then he said, kindly : 
 " Come, mine own good child, give me 
 so much comfort as to let me hear 
 that thou art of the same way of 
 thinking in this matter as thy unwor- 
 thy but very resolved father." 
 
 " My dear father," I replied, " me- 
 thinks I never loved you so well, or 
 honored you one half so much as now, 
 when you have cast off all human con- 
 solation, yea, and a certain hope o'" 
 deliverance, rather than give oceasion 
 to the enemies of our faith to boast 
 they had prevailed on you, in ever so 
 small a matter, to falter in the open 
 profession thereof; and I pray God, if 
 ever I should be in a like plight, I 
 may not prove myself to be otherwise • 
 than your true child in spirit as in na- 
 ture. As to what shall now follow 
 your refusal, it lieth in God's hands, 
 and I know he can deliver you, if he 
 doth will it, from this great peril you 
 are in." 
 
 " There's my brave wench," quoth 
 he then, laying his scarred hand on 
 my head ; " thy mother had a pro- 
 phetic spirit, I ween, when she said of 
 thee when yet a puling girl, ' As her 
 days, so shall her strength be.' Veri- 
 ly God is very good, who hath grant- 
 ed us these moments of peaceful con- 
 verse in a place where we had once 
 little thought for to meet." 
 
 As I looked upon him, sitting on a 
 poor bench in that comfortless cell, his 
 noble fair visage oldened by hardships 
 and toils rather than years, his eyes so 
 full of peace, yea of contentment, that 
 
i6o 
 
 Clonstance Sherwoodi 
 
 joy seemed to beam in them, I thought 
 of the words of Holy Writ, which do 
 foretell which shall be said hereafter 
 of the just by such as have afflicted 
 them and taken away their labors ; 
 '• There are they whom we had some 
 time in derision and for a parable of 
 reproach. We fools esteemed their 
 lite madness and their end without 
 honor. Behold, how they are num- 
 bered with the children of God, and 
 their lot amongst the saints." 
 
 At that time a knock against the 
 wall was heard, and my father set his 
 oar against it, counting the number of 
 8uch knocks ; for it v/as Mr. AV^atson, 
 he said, beginning to converse with 
 him in their wonted fashion. " I will 
 tell him I am engaged," quoth he, in 
 his turn tapping in the same manner. 
 
 " But peradventure he hath some- 
 what to communicate," I said. 
 
 '' No,*' he answered, " for in that 
 case he would have knocked three 
 times at first, for on this signal we 
 have agreed." Smiling, he added, 
 ■' We do confess to each other in this 
 way. 'Tis somewhat tedious, I do 
 :idmit ; but thanks be to God we lack 
 not leisure here for such duties." 
 
 Then I briefly told him of Mistress 
 Ward's intent to procure Mr. Watson's 
 escape. 
 
 " Ay," he said, " I am privy to it, 
 and I do pi'ay God it may succeed. It 
 should be to me the greatest joy in 
 the world to hear that good man was 
 set free, or made free by any good 
 means." 
 
 "Then," I added, "will you not 
 join in the attempt, if so be she can 
 convey to you a cord ? and the same 
 boat should carry you both off.'* 
 
 " Nay," he replied ; " for more rea- 
 sons than one I am resolved against 
 tliat in mine own case which in Mr. 
 Watson's I do commend. This enter- 
 prise must needs bring that good wo- 
 man, Mrs. Ward, into some sort of 
 danger, which she doth well to run for 
 his sake, and which he doth not wrong 
 to consent unto, she being of a willing 
 mind to encounter it. For if the ex- 
 tremity of torture should extort the 
 
 admissions they do seek from him, 
 many should then grievously suffer, 
 and mostly his own soul. But I have 
 that trust in God, who hath given mc 
 in all my late perils what nature had 
 verily not furnished me with, an un- 
 daunted spirit to meet sufferings with 
 somewhat more than fortitude, with a 
 very great joy such as his grace can 
 only bestow, that he will continue to 
 do so, whatever straits I do find my- 
 self in ; and being so minded, I am re- 
 solved not again by mine own doing to 
 put mine own and others' lives in 
 jeopardy; but to take v/liafc he shall 
 send in the ordinary course of things, 
 throwing all my care on him, without 
 whose knowledge and will not so much 
 as one hair of our heads doth fall to 
 the ground. But I am glad to be 
 privy to the matter in hand for Mr. 
 Watson, so as to pray for him this 
 day and night, and also for that noble 
 soul who doth show herself so true a 
 Christian in her care for his weal and 
 salvation." 
 
 Then, changing to other themes, hf 
 inquired of me at some length touch 
 ing the passages of my life since he 
 had parted with me, and my disposi- 
 tions touching the state of life I was 
 about to embrace, concerning vrhich 
 he gave me the most profitable in- 
 structions which can bo thought of, 
 and rules of virtue, which, albeit im- 
 perfectly observed, have proved of so 
 great and wholesome guidance to my 
 inexperienced years that I do stand 
 more indebted to him for tliis fine ad- 
 vice, there given me, than for all other 
 benefits besides. He then spoke of 
 Edmund Genings, who, by a special 
 dispensation of the Pope, had lately 
 been ordained priest, being but twen- 
 ty-three years of age, and said the 
 preparation he had made for receiving 
 this holy order was very great, and 
 the impression the greatness of the 
 charge made upon his mind so strong, 
 that it produced a Avondei-ful effect in 
 his very body, affecting for a time his 
 health. He was infirmarlan at 
 Rheims, and labored among the sick 
 students, a very model of piety and 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 l6i 
 
 humility ; but vlvamus in spe was still, 
 as heretofore, his motto, and that liope 
 ill which he hved was to be sent 
 upon the EngUsh mission. Tliese, my 
 father said, were the last tidings he 
 had heard of him. His mother he 
 (lid believe was dead, and his younger 
 brother had left La Rochelle and was 
 in Paris, leading a more gay life than 
 was desirable. "And now I pray 
 you, mine own dear honored father," 
 I said, " favor me, I beseech you, with 
 a recital of your o\vn haps since you 
 landed in England, and I ceased to re- 
 ceive letters from you." He conde- 
 scended to my request, in the words 
 which do follow : 
 
 " Well, my good child, I arrived in 
 this country one year and five months 
 back, having by earnest suit and no 
 small difficulty obtained from my su- 
 periors to be sent on the English mis- 
 sion ; for by reason of the weakness 
 of my health, and some use I was of 
 in the college, owing to my acquaint- 
 anceship with the French and the Eng- 
 lish languages. Dr. Allen was loth 
 o permit my departure. I crossed 
 vhe seas in a small merchant-vessel, 
 and landed at Lynn. The port-offi- 
 cers searched me to the skin, and 
 found nothing on me ; but one Sledd, 
 an informer, which had met me in an 
 inn at Honfleur, where I had lodged 
 for some days before sailing for Eng- 
 land, had taken my marks very pre- 
 cisely ; and arriving in London some 
 time before I landed in Norfolk, hav- 
 ing been stayed by contrary winds in 
 my longer passage, he there presented 
 my name and marks ; upon which the 
 queen's council sent to the searchers 
 of the ports. These found the said 
 marks very apparent in me ; but for 
 the avoiding of charges, the mayor of 
 the place, one Mr. Alcock, and Raw- 
 lins the searcher, requested a gentle- 
 nan which had landed at the same 
 ime with me, and who called himself 
 Haward, to carry me as a prisoner 
 to the lord-lieutenant of the county. 
 He agreed very easily thereunto; but 
 as soon as we were out of the town, 
 ' I cannot,' says this gentleman, < in 
 
 conscience, nor will not, being myself 
 a Catholic, deliver you, a Catholic 
 priest, prisoner to the lord-lieutenant. 
 But we will go straight to Norwich, 
 and when we come there, shift for 
 yourself, as I will do for myself.' 
 
 " Coming to Norwich, I went imme- 
 diately to one of the gaols, and confer- 
 red with a Catholic, a friend of mine, 
 which by chance I found out to be 
 there imprisoned for recusancy. I re- 
 counted to him the order of my ap- 
 prehension and escape; and he told 
 me that in conscience I could not 
 make that escape, and persuaded me 
 I ought to yield myself prisoner; 
 whereupon I went to my friend Haw- 
 ard, whom, through the aforesaid 
 Catholic prisoner, I found to be no 
 other than Dr. Ely, a professor ol 
 canon and civil law at Douay. I re- 
 quested him to deliver to me the 
 mayor's letter to the lord-lieutenant. 
 * Why, what will you do with it ? ' 
 said he. 'I will go,' I said, 'and 
 carry it to him, and yield myself a 
 prisoner ; for I am not satisfied I can 
 make this escape in conscience, hav- 
 ing had a contrary opinion thereon.' 
 And I told him what that prisoner 1 
 had just seen had urged. ' Why,* 
 said Haward, * this counsel which 
 hath been given you proceedeth, I 
 confess, from a zealous mind ; but I 
 d^ubt whether it carrieth with it the 
 weight of knowledge. You shall not 
 have the letter, nor you may not in 
 conscience yield yourself to the perse- 
 cutors, having so good means offered 
 to escape their cruelty.' But as I 
 still persisted in my demand, ' Well,' 
 said Mr. Haward, 'seeing you will 
 not be turned by me from this opinion, 
 let us go first and consult with such a 
 man,' and he named one newly come 
 over, Avho was concealed at the house 
 of a Catholic not very far off. This 
 was a man of singular wit and learn- 
 ing, and of such rare virtues that I 
 honored and reverenced him greatly, . 
 which Mr. Haward perceiving, he 
 said, with a smile, ' If he be of your 
 opinion, you shall have the letter, and . 
 go iu God's name ! * When we came 
 
1 62 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 to him. \\2 utterly dislikctl of my in- 
 tention, and dissuaded mc from Avhat 
 he said was a fond cogitation. So 
 being assuaged, I went quietly about 
 my business, and travelled for the 
 space of more than a year from one 
 Catholic house to another in Norfolk 
 and Suffolk, ministering the sacra- 
 ments to recusants, and reconciUng 
 many to the Church, which, from fear 
 or lack of instruction or spiritual 
 counsel, or only indifferency, had con- 
 formed to the times. Methinks, 
 daughter Constance, for one such year 
 a man should be willing to lay down a 
 thousand lives, albeit, or rather be- 
 cause, as St. Paul saith, he be ^ in 
 journeyings often, in perils from his 
 own nation, in perils from false breth- 
 ren' (oh, how true and applicable do 
 these words prove to the Catholics of 
 this land!), 'in perils in the city, in 
 perils of the wilderness, in perils of 
 the sea.' And if it pleases God now 
 to send me labors of another sort, so 
 that I may be in prisons frequently, in 
 tripes above measure, and, finally, in 
 death itself, his true sei-vant, — oh, be- 
 lieve me, my good child, the right fair 
 house 1 once had, with its library and 
 garden and orchard, and everything 
 so handsome about us, and the compa- 
 ny of thy sweet mother, and thy win- 
 some childish looks of love, never 
 gave me so much heartfelt joy and 
 comfort as the new similitude I expe- 
 rience, and greater I hope to come, to 
 my loved and only Master's sufferings 
 and death ! " 
 
 At this time of his recital my tears 
 flowed abundantly ; but with an im- 
 parted sweetness, which, like a reflect- 
 ed light, shone from his soul on mine. 
 But to stay my weeping he changed 
 his tone, and said with good cheer : 
 
 " Come now, my wench, I will 
 presently make thee merry by the re- 
 •ital of a strait in which I once found 
 nyself, and which maketh me to laugli 
 lO think on it, albeit at the time, I 
 warrant thee, it was like to prove no 
 laughable matter. It happened that 
 year I speak of that I was once se- 
 cretly sent for by a courtlike gentle- 
 
 man of good wealth that had lived \\ 
 much bravery, and was then sick and 
 lying in great pain. He had fallen 
 into a vehement agitation and deep 
 study of tlie life to come ; and there- 
 upon called for a priest — for in mind 
 and opinion he was Catholic — that lie 
 might learn from him to die well. 
 According to the custom of the 
 Church, I did admonish him, among 
 other things, that if he had any way 
 hurt or injured any man, or unjustly 
 possessed other 'men's goods, ho 
 should go about by-and-by to make 
 restitution according to his ability. 
 He agreed to do so, and called to 
 mind that he had taken away some- 
 thing from a certain Calvinist, under 
 pretence of law indeed, but not under 
 any good assurance for a Catholic 
 conscience to trust to. Thareforc he 
 took order for restitutioti to be made, 
 and died. The widow, his wife, was 
 very anxious to accomplish her hus- 
 band's will ; but being afraid to com- 
 mit the matter to any one, her per- 
 plexed mind was entangled in briers 
 of doubtfulness. She one day declar- 
 ed her grief unto me, and beseeched 
 me, for God's sake, to help her witli 
 my counsel and travail. So, seeing 
 her distress, I proffered to put myselt 
 in any peril that might befall in the 
 doing of this thing ; but, indeed, per- 
 suaded myself that no man would be 
 so perverse as of a benefit to desin^ 
 revengement. Therefore committing 
 the matter to God, I mounted on 
 hoi*seback, and away I went on my 
 journey. AVhiBn I camo to the town 
 where the man did dwell to whom the 
 money was to be delivered, I set uj) 
 my horse in the next inn, that I might 
 be readier at hand to scape immedi- 
 ately after my business was despatch- 
 ed. I then went to the creditor's 
 house, and called the man forth alone, 
 taking him by the hand and leading 
 him aside from the company of others. 
 Then I declared to him that I hail 
 money for him, which I wo'ild deliver 
 into his hands with this condition, that 
 he inquired no further cithiir who sent 
 or who brought it unto him, or what 
 
Constance Shencood. 
 
 163 
 
 the cause an.d matter was, but only 
 receive the money and use it as liis 
 own. The old fellow promised fair, 
 and with a good will gave his word 
 faithfully so to do, and with many 
 thanks sent me away. "With all the 
 speed I was able to make, I hastened 
 to mine host's house, for to catch hold 
 of my horse and fly away. But 
 forthwith the deceitful old fellow be- 
 trayed me, and sent men after to ap- 
 prehend rae, not supposing me this time 
 to be a priest, but making the surmise 
 against me that forsooth I was not a 
 man but a devil, which had brought 
 money of mine own making to be- 
 witch him. All the people of the 
 town, when they heard- the rumor, 
 confirmed the argument, with this 
 proof among others, that I had a 
 black horse, and gave orders for to 
 watch the animal diligently, whether 
 he did eat hay as other horses, or no. 
 As for me, they put a horse-lock 
 about my leg, shut me up close in a 
 strong chamber, and appointed a fel- 
 low to be with me continually, night 
 and day, which should watch if I did 
 put off my boots at any time, and if 
 my feet were like horses' feet, or that 
 I was cloven-footed, or had feet sht 
 and forked as beasts have ; for this 
 they affirmed to be a special mark 
 whereby to know the devil when he 
 lieth lurking under the shape and 
 likeness of a man. Then the people 
 assembled about the house in great 
 numbers, and proffered money largely 
 that they might see this monster with 
 their own eyes ; for by this time they 
 were persuaded that I was indeed an 
 ill spirit, or the very devil. * For 
 what man was ever heard of,' said 
 they, 'which, if he had the mind, 
 understanding, and sense of a man, 
 would, of his own voluntary will, and 
 without any respect or consideration 
 at all, give or proffer such a sum of 
 money to a man utterly unknown ?' 
 God knoweth what should have en- 
 sued if some hours later it had not 
 chanced that Sir Henry Stafford did 
 ride into the town, and, seeing a great 
 concourse of people at the door of the 
 
 inn, he stopped to inq[uire into the 
 cause; which when it was related to 
 him, he said he was a magistrate, and 
 should himself examine, face to face, 
 this limb of Satan. So I was taken 
 before him into the parlor ; and being 
 alone with him, and knowing liini 
 to be well-disposed in religion, albe'.t 
 conforming to the times, I exj^laineJ 
 in a general manner what sort of an 
 errand had brought me to that place. 
 Methinks he guessed me to be a 
 priest, although he said nothing there- 
 on, but only licenssd me to depart and 
 go away whither I would, himself let- 
 ting me out of the house through a 
 back-door. I have heard since that 
 he harangued the people from the bal- 
 cony, and told them, that whilst he 
 was examining me a strong smell of 
 sulphur had come into the chamber, 
 and a pack of devils carried me off 
 through the window into the air; and 
 he doubted not I had by that time re- 
 turned to mine own lodging in hell. 
 Which he did, I knew, for to prevent 
 their pursuing me and using such vio- 
 lence as he might not have had mean>5 
 to hinder." 
 
 '• It was not, then," I asked, " on 
 this occasion you were apprehended 
 and taken to Wisbeach ?" 
 
 '• No," he answered ; " nor indeed 
 can I b3 said to have been apprehend* 
 ed at all, for it happened in this wise 
 that I became a prisoner. I was one 
 day in Norwich, whither I had gone 
 to baptize a child, and, as Providence 
 would have it, met with Ha ward, by 
 whose means I had been set at liberty 
 one year before. After ordinary salu- 
 tations, he said to me, ' Mr. TiinstaH' 
 (for by that name only he knew me), 
 ' the host of the inn where you were 
 taken last year says I have undone 
 him, by suffering the prisoner I had 
 promised to deliver to escape ; for he 
 having been my surety with the may- 
 or, he is threatened with eight months' 
 imprisonment, or the payment of a 
 large fine. He hath come to this 
 town for to seek me, and hath seized 
 upon me on this charge ; so that I be 
 only at liberty for six hours, for I 
 
164 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 promised that I would bring you to 
 him by four o'clock (a Catholic mer- 
 cliant yielding him security thereof), 
 or else that I should deliver him my 
 body again. ' I am content/ he said, 
 * so that I have one of you two.' So 
 either you, Mr. Tunstall, or I, must 
 needs go to prison. You know my 
 state and condition, and may guess 
 how I shall be treated, if once I ap- 
 pear under my right name before 
 them. You know, also, your own 
 state. Now, it is in your choice 
 whether of us shall go ; for one must 
 go ; there is no remedy ; and to force 
 you I will not, for I had rather 
 sustain any punishment whatsoever.' 
 ' Now God be blessed,' I cried, ' that 
 he hath thrown me in your way at 
 this time, for I should never while I 
 lived have been without scruple if 
 you had gone to prison in my stead. 
 Nothing grieveth me in this but that I 
 have not finished off some business I 
 had in this town touching a person in 
 some distress of mind.' ' Why,' said 
 Haward, ' it is but ten o'clock yet ; 
 you may despatch your business by 
 four of the clock, and then you may 
 go to the sign of the Star and inquire 
 for one Mr. Andrews, the lord-lieu- 
 tenant's deputy, and to him you may 
 surrender yourself.' 'So I will,' I 
 said ; and so we parted. At four of 
 the clock I surrendered myself, and 
 was straightway despatched to Wis- 
 beach Castle, where I remained for 
 three months. A message reached 
 me there that a Catholic which had 
 led a very wicked life, and was lying 
 on his death-bed, was almost beside 
 himself for that he could get no priest 
 to come to him. The person which 
 delivered this advertisement left some 
 ropes with me, by which means I 
 escaped out of the window into 
 the moat with such damage to ray 
 hands that I was like to lose the use 
 of them, and perhaps of my life, if 
 these wounds had mortifi(»Ll before 
 good Lady TP^strangc dressed them. 
 But I reached the poor sinner, which 
 liad proved the occasion of my escap- 
 ing, in time for to give him absolution, 
 
 and from Mr. Rugeley's house visited 
 many Catholics in that neighborhood. 
 The rest is well known to thee, my 
 good child. ..." 
 
 As he was speaking these words 
 the door of the cell opened, and the 
 gaoler advertised me I could tarry nc 
 longer; so, with many blessings, my 
 dear father dismissed me, and I went 
 home with Mr. Congleton and Hubert, 
 who anxiously inquired what his an- 
 swer had been to the proposal I had 
 carried to him. 
 
 "A most resolved denial of the con- 
 ditions attached to it," I said, "joined 
 to many grateful acknowledgments 
 to Sir Francis and to you also for 
 your efforts in his favor." 
 
 " 'Tis madness !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yea," I answered, " such madness 
 as the heathen governor did charge St. 
 Paul with." 
 
 And so no more passed between us 
 whilst we rode back to Holborn. Mr. 
 Congleton put questions to me touch- 
 ing my father's health and his looks, 
 —if he seemed of good cheer, and 
 spoke merrily as he used to do ; and 
 then we all continued silent. When 
 we arrived at Ely Place, Hubert re- 
 fused to come into the house, but de- 
 tained me on the outward steps, as if 
 desirous to converse with me alone. 
 Thinking I had spoken to him in the 
 coach in an abrupt manner which sa- 
 vored of ingratitude, I said more gen- 
 tly, " I am very much beholden to 
 you, Hubert, for your well-meaning 
 toward my father." 
 
 " I would fain continue to help you," 
 he answered in an agitated voice. 
 " Constance," he exclaimed, after a 
 pause, " your father is in a very dan- 
 gerous plight." 
 
 " I know it," said I, quickly ; " but 
 I know, too, he is resolved and con- 
 tent to die rather than swerve an inch 
 from his duty to God and his Church." 
 
 " But," quoth he then, " do you 
 wish to save him ?" 
 
 I looked at him amazed. " Wish 
 it ! God knoweth that to see him in 
 safety I would have my hand cut off, 
 —yea, and my head also." 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 165 
 
 " What, and rob him of his expect- 
 ant crown — the martyr's pahn, and all 
 the rest of it ?" he said, with a per- 
 ceptible sneer. 
 
 *' Hubert !" I passionately exclaim- 
 ed, '• you are invesdgable to me ; you 
 chill ray soul with your half-uttered 
 sentences and uncertain meanings ! 
 Once, I remember, you could speak 
 nobly, — yea, and feel so too, as much 
 as any one. Heaven shield you be 
 not wholly changed !" 
 
 " Changed !" quoth he, in a low 
 voice, ''I am changed;" and then 
 abruptly altering his manner, and 
 leaving me in doubt as to the change 
 he did intend to speak of, he pressed 
 me to take no measures touching my 
 father's release till he had spoken 
 with me again ; for he said if his real 
 name became known, or others dealt 
 in the matter, all hope on Sir Francis's 
 side should be at an end. He then 
 asked me if I had heard of Basil late- 
 ly. I told him of the letter I had had 
 from him at Kenninghall some weeks 
 back. He said a report had reached 
 him that he had landed at Dover and 
 was coming to London ; but he hoped 
 it was not true, for that Sir Henry 
 Stafford was very urgent he should 
 continue abroad till the expiration of 
 his wardship. 
 
 I said, " If he was returned, it must 
 surely be for some sufficient cause, 
 but that I had heard nothing thereof, 
 and had no reason to expect it." 
 
 " But you would know it, I presume, 
 if he was in London ?" he urged. I 
 misliked his manner, which always 
 put me in mind of one in the dark, 
 which feeleth his way as he advances, 
 and goeth not straight to the point. 
 
 " Is Basil in England ?" I inquired, 
 fixing mine eyes on him, and with a 
 flutter at my heart from the thought 
 that it should be possible. 
 
 '' I heard he was," he answered in 
 a careless tone ; " but I think it not 
 to be true. If he should come whilst 
 this matter is in hand, I do conjure 
 you, Constance, if you value your 
 father's existence and Basil's also, let 
 him not into this secret." 
 
 "Wherefore not.'^" I quickly an- 
 swered. " Why should one meet to 
 be trusted, and by me above all othc:* 
 persons in the world, be kept ignorant 
 of what so nearly doth touch me ?" 
 
 " Because," he said, " there i.3 r. 
 rashness in his nature whldi will as- 
 suredly cause him to run headlong in- 
 to danger if not forcibly withheld from 
 the occasions of it." 
 
 "I have seen no tokens of yuch 
 rashness as you speak of in him," I re- 
 plied ; " only of a boldness such a:3 
 well becomes a Christian and a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Constance Sherwood !" Hubert 
 exclaimed, and seized hold of my 
 hand with a vehemency which caused 
 me to start, " I do entreat you, yea, 
 on my bended knees, if needs be, I 
 will beseech you to beware of that in- 
 domitable and resolved spirit which 
 sets at defiance restraint, prudence, 
 pity even ; which leads you to brave 
 your friends, spurn wholesome coun- 
 sel, rush headlong into perils which I 
 forewarn you do hang thickly about 
 your path. If I can conjure them, I 
 care not by what means, I will do s 3 ; 
 but for the sake of all jou do hoLl 
 dear, curb your natural impetuosity, 
 which may prove the undoing of those 
 you most desire to serve." 
 
 There was a plausibility in this 
 speech, and in mine own knowledge of 
 myself some sort of a confirmation of 
 what he did charge me with, which in- 
 clined me somewhat to diffide of mine 
 own judgment in this matter, and not 
 to turn a wholly deaf ear to his adver- 
 tisement. He had the most persuas- 
 ive tongue in the world, and a rare 
 art at representing things under what- 
 ever aspect he chose. He dealt so 
 cunningly therein with me that day, 
 and used so many ingenious argu- 
 ments, that I said I should be very 
 careful how I disclosed anything to 
 Basil or any one else touching my fa- 
 ther's imprisonment, who Mr. Tunstad 
 was, and my near concern in his fate ; 
 but would give no promise thereupon : 
 so he was forced to content himself 
 with as much as he could obtain, a;iJ 
 
 I 
 
i66 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 withdrew himself for that day, he 
 said ; but promised to return on the 
 morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIT. 
 
 • 
 
 When at last I entered the house 
 I sought Mistress Ward ; for I desir- 
 c:i to hear what assistance she had 
 procured for the escape of the prison- 
 ers, and to inform her of my father's 
 resolved purpose not himself to at- 
 tempt this flight, albeit commending 
 her for moving Mr. Watson to it and 
 assisting him therein. Not finding 
 her in the parlor, nor in her bed- 
 chamber, I opened the door of my 
 aunt's room, who was now very weak, 
 and yet more so in mind than in body. 
 She was lying with her eyes shut, 
 and Mistress Ward standing by her 
 bedside. I marked her intent gaze on 
 the aged, placid face of the poor lady, 
 and one tear I saw roll down her 
 cheek. Then she stooped to kiss her 
 forehead. A noise I made with the 
 liandle of the door caused her to turn 
 round, and hastening toward me, she 
 took me by the liand and led me to 
 her chamber, where Muriel was fold- 
 ing some biscuits and cakes in paper 
 and stowing thom in a basket. The 
 thought came to me of the first day I 
 had arrived in London, and the com- 
 fort I had found in this room, when 
 all except her were strangers to me in 
 that house. She sat down betwixt 
 Muriel and me, and smiling, said : 
 " Now, mine own dear children, for 
 such my heart holds you both to be, 
 and ever will whilst I live, I am come 
 here for to tell you that I purpose not 
 to return to this house to-night, nor 
 can I foresee when, if ever, I shall be 
 free to do so." 
 
 " O, what dismal news !" I exclaim- 
 ed, " and more sad than I did ex- 
 pect." 
 
 Muriel said nothing, but lifting her 
 hand to her lips kissed it. 
 
 "You both know," she continued, 
 " that in order to save one in cruel 
 risk and temptation of apostasy, and 
 
 others perhaps, also, whom his possi- 
 ble speaking should imperil, I bo 
 about to put myself in some kind of 
 danger, who of all persons in the world 
 possess the best right to do so, as hav- 
 ing neither parents, or husband, or 
 children, or any on earth who depend 
 on my care. Yea, it is true," she 
 added, fixing her eyes on Muriel's 
 composed, but oh how sorrowful, 
 countenance, " none dependent on my 
 care, albeit some very dear to me, and 
 which hang on me, and I on them, in the 
 way of fond affection. God knowe th my 
 heart, and that it is very closely and 
 tenderly entwined about each one in 
 this house. Good Mr. Congleton and 
 your dear mother, who hath clung to 
 me so long, though I thank God not 
 so much of late by reason of the 
 weakening of her mind, which hath 
 ceased greatly to notice changes about 
 her, and you, Constance, my good 
 child, since your coming hither a little 
 lass commended to my keeping. . . 
 . ." There she stopped, and I felt 
 she could not name Muriel, or then 
 so much as look on her; for if ever 
 two souls were bound together by an 
 unperishable bond of affection, begun 
 on earth to last in heaven, tiieirs 
 were so united. I ween Muriel was 
 already acquainted with her purpose, 
 for she asked no questions thereon ; 
 whereas I exclaimed, " I do very well 
 knoVr, good Mistress Ward, what perils 
 you do run in this charitable enter- 
 prise ; but wherefore, I pray you, this 
 final manner of parting? God's provi- 
 dence may shield you from harm in 
 this passage, and, indeed, human prob- 
 ability should lead us to hope for 
 your safety if becoming precautions be 
 observed. Then why, 1 say, this cer- 
 tain farewell?" 
 
 " Because," she answered, " what- 
 ever comes of this night's enterprise, 
 I return not to this house." 
 
 " And wherefore not ?" I cried ; 
 " this is indeed a ciniel resolve, a hard 
 misfortune." 
 
 " Heretofore," she answered, " I 
 had noways offended against the laws 
 of the country, except in respect 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 167 
 
 of recusancy, wherein all here arc 
 alike involved; but by mine act to- 
 night I do expose myself to so seri- 
 ous a charge (conscience obliging me 
 to prefer the law of divine charity to 
 that of human authority), that I may 
 at any time and without the least hope 
 of mercy be exposed to detection and 
 apprehension; and so am resolved 
 not to draw down sorrow and obloquy 
 on the gray hairs of my closest friends 
 and on your young years such perils 
 as I do willingly in mine own person 
 incur, but would not have others to be 
 involved in. Therefore I will lodge, 
 leastwise for a time, with one who 
 feareth not any more than I do perse- 
 cution, who hath no ties and little or 
 nothing on earth to lose, and if she 
 had would willingly yield it a thou- 
 sand times over for to save a soul for 
 whom Christ died. Nor will I have 
 you privy, my dear children, to the 
 place of mine abode, that if question- 
 ed on it you may with truth Jiver 
 yourselves to be ignorant thereof. 
 And now," she said, turning to me, 
 •• is Mr. Sherwood willing for to try to 
 (iscapc by the same means as Mr. 
 Watson ? for methinks I have found 
 a way to convey to him a cord, and, 
 by means of the management he 
 knoweth of instructions how to use it." 
 "Nay," I answered, "he will not 
 himself avail himself of this means, 
 albeit he is much rejoiced you have it 
 in hand for Mr. Watson's deliverance 
 from his tormentors; and he doth 
 pray fervently for it to succeed." 
 
 " Everything promiseth well," she 
 replied. "I dealt this day with an 
 honest Catholic boatman, a servant of 
 Mr. Hodgson, who is willing to assist 
 in it. Two men are needed for to 
 row the boat with so much speed as 
 shall be necessary to carry it quick- 
 ly beyond reach of pursuers. Pic 
 knoweth none of his own craft which 
 should be reliable or else disposed to 
 risk the enterprise; but he says at a 
 house of resort for Catholics which he 
 doth frequent, he chanced to fall in 
 with a young gentleman, lately landed 
 from France, whom he doth make sure 
 
 will lend hi.i aid in it. As dextrous a 
 man," he saith, "to handle an oar, and 
 of as courageous a spirit, as can be 
 found in England." 
 
 As soon as she had uttered these 
 words, I thought of what Hubert had 
 said touching a report of Basil being 
 in London and of his rashness in 
 plunging into dangers ; a cold shiver 
 ran through me. " Did li3 tell you 
 this gentleman's name ?" I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered, " he would 
 not mention it; but only that he was 
 one who could be trusted with the 
 lives of ten thousand persons, and so 
 zealous a Catholic he would any day 
 risk his life to do some good ocrviLie to 
 a priest." 
 
 "And hath this boatman promised," 
 I inquired, "to wait for Mr. Watson 
 and convey him away ?" 
 
 " Yea, most strictly, " she aiisTvcred, 
 " at twelve o'clock of the night he and 
 his companion shall approach a" boat 
 to the side of some scaffolding which 
 Ueth under the wall of the prison 
 and when the clock of the towe* 
 striketh, Mr. Watson shall ope 1 hi. 
 window, the bars of which lie hath 
 found it possible to remove, and by 
 means of the cord, which is of the 
 length he measured should be neces- 
 sary, he will let himself down on the 
 planks, whence he can step into the 
 boat, and be carried to a place of con- 
 cealment in a close part of the city 
 till it shall be convenient for him to 
 cross the sea to France." 
 
 " Must you go ?" I said, seeing her 
 rise, and feeling a dull hard heaviness 
 at my heart which did well-nigh im- 
 pede my utterance. I was not will- 
 ing to let her know the fear I had 
 conceived ; " of what use should it be," 
 I inwardly argued, " to disturb her in 
 the discharge of her perilous task by 
 a surmise which might prove ground- 
 less ; and, indeed, were it certainlj 
 true, could she, nay, would she, altei 
 her intent, or could I so much as ask 
 her to do it?" Whilst, with Muriel's 
 assistance, she concluded the packing 
 of her basket, wherein the weighty 
 cord was concealed in an ingenious 
 
1 68 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 manner, I stood by -watching the do- 
 ing of it, fearing to see her depart, yet 
 unable to think of any means by 
 Avhich to delay that which I could not, 
 even if I had willed it, prevent. 
 When the last contents were placed 
 in the basket, and Muriel was press- 
 ing down the lid, 1 said : " Do you, 
 perad venture, know the name of the 
 inn where you said that gentleman 
 doth tarry which the boatman spake 
 of?" 
 
 "No," she replied; "nor so much 
 as where the good boatman himself 
 lodgeth. I met with him at Mr. 
 Hodgson's house, and there made this 
 agreement." 
 
 " But if," I said, " it should happen 
 by any reason that Mr. Watson 
 changed his mind, how should you, 
 then, inform him of it ?" 
 
 " In that case," she answered, " he 
 would hang a white kerchief outside 
 his window, by which they should be 
 advertised to withdraw themselves. 
 And now," she added, " I have always 
 been of the way of thinking that fare- 
 wells should be brief; and ' God speed 
 you,' and ' God bless you,' enough for 
 those which do hope, if it shall please 
 God, on earth, but for a surety in 
 heaven, to meet again." 
 
 So, kissing us both somewhat hur- 
 riedly, she took up her basket on her 
 arm, and said she shjould send a mes- 
 senger on the morrow for her clothes ; 
 at which Muriel, for the first time, 
 shed some tears, which was an instance 
 of what I have often noticed, that 
 grief, howsoever heavy, doth not al- 
 ways overflow in the eyes unless some 
 familiar words or homely circumstance 
 doth substantiate the verity of a sor- 
 row known indeed, but not wholly ap- 
 parent till its common effects be seen. 
 Then we two sat awhile alone in that 
 empty chamber — empty of her which 
 for so long years had tenanted it to 
 our no small comfort and benefit. 
 When the light waned, Muriel lit a 
 candle, and said she must go for to 
 attend on her mother, for that duty 
 did now devolve chiefly on her ; and I 
 could see in her sad but composed face 
 
 the conquering peace which doth ex- 
 ceed all human consolation. 
 
 For mine own part, I was so un- 
 hinged by doubtful suspense that I 
 lacked ability to employ my mind in 
 reading or my fingers in stitch-work ; 
 and so descended for relief into tiie 
 garden, where I wandered to and fro 
 like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest 
 but finding none. The dried shaking 
 leaves made a light noise in falling, 
 which caused me each time to think I 
 heard a footstep behind me. And de- 
 spite the increasing darkness, after I 
 had paced up and down for near unto 
 an hour, some one verily did come 
 walking along the alley where I was, 
 seeking to overtake me. Turning 
 round I perceived it to be mine own 
 dear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, 
 what great comfort I experienced in 
 the sight of this good man ! How 
 eager was my greeting of him ! How 
 full my heart as I poured into hi^ ear 
 the narrative of the passages which 
 had befallen me since v/e had met! 
 Of the most weighty he knew some- 
 what ; but nothing of the last haunting 
 fear I had lest my dear Basil should 
 be in London, and this very night en- 
 gaged in the perilous attempt to carry 
 off Mr. Watson. When I told him oF 
 it, he started and exclaimed : 
 
 " God defend it !" but quickly cor- 
 rected himself and cried, " God's mer- 
 cy, that my first feeling should have 
 led me to think rather of Basil's safe- 
 ty than of the fine spirit he showed in 
 all instances where a good action had 
 to be done, or a service rendered to 
 those in aflliction." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Roper," I said, as he 
 led me back to the house and into the 
 solitary parlor (where my uncle now 
 seldom came, but remained sitting 
 alone in his, library, chiefly engaged 
 in praying and reading), "I do con- 
 demn mine own weakness in this, and 
 pray God to give me strength for 
 what may come upon us ; but I do 
 promise you 'tis no easy matter to 
 carry always so high a heart that it 
 shall not sink with human fears and 
 griefs in such passages as these." 
 
Constance SJierwood. 
 
 169 
 
 " My dear," the good man answer- 
 ed, " God knoweth 'tis no easy matter 
 to attain to the courage you speak of. 
 I have myself seen the sweetest, the 
 lovingest, and the most brave creature 
 which ever did breathe give marks of 
 extraordinary sorrow when her father, 
 that generous martyr of Christ, was 
 to die." 
 
 " I pray you tell me," I answered, 
 " what her behavior was like in that 
 trial ; for to converse on such themes 
 doth allay somewhat the torment of 
 suspense, and I may learn lessons 
 from her example, who, you say, join- 
 ed to natural weakness so courageous 
 a spirit in like straits." 
 
 Upon which he, willing to divert 
 and yet not violently change the cur- 
 rent of my thoughts, spake as fol- 
 io we th : 
 
 " On the day when Sir Thomas 
 More came from Westminster to the 
 Tower-ward, my wife, desirous to see 
 her father, whom she thought she 
 should never see in this world after, 
 and also to have his final blessing, 
 gave attendance about the wharf where 
 she knew he should pass before he 
 could enter into the Tower. As soon 
 as she saw him, after his blessing up- 
 on her knees reverently received, 
 hastening toward him without care or 
 consideration of herself, passing in 
 amongst the throng and company of 
 the guard, she ran to him and took 
 him about the neck and kissed him ; 
 who, well liking her most natural and 
 dear daughterly affection toward him, 
 gave her his fatherly blessing and 
 godly words of comfort beside ; from 
 whom, after she was departed, not 
 satisfied with the former sight of him, 
 and like one that had forgotten her- 
 self, being all ravished with the en- 
 tire love of her father, suddenly turn- 
 ed back again, ran to him as before, 
 took him about the neck, and divers 
 times kissed him lovingly, till at last, 
 with a full and heavy heart, she was 
 fain to depart from him ; the behold- 
 ing thereof was to many that were 
 present so lamentable, and mostly so 
 to me, that for very sorrow we could 
 
 not forbear to weep with her. The 
 wife of John Harris, Sir Thomas's 
 secretary, was moved to such a trans- 
 port of grief, that slie suddenly flew to 
 his neck and kissed him, as he ha:l 
 reclined his head on his daughter's 
 shoulder ; and lie who, in the midst 
 of the greatest straits, had ever a 
 merry manner of speaking, cried, 
 * This is kind, albeit rather unpolitelvr 
 done.' " 
 
 " And the day he suffered/' I asked, 
 "what was this good daughter's be- 
 havior ?" 
 
 "She went," quoth he, "to the dif- 
 ferent churches, and distributed abun- 
 dant alms to the poor. When she had 
 given all her money away, she with- 
 drew to pray in a certain church, 
 where she on a sudden did remember 
 she had no linen in which to wrap ujv 
 her father's body. Slie had heard 
 that the remains of the Bishop of 
 Rochester had been thrown into th? 
 ground, without priest, cross, lights, oi* 
 shroud, for the dread of the king had 
 prevented his relations from attomp:- 
 ing to bury him. But Margaret re- 
 solved her father's body should not 
 meet with such unchristian treatment. 
 Her maid advised her to buy some 
 linen in the next shop, albeit having 
 given away all her money to the poor, 
 there was no likelihood she should get 
 credit from strangers. She ventured, 
 howsoever, and having agreed about 
 the price, she put her hand in her 
 pocket, which she knew was empty, 
 to show she forgot the money, and ask 
 credit under that pretence. But to 
 her surprise, she found in her purse 
 the exact price of the linen, neither 
 more or less ; and so buried the mar- 
 tyr of Christ with honor, nor was 
 there any one so inhuman found as to 
 hinder her." 
 
 " Mr. Roper," I said, when he had 
 ended his recital, " methinks this an- 
 gelic lady's trial was most hard : bu 
 how much harder should it yet have 
 been if you, her husband, had been 
 in a like peril at that time as her 
 father?" 
 
 A half kind of melancholy, half 
 
I/O 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 smiling look came into the good old 
 man's face as he answered : 
 
 " Her father was Sir Thomas More, 
 and he so worthy of a daughter's pas- 
 sionate love, and the aiffection betwixt 
 them so entire and absolute, com- 
 pounded of filial love on her part, un- 
 mitigated reverence, and unrestrain^ed 
 confidence, that there was left in her 
 heart no great space for wifely doat- 
 ing. But to be moderately affectioned 
 by such a woman, and to stand next 
 in her esteem to her incomparable 
 father, was of greater honor and worth 
 to her unworthy husband, than should 
 have been the undivided, yea idola- 
 trous, love of one not so perfect as 
 herself." 
 
 After a pause, during whicli his 
 tlioughts, I ween, reverted to the past, 
 and mine investigated mine own soul, 
 I said to Mr. Roper : 
 
 " Think you, sir, that love to be 
 idolatrous which is indeed so absolute 
 that it should be no difficulty to die for 
 him who doth inspire it ; which would 
 prefer a prison in his company, how- 
 soever dark and loathsome (yea con- 
 sider it a very paradise), to the beau- 
 tifullest palace in the world, which 
 without him would seem nothing but a 
 vile dungeon ; which should with a 
 good-will suffer all the torments in the 
 world for to see the object of its affec- 
 tion enjoy good men's esteem on earth, 
 and a noble place in heaven ; but 
 which should be, nevertheless, founded 
 and so wholly built up on a high esti- 
 mate of his virtues ; on the quality 
 he holdeth of God's servant ; on the 
 likeness of Christ stamped on his 
 soul, and each day exemplified in his 
 manner of living, that albeit to lose 
 his love or his company in this world 
 should be like the uprooting of all hap- 
 piness and turning the brightness of 
 noonday to the darkness of the night, 
 it should a thousand times rather en- 
 dure this mishap than that the least 
 shade or approach of a stain should 
 alter the unsullied opinion till then 
 lield of his perfections ?" 
 
 Mr. Roper smiled, and said that 
 was a too weighty question to answer 
 
 at once ; foi he shoidd be loth to con- 
 demn or yet altogether to absolve from 
 some degree of overweeningness such 
 an affection as I described, which did 
 seem indeed to savor somewhat of 
 excess ; but yet if noble in its uses 
 and held in subjection to the higher 
 claims of the Creator, whose perfec 
 tions the creature doth at best only 
 imperfectly mirror, it might be com- 
 mendable and a means of attaining 
 ourselves to the like virtues we dodted 
 on in another. 
 
 As he did utter these words a ser- 
 vant came into the parlor, and whis- 
 pered in mine ear : 
 
 " Master Basil Rookwood is outside 
 the door, and craves — " 
 
 I suffered him not to finish his 
 speech, but bounded into the hall, where 
 Basil was indeed standing with a trav- 
 eller's cloak on him, and a slouched 
 hat over his face. After such a greet- 
 ing as may be conceived (alas, all 
 greetings then did seem to combine 
 strange admixtures of joy and pain !), 
 I led him into the parlor, where Mr. 
 Roper in his turn received him with 
 fatherly words of kindness mixed with 
 amazement at his return. 
 
 " Anil whence," he exclaimed, " so 
 sudden a coming, my good Basil? 
 Verily, you do appear to have de- 
 scended from the skies !" 
 
 Basil looked &t me and replied : 
 " I heard in Paris, Mr. Roper, that a 
 gentleman in whom I do take a very 
 lively interest, one Mr. Tunstall, was 
 in prison at London ; and I bethought 
 me I could be of some service to him 
 by coming over at this time." 
 
 "O Basil," I cried, "do you the:i 
 know he is my father?" 
 
 " Yea," he joyfully answered, '• and 
 I am right glad you do know it also, 
 for then there is no occasion for any 
 feigning, which, albeit I deny it not to 
 be sometimes useful and necessary, 
 doth so ill agree with my bluntness, 
 that it keepeth me in constant fear of 
 stumbling in my speech. I was in a 
 manner forced to come over secretly ; 
 because if Sir Henry Stafford, who 
 Willeth mo to remain abroad till I have 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 171 
 
 got out of my wardship, sliouLl hear 
 of my being in London, and gain 
 scent of the object of my coming, he 
 Hhould liave dealt in all sorts of ways 
 to send me out of it. But, prithee, 
 dearest love, is Mrs. Ward in this 
 liousc ?" 
 
 ■' Alas I" I said, " she is gone hence. 
 Her mind is set on a very dangerous 
 vvnterprise." 
 
 "I know it," he saith (at which 
 word my heart began to sink) ; " but, 
 verily, I see not much danger to be in 
 it ; and methinks if we do succeed in 
 carrying off your good father and that 
 other priest to-night in the ingenious 
 manner she hath devised, it will be the 
 best night's work done by good heads, 
 good arms, and good oars which can 
 be thought of." 
 
 " Oh, then," I exclaimed, "it is even 
 as I feared, and you, Basil, have en- 
 gaged in this rash enterprise. O woe 
 the day you came to London, and met 
 with that boatman !" 
 
 " Constance," he said reproachfully, 
 '• should it be a woful day to thee the 
 one on which, even at some great risk, 
 which I deny doth exist in this in- 
 stance, I should aid in thy father's 
 rescue ?" 
 
 " Oh, but, my dear Basil," I cried, 
 " he doth altogether refuse to stir in 
 this matter. I have had speech with 
 him to-day, and he will by no means 
 attempt to escape again from prison. 
 He hath done it once for the sake of a 
 soul in jeopardy ; but only to save his 
 life, he is resolved not to involve 
 others in peril of theirs. And oh, how 
 confirmed he would be in his purpose 
 if he knew who it was who doth throw 
 himself into so great a risk ! I' faith, 
 I cannot and will not suffer it !" I ex- 
 claimed impetuously, for the sudden 
 joy of his presence, the sight of his 
 beloved countenance, lighted up with 
 an inexpressible look of love and kind- 
 ness, more beautiful than my poor 
 wordti can describe, worked in me a 
 rebellion against the thought of more 
 suffering, further parting, greater fears 
 than I had hitherto sustained. 
 
 He said, " He could wish my &ther 
 
 had been otncr-vlss disposed, for ta 
 have aided in hl3 escape should hr.vo 
 beea to him the greatest joy he could 
 think of; but that having promised 
 likewise to assist in Mr. VYatsoji's 
 flight, he would never fliil to do so, if 
 he was to die for it." 
 
 '• 'Tis very easy," I cried, '• to spoak 
 of dying, Basil, nor do I doubt tliat 
 to one of your courage and faith the 
 doing of it should have nothing very 
 terrible in it. But I pray you remera- 
 ber that that life, which you make so 
 little account of, is not now yours 
 alone to dispose of as you list. Mlnj, 
 dear Basil, is wrapped up with it ; for 
 if I lose you, I care not to live, or 
 what becomes of me, any more." 
 
 Mr. Roper said he should think 0:1 
 it well before he made this venture ; 
 for, as I had truly urged, I had a right 
 over him now, and he should not dis- 
 pose of himself aa one wholly free 
 might do. 
 
 "Dear sir," quoth ho i:i answer, 
 "my sweet Constance and you alio 
 might perhaps have prevailed with mo 
 some hours ago to forego this inten- 
 tion, before I had given a promise to 
 Mr. Hodgson's boatman, and through 
 him to Mistress Ward and Mr. Wat- 
 son ; I should then have been free to 
 refuse my assistance if I had listed ; 
 and albeit methinks in so doing I 
 should have played a pitiful part, none; 
 could justly have condemned me. But 
 I am assured neither her great heart 
 nor your honorable spirit would de- 
 sire me so much as to place in doubt 
 the fulfilment of a promise wherein 
 the safety of a man, and he one of 
 God's priests, is concerned. I pray 
 thee, sweetheart, say thou wouldst not 
 have me do it." 
 
 Alas ! this was the second time that 
 day my poor heart had been called 
 upon to raise itself higher than nature 
 can afford to reach. But the present 
 struggle was harder than the first. 
 My father had long been to me as a 
 distant angel, severed from my daily 
 life and any future hope in this world. 
 His was an expectant martyrdom, an 
 exile from his true home, a daily dy- 
 
i;2 
 
 Constance Shcrzaood. 
 
 ing on earth, tending hut to one do- 
 sii-ed end. Nature could be more 
 easily reconciled in the one case than 
 in the other to thoughts of parting. 
 Basil was my all, my second self, my 
 sole treasure, — the prop on which 
 rested youth's hopes, earth's joys, 
 life's sole comfort; and chance (as it 
 seemed, and men would have called 
 it), not a determined seeking, had 
 thrust on him this danger, and I must 
 needs see him plunged into it, and not 
 so much as say a word to stay him or 
 prevent it I was striv- 
 ing to constrain my lips to utter the 
 words my rebelling heart disavowed, 
 and he kneeling before me, with his 
 dear eyes fixed on mine, awaiting my 
 consent, when a loud noise of laugh- 
 ter in the hall caused us botk to start 
 up, and then the door was thrown 
 open, and Kate and Polly ran into 
 the room so gaily attired, the one in a 
 yellow and the other in- a crimson 
 gown bedecked with lace and jewels, 
 that nothing finer could be seen. 
 
 " Lackaday ! " Polly cried, when 
 she perceived Basil ; " who have we 
 here ? I scarce can credit mine eyes ! 
 Why , Sir Lover, methought you were 
 in France. By what magic come you 
 here ? Mr. Roper, your humble ser- 
 vant. 'Tis like you did not expect 
 so much good company to-night, Con, 
 for you have but one poor candle or 
 two to light up this dingy room, and 
 I fear there will not be light enough 
 for these gentlemen to see our fine 
 dresses, which we do wear for the 
 first time at Mrs, Yates's house this 
 evening.'* 
 
 " I thought you were both in the 
 country," I said, striving to disguise 
 how much their coming did discom- 
 pose me. 
 
 " Methinks," answered Polly, laugh- 
 ing," your wish was father to that 
 thought, Con, and that you desired 
 to have the company of this fine 
 gentleman to yourself alone, and Mr. 
 Roper's also, and no one else for to 
 disturb you. But, in good sooth, we 
 were both at Mr. Benham's seat in 
 Berkshire wlien we heard of this good 
 
 entertainment at so great a friend's 
 house, and so prevailed on our lords 
 and governors for to hire a coach and 
 bring us to London for one night. 
 We lie ai; Kate's house, and she and I 
 have supped on a cold capon and a 
 veal pie we brought with us, and Sir 
 Ralph and Mr. Lacy do sup at a tav- 
 ern in the Strand, and shall fetch us 
 here when it shall be convenient to 
 them to carry us to this grand ball, 
 which I would not have missed, no, 
 not for all the world. So I pray you 
 let us be merry till they do come, and 
 pass the time pleasantly." 
 
 " Ay," said Kate, in a lamentable 
 voice, " you would force me to dress 
 and go abroad, when I would sooner 
 be at home ; for John's stomach is 
 disordered, and baby doth cut her 
 teeth, and he pulled at my ribbons 
 and said I should not leave him ; and 
 beshrew me if I would have done 
 so, but for your overpersuading mc. 
 But you arc always so absolute ! I 
 wonder vou love not more to stay sit 
 home, Polly." 
 
 Basil smiled with a better hoart 
 than I could do, and said he- Avould 
 promise her John should sleep never 
 the less well for her absence, and she 
 should find baby's tooth through on 
 the morrow ; and sitting down by her 
 side, talked to her of her children 
 with a kindliness which never did for- 
 sake him. Mr. Roper set himself to 
 converse with Polly ; I ween for to 
 shield me from tlie torrent of her 
 words, which, as I sat between them, 
 seemed to buzz in mine ear without 
 any meaning; and yet I must needs 
 have heard them, for to this day I re- 
 member what they talked cf; — that 
 Polly said, " Have you seen the inge- 
 nious poesy which the queen's saucy 
 godson, the merry wit Harrington, 
 left behind her cushion on Wednes- 
 day, and now 'tis in every one's 
 hands?" 
 
 " Not in mine," quoth Mr. Roper ; 
 " 80, if your memory doth serve you. 
 Lady Ingoldsby, will you rehearse 
 it ? " which she did as follows ; and 
 albeit I only did hear tliosc lines 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 '^73 
 
 ihaL oiico, tlicy still remain i:i my 
 mind : 
 
 '• For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince, 
 You read a verse of mine a little since, 
 And so pronounced each word and everj' letter, 
 Your gracious reading graced my verse the 
 
 better ; 
 Sith then your highness doth by gift exceeding 
 Make what you read the better lor your read- 
 
 Let ray poor muse your pains thus far im- 
 portune, 
 
 Like as you read my verse— so read my for- 
 tune !" 
 
 •' 'Tis an artful and witty petition," 
 Mr. Roper observed ; " but I have 
 been told her majesty raislikes the 
 poet's satirical writings, and chiefly 
 the metamorphosis of Ajax." 
 
 " She signified," Polly answered, 
 *' some outward displeasure at it, but 
 Robert Markham affirms she likes 
 well the marrow of the book, and is 
 minded to take the author to her 
 favor, but sweareth she believes he 
 will make epigrams on her and all 
 her court. Howsoever, I do allow 
 she conceived much disquiet on being 
 told he had aimed a shaft at Leices- 
 ter. By the way, but you, cousin 
 Constance, should best know tiie truth 
 thereon" (this she said turning to me), 
 "'tis said that Lord Arundel is ex- 
 ceeding sick again, and like to die 
 very soon. Indeed his physicians are 
 of opinion, so report speaketh, that he 
 will not last many days now, for as 
 often as he hath rallied before." 
 
 " Yesterday," I said, " when I saw 
 Lady Surrey, he was no worse than 
 usual." 
 
 " Oh, have you heard," Polly cried, 
 running from one theme to another, as 
 was her wont, " that Leicester is about 
 to marry Lettice Knollys, my Lady 
 Essex?" 
 
 " 'Tis impossible," Basil exclaimed, 
 who was now listening to her speeches, 
 for Kate had finished her discourse 
 touching her Johnny's disease in his 
 stomach. The cause thereof, she 
 said, both herself thought, and all in 
 Mr. Benham's house did judge to 
 have been, the taking in the morning 
 a confection of barley sodden with 
 water and sugar, and made exceeding 
 thick with bread. This breakfast lost 
 
 him both his dinner and supper, and 
 siirelv the better half of his sleep; 
 but God be thanked, she hoped now 
 the worst was past, and that the dear 
 urchin would shortly be as merry and 
 well-disposed as afore he left London 
 Basil said he hoped so too ; and in a 
 pause which ensued, he heard Polly 
 speak of Lord Leicester's intended 
 marriage, which seemed to move him 
 to some sort of indignation, the (;ause 
 of which I only learnt many yeara 
 later; for that when Lady Douglaa 
 Howard's cause came before the Star- 
 Chamber, in his present majesty's 
 reign, he told me he had been privy, 
 through information received in 
 France, of her secret marriage with 
 that lord. 
 
 " 'Tis not impossible," Polly retort- 
 ed, " by the same token that the new 
 favorite, young Robert Devereux,mak- 
 eth no concealment of it, and calleth 
 my Lord Leicester his father elect. 
 But I pray you, what is impossible in 
 these days ? Oh, I think they are tho 
 most whimsical, entertaining day 
 which the world hath ever known ; 
 and the merriest, if people have a will 
 to make them so." 
 
 " Oh, Polly," I cried, unable to re- 
 strain myself, '• I pray God you may 
 never find cause to change your mind 
 thereon." 
 
 "Yea, amen to that prayer," quoth 
 she; "I'll promise you, my grave little 
 coz, that I have no mind to be sad till 
 I grow old — ^and there be yet some 
 years to come before that shall befall 
 me. When Mistress Helen Ingolds- 
 by shall reach to the height of ray 
 shoulder, then, methinks, I may begin 
 to take heed unto my ways. WhaE; 
 think you the little wench said to mc 
 yesterday ? ' What times is it we do 
 conform to, mother? dinner-times or 
 bed-times ? ' " " She should have been 
 answered, ' The devil's times,' " Basil 
 muttered ; and Kate told Polly she 
 should be ashamed to speak in her 
 father's house of the conformity she 
 practised when others were suffering 
 for their religion. And, methought, 
 albeit I had scarcely endured the jest- 
 
174 
 
 Constance Sherioood. 
 
 ing which head preceded it, I could 
 less bear any talk of religion, least- 
 Avays of that kind, just then. But, in 
 sooth, the constraint I suffered almost 
 overpassed my strength. There ap- 
 peared no hope of their going, and 
 they fell into an eager discourse con- 
 cerning the bear-baitiuj^ th.ey had been 
 to see in Berkshire, and a great sort 
 of ban-dogs, which had been tied in 
 an outer court, let loose on thirteen 
 bears that were baited in the inner ; 
 and my dear Basil, Avho doth delight 
 in all kinds of sports, listened eagerly 
 to the description they gave of this 
 diversion. Oh, how I counted the 
 minutes ! what a pressure weighted 
 my heart! how the sound of their 
 voices pained mine ears ! how long an 
 hour seemed! and yet too short for 
 my desires, for I feared the time must 
 soon come when Basil should go, and 
 lamented that these unthinking wo- 
 men's tarrying should rob me of all 
 possibility to talk with him alone. 
 Howsoever, when Mr. Roper rose to 
 depart, I followed him into the hall 
 and waited near the door for Basil, 
 who was bidding farewell to Kate and 
 Polly. I heard him beseech them to 
 do him so much favor as not to men- 
 tion they had seen him; for that he 
 had not informed Sir Henry Stafford 
 of his coming over from France, which 
 if he heard of it otherwise than from 
 himself, it should peradventure offend 
 him. They laughed, and promised to 
 be as silent as graves thereon ; and 
 Polly said he had learnt French fash- 
 ions she perceived, and taken lessons 
 in wooing from mounseer ; but she 
 hoped his stealthy visit should in the 
 end prove more comforraable to his de- 
 sires than mounseer's had done. At 
 last they let him go ; and Mr. Roper, 
 who had waited for him, wrung his 
 hand, and the manner of his doing it 
 made my eyes overflow. I turned my 
 face away, but Basil caught both my 
 hands in his and said, " Be of good 
 cheer, sweetheart. I have not words 
 wherewith to express how much I love 
 thee, but God knoweth it is very 
 dearly." 
 
 " O Basil ! mine own dear Basil," I 
 murmured, laying my forehead on his 
 coat-sleeve, and could not then utter 
 another word. Ere I lifted it again, 
 the hall-door opened, and w^io, I pray 
 you, should I then see (with more af- 
 fright, I confess, than was reasonable) 
 but Hubert? My voice shook as 1 
 said to Basil, whose back was turn 
 ed from the door, "Here is your 
 brother." 
 
 " Ah, Hubert !" he exclaimed ; " 1 
 be glad to see thee !" and held out his 
 hand to him with a frank smile, which 
 the other took, but in the doing of it 
 a deadly paleness spread over his 
 face. 
 
 " I have no leisure to tarry so much 
 as one minute," Basil said ; " but this 
 sweet lady will tell thee what weighty 
 reasons I have for presently remain- 
 ing concealed ; and so farewell, my 
 dear love, and farewell, my good 
 brother. Be, I pray you, my bedes- 
 woman this night, Constance ; and you 
 too, Hubert, — ^if you do yet say your 
 prayers like a good Christian, which 1 
 pray God you do, — mind you say au 
 ave for me before you sleep." ■ 
 
 When the door closed on him I 
 sunk down on a chair, and hid my 
 face with my hands. 
 
 " You have not told him anything ?" 
 Hubert whispered ; and I, " God help 
 you, Hubert ! he hath come to London 
 for this very matter, and hath already, 
 I fear, albeit not in any way that 
 shall advantage my father, yet in seek- 
 ing to assist him, run himself into 
 danger of death, or leastways banish- 
 ment." 
 
 As I said this mine eyes raised 
 themselves toward him ; and I would 
 they had not, for I saw in his visage 
 an expression I have tried these many 
 years to forget, but which sometimes 
 even now comes back to me painfully. 
 '' I told you so," he answered. 
 "He hath an invariable aptness to 
 miss his aim, and to hurt himself by 
 the shafts he looseth. What plan 
 hath he now formed, and Avhat shall 
 come of it ?" 
 
 But, somewhat recovered from my 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 175 
 
 surprise, I betliought myself it should 
 not be prudent, albeit I grieved to 
 think so, to let him know what sort of 
 enterprise it was Basil had in hand ; 
 80 I did evade his question, which in- 
 deed he did not show himself very 
 careful to have answered. He said 
 he was yet dealing with Sir Francis 
 Walsingham, and had hopes of success 
 touching my father's liberation, and so 
 prayed me not to yield to despondency ; 
 but it would take time to bring mat- 
 ters to a successful issue, and patience 
 was greatly needed, and Hkewise pru- 
 dence toward that end. He request- 
 ed me very urgently to take no other 
 steps for the present in his benalf, 
 which might ruin all. And above all 
 things not to suffer Basil to come for- 
 ward in it, for that he had made him- 
 self obnoxious to Sir Francis by 
 speeches which he had used, and 
 which some one had reported to him, 
 touching Lady Ridley's compliance 
 with his (Sir Francis's) request that 
 she should have a minister in her 
 house for to read Protestant prayers 
 to her household, albeit herself, being 
 bedridden, did not attend ; and if he 
 should now stir in this matter, all hope 
 would be at an end. So he left me, 
 and I returned to the parlor, and Kate 
 and Polly declared my behavior to 
 them not to be over and above civil ; 
 but they supposed when folks were in 
 love, they had a warrant to treat their 
 friends as they pleased. Then finding 
 me very dull and heavy, I ween, they 
 bethought themselves at ihe last of 
 going to visit their mother in her bed, 
 and paying their respects to their fa- 
 ther, whom they found asleep in his 
 chair, his prayer-book, v/ith which he 
 was engaged most of the day, lying 
 open by his side. Polly kissed his 
 forehead, and then the picture of our 
 Blessed Lady in the first page of this 
 much-used volume ; which sudden 
 acts of hers comforted me not a little. 
 Muriel came out of her mother's 
 chamber to greet tliem, but would not 
 suffer them to see her at this unex- 
 pected time, for that the least change 
 in her customable habits disordered 
 
 her; and then whispered to me that 
 she had often asked for Mistress 
 Ward, and complained of her absence. 
 
 At the last Sir Ralph came, but not 
 Mr. Lacy, who he said was tired witii 
 his long ride, and had gone home to 
 bed. Thereupon Kate began to weep ; 
 for she said she would not go withou: 
 him to this fine ball, for it was an un- 
 becoming thing for a woman to h<' 
 seen abroad when her husband was at 
 home, and a thing she had not yet 
 done, nor did intend to do. But that 
 it was a very hard thing she should 
 have been at the pains to dress her- 
 self so handsomely, and not so mucii 
 as one person to see her in this fine 
 suit ; and she wished she had not been 
 so foolish as to be persuaded to it, and 
 that Polly was very much to blame 
 therein. At the which, " V faith, I 
 think so too," Polly exclaimed ; " a:id 
 I wish you had stayed in the country, 
 my dear." 
 
 Kate's pitiful visage and whinefal 
 complaint moved me, in my then ap- 
 prehensive humor, to an unmerry bat 
 not to be resisted fit of laughter, which 
 she did very much resent ; but I must 
 have laughed or died, and yet it m.iic 
 me angry to hear her utter such la- 
 mentations who had no true cause for 
 displeasure. 
 
 When they were gone, — she, still 
 shedding tears, in a chair Sir Ralph 
 sent for to convey her to Gray's Inn 
 Lane, and he and Polly in their 
 coach to Mrs. Yates's, — the relief I 
 had from their absence proved so 
 great that at first it did seem to ease 
 my heart. I went slowly up to mine 
 own chamber, and stood there a while 
 at the casement looking at the quiet 
 sky above and the unquiet city beneath 
 it, and chiefly in the distant direction 
 where I knew the prison to be, pictur- 
 ing to myself my father in his barti 
 cell. Mistress Ward regaining her ob- 
 scure lodging, Mr. Watson's danger- 
 ous descent, and mostly the boat which 
 Basil was to row,— that boat freight- 
 ed with so perilous a burthen. These 
 scenes seemed to rise before mine 
 eyes as I remained motionless, strain- 
 
176 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 ing their sight to pierce the darkness 
 of the night and of the fog which 
 hung over the town. When the clock 
 struck twelve, a shiver ran through 
 me, for I thought of the like striking 
 at Lynn Court, and what had follow- 
 ed. Uj)on which I betook myself to 
 my prayers, and thinking on Basil, 
 said, '' Speak for him, Blessed Vir- 
 gin Mary ! Entreat for him, O ye 
 a])ostles ! Make intercession for him, 
 all ye martyrs ! Pray for him, all ye 
 confessors and all ye company of hea- 
 ven, that my prayers for him may 
 take effect before our Lord Jesus 
 ( Hirist !" Then my head w\axed heavy 
 with sleep, and I sank cm the cushion 
 of my kueeling-stool. I wot not for 
 how many hours I slumbered in this 
 wise ; but I know I had some terrible 
 dreams. 
 
 When I awoke it was daylight. A 
 loud knocking at the door of the house 
 had aroused me. Before I had well 
 ])ethought me where I was, Muriel's 
 wliite face appeared at my door. The 
 ])ursuivants, she said, were come to 
 seek for Mistress Ward. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Mr first thought, when Muriel had 
 announced to me the coming of the 
 }>ursuivauts in search of Mistress 
 Ward, was to thank God she was be- 
 yond their reach, and with so much 
 prudence had left us in ignorance of 
 lier abode. Then making haste to 
 dross— for I apprehended these offi- 
 (^ers should visit every chamber In the 
 house — I quickly repaired to my aunt's 
 room, w^ho was persuaded by Muriel 
 that they had sent for to take an in- 
 ventory of the furniture, which she 
 said was a very commendable thing 
 to do, but she wished they had waited 
 until such time as she had had her 
 breakfast. By an especial mercy, it 
 so happened that these officers— or, 
 h^astways, two out of three of them — 
 were quiet, well-disposed men, who 
 ^'xercised their office with as much 
 mildness as could be hoped for, and 
 rather diminished by their behavior 
 than in any way increased the hard- 
 ships of this invasion of domestic pri- 
 vacy. We were all in turn questioned 
 touching Mistress Ward's abode, ex- 
 cept my aunt, whoso mental inlirmity 
 
 was pleaded for to exempt her from 
 this ordeal. The one officer who was 
 churlish said, 'Uf the lady's mind be 
 unsound, 'tis most like she will let the 
 cat out of the bag," and would havo 
 forced questions on her; but the 
 others forcibly restrained him from it, 
 and likewise from openly insulting us, 
 when we denied all knowledge of the 
 place she had resorted to. Howso- 
 ever, he vented his displeasure in 
 scornful looks and cutting speeches. 
 They carried away sundry prayer- 
 books, and notably the '' Spiritual 
 Combat," which I^Irs. Engerfield had 
 gifted me with, w^hen I slept at her 
 house at Northampton, the loss of 
 which grieved mo not a little, but yet 
 not so much as it w^ould have done at 
 another time, for my thoughts were 
 then wholly set on discovering who 
 had betrayed Mistress Ward's inter- 
 vention, and what had been Mr. Wat- 
 son's fate, and if ]5asil also had been 
 implicated. I addressed myself to the 
 most seemly of the three men, and 
 asked him what her offense had been. 
 
 ^' She assisted," he answered, ^Mn 
 the escape of a x:)risoner from Bride- 
 well." 
 
 '' In what manner ?" I said, with so 
 much of indifferency as i could as- 
 sume. 
 
 '^By the smuggling of a rope into 
 his cell," he answered, ''■ which was 
 found yet hanging nnto his window, 
 and which none other than that pes- 
 tilent woman could have furnished 
 him with." 
 
 Alits ! this was what I feared would 
 happen, when she first formed this 
 project; but she had assured us Mr. 
 Watson would let himself down hold- 
 ing the two ends of the cord in his 
 hands, and so would be enabled to 
 carry it away with him after he had 
 got down, and so it would never be 
 discovered by what means he had 
 made his escape. 
 
 "And this prisoner hath then es- 
 caped f I said in a careless manner. 
 
 '' Marry, out of one cage," he an- 
 swered; *''but I'll warrant you ho is 
 by this time lodged in a more safe 
 dungeon, and with such bi-acelets 
 on his hands and feet as shall not 
 suffer him again to cheat the gal- 
 lows." 
 
 I dared not question him further; 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 177 
 
 and finding nothing more to their pur- 
 pose, the pursuivants retired. 
 
 When Mr. Congleton, Muriel, and 
 I afterward met in the parlor, none 
 of us seemed disposed to speak. 
 Thei-e be times when grief is loqua- 
 cious, but others when the weight of 
 apprehension doth check speech. At 
 List I broke this silence by such words 
 as '' Wliat should now be done ?" and 
 '• How can we learn what hath occur- 
 red ?" 
 
 Then Mr. Congleton turned toward 
 mc, and with much gravity and unu- 
 sual vehemency, 
 
 " Constance," quoth he, "when 
 Margaret Ward resolved on this bold 
 action, -which in the eyes of some 
 savored of rashness, I warned her to 
 count the cost before undertaking it, 
 for that it was replete with many dan- 
 gers, and none should embark in it 
 which was not prepared to meet with 
 a terrible death. She told me there- 
 upon that for many past years her 
 chief desire had been to end her life 
 by such a death, if it should be for the 
 sake of religion, and that the day she 
 sliould be sentenced to it would prove 
 thi; joyfullest she had yet known. 
 Tnis she said in an inflamed manner, 
 iml I question not but it was her true 
 thinking. I do not gainsay the merit 
 or' this pining, tliougfi I could wish her 
 viriuc had been of a commoner sort. 
 But such being her aim, her choice, 
 and desire, I am not of opinion that I 
 should now disturb the peace of my 
 wife's helpless days or mine own either 
 (who have not, I cry God mercy for 
 it, the same wish to suffer the pains 
 reserved to recusants, albeit I hope 
 in him he would give me strength to 
 do so if conscience required it), not 
 to speak of you and Muriel and my 
 other daughters, for the sake of una- 
 vailing efforts in her so desperate case, 
 who hath made her own bed (and I 
 deny it not to bo a glorious one) and, 
 IS she hath made it, must lie on it. So 
 I- will betake myself to prayer for her, 
 which she said was the whole scope of 
 the favor she desired from her friends, 
 if slie fell into trouble, and dreaded 
 
 nothing so much as any other dealings 
 in her behalf; and if Mr. Roper, or 
 Brian Lacy, or young Rookwood, have 
 any means by which to send her 
 money for her convenience in prison, I 
 will give it ; but other measures I 
 will not take, nor by any open show 
 of interest in her fate draw down sus- 
 picions on us as parties and abettors 
 in her so-called treason." 
 
 Neither of us replied to this speech ; 
 and after that our short meal was 
 ended, Muriel went to her mother's 
 chamber, and I set myself to consider 
 what I should do ; for to sit an 1 wait 
 in this terrible ignorance of what had 
 happened seemed an impossible thing. 
 So taking my maid with me, albeit it 
 rained a little, I walked to Kate's house, 
 and found she and her husband had 
 left it an hour before for to return to 
 Mr. Benham's seat. Polly and Sir 
 Ralph, who slept there also, were yet 
 abed, and had given orders, the ser- 
 vant said, not to be disturbed. So I 
 turned sorrowfully from the door, 
 doubting vrhither to apply myself ; for 
 Mr. Roper lived at Richmond, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wells were abroad. I 
 thought to go to Mr. Hodgson, whose 
 boatman had drawn Basil into this 
 enterprise, and was standing forecast- 
 ing which way to turn, when all of a 
 sudden who should I see but Basil 
 himself coming down the lane toward 
 mc ! I tried to go for to meet him, 
 but my legs failed me, and I was 
 forced to lean against my maid till he 
 came up to us and drew my 
 arm in his. Then I felt strong 
 again, and bidding her to go home, 
 walked a little way with him. The 
 first words he said were : 
 
 " Mr. Watson is safe, but hath broke 
 his leg and his arm. KnoAV you 
 aught of Mistress Ward ?" 
 
 " There is a warrant out against 
 her," I answered, and told him of the 
 pursuivants coming to seek for her at 
 our house. 
 
 " God shield," he said, '' she be nof 
 apprehended ! for sentence of death 
 w^ould then be certainly passed upon 
 her," 
 
1/8 
 
 jonsiancc 
 
 Siierwood, 
 
 0-1, B; 
 
 I cxclalniG;], 
 
 WilJ 
 
 was tli3 cord lef: ?" 
 
 " Ah, the devil ^voukl have i;," he be- 
 gan ; but chiding lihnself, lifted olF his 
 liat, and said, ''Almighty God did so 
 permit it to happen that this mishap 
 03eurreu. But I see/' he subjoined, 
 "you arc not fit to walk or stand, 
 sweetheart. Como into Mr. Wells's 
 housa. Albeit they are not at home, 
 we may go and sit in the parlor ; and 
 it may be more pnident I should not 
 b3 seen abroad to-day. I pray God 
 Mr, Watson and I will sail to-night 
 for Calais." 
 
 So we rang the bell at the door of 
 Mr. Wells's house ; and his house- 
 keeper, who opened it, smiled when 
 she saw Basil, for he was a great fa- 
 vorite, with bar, as, indeed, methinks 
 ho always was with all kinds of people. 
 She showed us into Mr. Wells's study, 
 which she said was the most comfort- 
 able room and best aired in the house, 
 fjr that, for the sake of the books, she 
 dil o^'ten Il-Trht a fire in it ; and nothino; 
 
 h3r but she must do so 
 
 -o:ill sc 
 
 n rx. And then she asked if we had 
 ])roik fasted, and Basil said i' faith he 
 had not, and should be very glad of 
 some.vhat to cat, if she would fetch it 
 for him. So when the fire was kindled 
 — and msthought it never would burn, 
 the wood was so damp — she went 
 away for a little wdiile, and he then 
 told me the haps of the past night. 
 
 '• Tom Price (Hodgson's boatman) 
 
 and I," he said, '• rowed his boat clos3 
 
 unto the shore, near to the prison, and 
 
 laid there under the cover of some 
 
 penthouses which stood betwixt the 
 
 river and the prison's v/all. When 
 
 the c]o3k struck twelve, I promise you 
 
 my li3art began to beat as any girl's, 
 
 ' I was CO frightened lest Mr. Watson 
 
 : should not have received the cord, or 
 
 ! that his courage shoald fail. Howso- 
 
 : ever, in less than one minute I thought 
 
 I perceived comething moving about 
 
 ■one of the windows, and then a body 
 
 .appeared sitting at first on the ledge, 
 
 but aftsrward it turned itself round, 
 
 and, facing the wall, sank down slowly, 
 
 hanging on by a cord." 
 
 " Oh, Basil I" I exclaimed, '• coulJ 
 you keep on looking ?" 
 
 " Yea," he answered ; '• as if mine 
 eyes should start out of my head. He, 
 came down slowly, helping himself, I 
 ween, with his feet against the wail ; but 
 whenhe got to about twenty or thirty feet, 
 I guess it to have been, from the roof 
 of the shed, he stopped of a sudden, 
 and hung motionless. ' He is out of 
 breath,' I said to Tom. ' Or the rope 
 proves too shprt,' quoth he. We 
 watched him for a moment. He 
 swung to and fro, then rested again, 
 his feet against the wall. ' Beshrew 
 me, but I will climb on to that roof my- 
 self, and get nigh to him,' I whispered 
 to Tom, and was springing out of the 
 boat, when we heard a noise more 
 loud than can ba thought of. 'I'll 
 warrant you he hath fallen on the 
 planks,' quoth Tom. ' Marry, but we 
 will pick him up then,' quoth I ; and 
 found myself soon on the edg3 of the 
 roof, which was broken in at one 
 place, and, looking down, I thought I 
 saw him lying on the ground. I cried 
 as loud as I durst, ' Mr. Watson, be 
 you there ? Hist ! Are you hurt ? 
 Speak if you can.' Methinks he was 
 stunned by the fall, for he did not an- 
 swer ; so there remained nothing left 
 to do but to leap myself through the 
 opening into the shed, where I found 
 him with his eyes shut, and moaning. 
 But when I spake to him he came to 
 himself, and tried to rise, but could not 
 stand, one of his legs being much hurt. 
 ' Chmb on to my back, reverend sir,' I 
 said 'and with God's help we shall j 
 get out.' Howsoever, the way out did j 
 not appear manifest, and mostly with 
 another beside one's self to carry. 
 But glancing round the inside of the 
 shed, I percciv^ed a door, the fastening 
 of which, when I shook it, roughly 
 enough I promise you, gave way; 
 and the boat lay, God be praised, 
 clooC to it outside. I gave o:ie look 
 up to the prison, and saw lights flash- 
 ing in some of the whidows. ' Tliey 
 be astir,' I said to Tom. ' Hist ! lend 
 a hand, man, and take th3 reverend 
 gentleman from off my back and into 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 179 
 
 the boat.' Mr. Watson uttered a 
 groan. He mu5t have suffered cruel 
 pain ; for, as we since found, his leg 
 and also his arm were broken, and he 
 looked more dead than alive. 
 
 " We began to row as fast as we 
 could ; but now he, coming to himself, 
 feels m his coat, and cries out : 
 
 " ' Oh, kind sirs — the cord, the cord ! 
 Stop, I pray you ; stop, turn back.' 
 
 " ' Not for the world,' I cried, * rev- 
 erend sh'.' 
 
 " Then he, in a lamentable voice : 
 
 " ' Oh, if you turn not back and 
 bring away the cord, the poor gentle- 
 woman which did give it unto me must 
 needs fall into sore trouble. Oh, for 
 God's sake, turn back I' 
 
 " I gave a hasty glance at the prison, 
 where increasing stir of lights was 
 visible, and resolved that to return 
 should be certain ruin to ourselves 
 and to him for whom Mistress Ward 
 had risked her life, and little or no 
 hope in it for her, as it was not possi- 
 ble there should be time to get the 
 cord and then escape, which with 
 best speed now could with difficulty 
 be effected. So I turned a deaf ear 
 to Mr. Watson's pleadings, with an 
 assured conscience she should have 
 wished no otherwise herself; and by 
 God's mercy we made such way be- 
 fore they could put out a boat, landing 
 unseen beyond the next bridge, that 
 we could secretly convey him to the 
 house of a Catholic not far from the 
 river on the other side, where he doth 
 lie concealed. I promise you, sweets 
 heart, we did row hard. Albeit I 
 strove very much last year when I 
 won the boat-match at Richmond, by 
 my troth it was but child's play to 
 last night's racing. Poor Mr. Watson 
 fainted before we landed, and neither 
 of us dared venture to stop from pull- 
 ing for to assist him. But, God be 
 praised, he is now in a good bed ; and 
 I fetched for him at daybreak a leech 
 I knoAv in the Borough, who hath set 
 his broken limbs ; and to-night if the 
 Vv'cather be not foul, when it gets dark , 
 we v/ill convey him in a boat to a ves- 
 sel at the rivei*'^ mouth, which I have 
 
 retained for to take us to Calais. But 
 I would Mistress Ward was on board 
 of it also." 
 
 '*' Oh, Basil," I exclaimed, " if we 
 can discover where she doth lodge, ife 
 would not then be impossible. If we 
 had forecasted this yesterday, she 
 would be saved. Yet she had perhaps 
 refused to tell us." 
 
 " Most like she would," ho ansvv^er- 
 ed ; '' but if you do hit by any means 
 upon her abode to-day, forthwith de- 
 spatch a trusty messenger unto me at 
 Mr. Hodgson's, and I promise you, 
 sweetheart, she shall, will she nill she, 
 if I have to use force for it, be carried 
 away to France, and stowed with a 
 good madame I know at Calais." 
 
 The housekeeper then came in with 
 bread and meat and beer, which my 
 dear Basil did very gladly partake of, 
 for he had eat nothing since the day 
 before, and was greatly in want of 
 food. I waited 0:1 him, forestalling 
 housewifely duties, with so great a 
 contentment in this quiet hour spent 
 in his company that nothing could sur- 
 pass it. The fire now burned bright 
 ly ; and whilst he ate, we talked o 
 the time when we should be marrieci 
 and live at Euston, so retired from 
 the busy world without as should be 
 most safe and peaceful in these troub- 
 lesome times, even as in that silent 
 house we were for a short time shut 
 out from the noisy city, the sounds of 
 which reached without disturbhig us. 
 Oh how welcome was that little inter- 
 val of peace which wo then enjoyed ! 
 I ween we were both very tired ; and 
 when the good housekeeper came ia 
 for to fetch away his plate he had 
 fallen asleep, with his head resting on 
 his hands ; and I was likewise dozing 
 in a high-backed chair opposite to him. 
 The noise she made awoke me, but 
 not him, who slept most soundly. She 
 smiled, and in a motherly manner 
 moved him to a more comfortable po- 
 sition, and said she would lay a wager 
 on it he had not been abed at all that 
 night. 
 
 '• Well, I'll warrant you to be a 
 good guesser, Mistress Mason," I an- 
 
i8o 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 swered. " And if you did but l^now 
 what a hard and a good work he hath 
 been engaged in, methinks you would 
 never tarry in his praise." 
 
 " Ah, Mistress Sherwood," she re- 
 plied, " I have known Master Basil 
 these many years ; and a more noble, 
 kindly, generous heart never, I ween, 
 did beat in a man's bosom. He rery 
 often came here with his father and 
 his brother when both were striplings ; 
 and Master Hubert was the sharpest 
 and some said the most well-behaved 
 of the twain. But beshrew me if I 
 liked not better Master Basil, albeit 
 he was sometimes very troublesome, 
 but not techey or rude as some boys 
 be. I remember it well how I laugh- 
 ed one day when these young masters 
 — methinks this one was no more than 
 five years and the other four — were at 
 play together in this room, and Basil 
 had a new jerkin on, and colored hose 
 for the first time. Hubert wore a kirtle, 
 which displeasured him, for he said 
 folks should take him to be a wench. So 
 he comes to me, half-crying, and says, 
 " Why hath Baz that fine new suit 
 and me not the same ?' ' Because, 
 little sir, he is the eldest,' I said. ' Ah,* 
 quoth the shrewd imp, ' the next time 
 1 be born methinketh I will push Baz 
 aside and be the eldest.' If I should 
 live one hundred years I shall never 
 forget it, the little urchin looked so re- 
 solved and spiteful." 
 
 I smiled somewhat sadly, I ween, 
 but with better cheer when she relat- 
 ed how tender a heart Basil had from 
 his infant years toward the poor, tak- 
 ing off his clothes for to give them to 
 the beggars he met, and one day, she 
 said, praying very hard Mrs. Wells 
 for to harbor a strolling man which 
 had complained he had no lodging. 
 
 " ' Mistress,' quoth he, * you have 
 many chambers in your house, and he 
 hath not so much as a bed to lie in to- 
 night;' and would not be contented 
 till she had charged a servant to get 
 the fellow a lodging. And me he once 
 abused very roundly in his older years 
 for the same cause. There was one 
 flack Morris, an old man which work- 
 
 ed sometimes in Mr. Wells's stable, 
 but did lie at a cottage out of the 
 town. And one day in winter, 
 when it snowed, Master Basil would 
 have me make this fellow sleep in the 
 house, because he was sick, he said, 
 and he would give him his own bed 
 and lie himself on straw in the stable 
 and went into so great a passion when 
 I said he should not do so, for that he 
 was a mean person and could not lie 
 in a gentleman's chamber, that my 
 young master cries out, ' Have a care, 
 Mistress Mason, I do not come in the 
 night and shake you out of your own 
 bed, for to give you a taste of the 
 cold floor, which yet is not, I promise 
 you, so cold as the street into which 
 you would turn this poor diseased 
 man.' And then he fell to coaxing of 
 me till I consented for to send a mat- 
 tress and a warm rug to the stable for 
 this pestilent old man, who I warrant 
 you was not so sick as he did assume 
 to be, but had sufficient cunning for to 
 cozen Master Basil out of his money. 
 Lord bless the lad ! I have seen 
 him run out with his dinner in his 
 hand, if he did but see a ragged ur- 
 chin in the streets, and gift him with it ; 
 and then would sing lustily about the 
 house — methinks I do hear him 
 now — 
 
 ' Dinner, O dinner's .a rare good thin^ 
 Alike tor a beggar, alike for a king.' " 
 
 Bitsil opened then his eyes and 
 stared about liim. 
 
 " Why, Mistress Mason," he cried, 
 "beshrew me if you are not rehears- 
 ing a rare piece of poesy ! — the only 
 one I ever did indite." At the which 
 speech we all laughed ; but our mer- 
 riment was short ; for time had sped 
 faster than we thought, and Basil said 
 he must needs return to the Borough 
 to forecast with Mr. Hodgson and 
 Tom Price means to convey I^Ir. 
 Watson to the ship, which was out at 
 sea nigh unto the shore, and a boat 
 must be had to carry them there, and 
 withal such apphances procured as 
 should ease his broken limbs. 
 
 " Is there not danger " I asked, '• in 
 movin"; him so soon ?" 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 I8r 
 
 " Yea " he said, " but a less fearful 
 danger than in long tarrying in this 
 country." 
 
 This was too true to be gainsayed ; 
 and so thanking the good housekeeper 
 we left the house, which had seemed 
 for those few hours like unto a har- 
 bor from a stormy sea, wherein both 
 our barks, shattered by the waves, had 
 refitted in peace. 
 
 " Farewell, Basil," I mournfully 
 said ; " God knoweth for how long." 
 
 " Not for very long," he answered. 
 <* In three months I shall have crept 
 out of my wardship. Then, if it 
 please God, I will return, and so deal 
 with your good uncle that we shall 
 soon after that be married." 
 
 " Yea," I answered, " if so be that 
 my father is then in safety." 
 
 He said he meant not otherwise, 
 but that he had great confidence it 
 should then be so. When at last we 
 parted he went down Holborn Hill 
 very fast, and I slowly to Ely Place, 
 many times stopping for to catch one 
 more sight of him in the crowd, which 
 howsoever soon hid him from me. 
 
 When I arrived at home I found 
 Muriel in great affliction, for news had 
 reached her that Mistress Ward had 
 been apprehended and thrown mto 
 prison. Methinks we had both looked 
 for no other issue than this, which she 
 had herself most desired ; but never- 
 theless, when the certainty thereof 
 was confirmed to us, it should almost 
 have seemed as if we were but ill-pre- 
 pared for it. The hope I had con- 
 ceived a short time before that she 
 should escape in the same vessel with 
 Basil and Mr. Watson, made me less 
 resigned to this mishap than I should 
 have been had no means of safety 
 been at hand, and the sword, as it 
 were, hanging over her head from day 
 to day. The messenger which had 
 brought this evil news being warrant- 
 ed reliable by a letter from Mr. Hodg- 
 son, I intrusted him with a few lines 
 to Basil, in which I informed him not 
 to stay his departure on her account, 
 who was now within the walls of the 
 prison which Mr. Watson had escaped 
 
 from, and that her best comfort now 
 should be to know he was beyond 
 reach of his pursuers. The rest of the 
 day was spent in great heaviness of 
 spirit. Mr. Congleton sent a servant 
 to Mr. Roper for to request him to 
 come to London, and wrote likewise 
 to Mr. Lacy for to return to his hous<: 
 in town, and confer with some Catho- 
 lics touching Mistress Ward's impris- 
 onment. Muriel's eyes thanked hun, 
 but I ween she had no hope therein 
 and did resign herself to await the 
 worst tidings. Her mother's unceas- 
 ing asking for her, whose plight she 
 dared not so much as hint at in her 
 presence, did greatly aggravate her 
 sufierings. I have often thought Mu- 
 riel did then undergo a martyrdom of 
 the heart as shai'p in its kind as that 
 which Mistress Ward endured in prison, 
 if the reports which did reach us were 
 true. But more of that anon. The 
 eventful day, which had opened witli 
 so much of fear and sorrow, had yet 
 in store other haps, which I must now 
 relate. 
 
 About four of the clock Hubert 
 came to Ely Place, and found mc 
 alone in the parlor, my fingers busied 
 with some stitching, my thoughts hav- 
 ing wandered far away, where I pic- 
 tured to myself the mouth of the 
 river, the receding tide, the little ves- 
 sel which was to carry Basil away 
 once more to a foreign land, with its 
 sails flapping in the wind ; and boats 
 passing to and fro, plying on the fair 
 bosom of the broad river, and not 
 leaving so much as a trace of their 
 passage. And his boat with its freight 
 more precious than gold — the rescued 
 life bought at a great price — me- 
 thought I saw it glide in the dark 
 amidst those hundred other boats un- 
 observed (so I hoped), unstayed 0:1 
 its course. Methought that so little 
 bark should be a type of some lives 
 which carry with them, unwalched, . 
 undiscerned, a purpose, which dot i 
 freight them on their way to eternity 
 — somewhat hidden, somewhat close 
 to then* hearts, somewhat engaging 
 their whole strength; and all the 
 
1 82 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 while tliey seem to be doing the like 
 of what others do ; and God only 
 knoweth how different shall be the 
 end! 
 
 "Ah, Hubert," I exclaimed when 
 the door opened, "is it yon? Me- 
 thinks in these days I see no one 
 come into this house but a fear or a 
 hope doth seize me. Whatbringeth 
 you ? or hath nothing occuiTo*! ?" 
 
 " Something may occur this day," 
 he answered, "if you do but will it to 
 be so, Constance." 
 
 " What ?" I asked eagerly ; " what 
 may occur ?" 
 
 " Your father's deliverance/' he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, Hubert," I cried, " it is not 
 possible !" 
 
 " Go to !" he said in a resolved 
 manner. " Don your most becoming 
 suit, and follow my directions in all 
 ways. Lady Ingoldsby, I thank God, 
 hath not left London, and will be here 
 anon to carry you to Sir Francis Wal- 
 singham's house, where her famihar 
 friend, Lady Sydney, doth now abide 
 (luring Sir Philip's absence. You 
 shall thus get speech with Sir Fran- 
 cis ; and if you do behave with diffi- 
 dency, and beware of the violence of 
 your nature and exorbitancy of your 
 tongue, checking needless speeches, 
 and answering his questions with as 
 many words as courtesy doth com- 
 mand, and as few as civility doth per- 
 mit, I doubt not but you may obtain 
 your father's release in the form of a 
 sentence of banishment ; for he is not 
 ill-disposed thereunto, having received 
 notice that his health is sinking under 
 the hardships of his confinement, and 
 his strength so impaired that, once be- 
 yond seas, he is not like to adventure 
 himself again in this country." 
 
 " Alas !" I cried, " mine eyes had 
 discerned in his shrunken form and 
 hollow cheeks tokens of such a decay 
 as you speak of; and I pray God 
 Mr. Secretary may deal mercifully 
 with him before it shall be too late." 
 
 "I'll warrant you," he replied, 
 " that if you do rightly deal with him, 
 he will sijjn an order which shall re- 
 
 lease this very night your father from 
 prison, and send him safe beyond seas 
 before the week is ended." 
 
 " Think you so ?" I said, my heart 
 beating with an uncertain kind of hope 
 mixed with doubting. 
 
 " I am assured of it," Hubert con 
 fidently replied. 
 
 " I must ask my uncle's advice,'* 
 doubtfully said, ''before I go with 
 Polly." 
 
 A contemptuous smile curled his lip. 
 " Yea," he said, " be directed in these 
 weighty matters, I do advise you, by 
 your aunt also, and the saintly Muriel, 
 and twenty hundred others beside, if 
 j'Ou list; and the while this last 
 chance shall escape, and your father 
 be doomed to death. I have done my 
 part, God knoweth. If he perish, his 
 blood will not be on my head; but 
 mark my words, if he be not presently 
 released, he will appear before the 
 council in two days, and the oath be 
 tendered to him, which you best 
 know if he will take, and his refusal 
 without fail will send him to the scaf- 
 fold." 
 
 " God defend," I exclaimed," greatly 
 moved, "I should delay to do that 
 which may yet save him. I will go, 
 Hubert. But I pray you, who are 
 familiar with Sir Francis, what means 
 should be best for to move him to 
 compassion ? Is there a soft corner in 
 his heart which a woman's tears can 
 touch ? I will kneel to him if needful, 
 yea, kiss his feei — ^mind him of his 
 own fair daughter. Lady Sydney, 
 which, if he was in prison, and my fa- 
 ther held his fate in his hands, would 
 doubtless sue to him with the like ar- 
 dor, yea, the like agony of spirit, for 
 mercy. Oh, tell me, Hubert, what to 
 say which shall drive the edge of pity 
 into his soul." 
 
 " Silence will take effect in this case 
 sooner than the most moving speeches,** 
 he answered " Steel your soul to it, 
 whatever he may say. Your tears, your 
 eyes, will, I warrant you, plead more 
 miglitfully than your words. He is 
 as obliging to the softer but predomi- 
 nant parts of the world as he is scrv- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 183 
 
 iceable to the more severe. To him 
 men's faces speak as much as their 
 tongues, and their countenances are 
 indexes of their hearts. Judge if 
 yours, the liveliest piece of eloquence 
 which ever displayed itself in a fair 
 visage, shall fail to express tliat which 
 passionate words, missing their aim, 
 would of a surety ill convey. And 
 mind you. Mistress Constance, this 
 man is of extreme ability in the school 
 of policy, and albeit inclined to recu- 
 sants with the view of winning them 
 over by means of kindness, yet an ex- 
 treme hater of the Pope and Church 
 of Rome, and moreover very jealous to 
 be considered as such ; so if he do in- 
 tend to show you fovor in this matter, 
 make your reckoning that he wiM urge 
 you to conformity with many strenu- 
 ous exhortations, which, if you remain 
 silent, no harm shall ensue to your- 
 self or others." 
 
 *^ And not to mine own soul, Hu- 
 bert ?" I mournfully cried. " Me- 
 thinks my father and Basil w'ould not 
 counsel silence in such a case." 
 
 " God in heaven give me patience !"' 
 iio exclaimed. ." Is it a woman's call- 
 ing, I pray you, to preach ? When 
 the apostles were dismissed by the 
 judges, and charged no longer to teach 
 the Christian faith, went they not forth 
 in silence, restraining ' their tongues 
 then, albeit not their actions when 
 once at liberty ? Methinks modesty 
 alone should forbid one of your years 
 from dangerous retorts, which, like a 
 two-edged sword, wound alike friend 
 and foe." 
 
 I had no courage left to withstand 
 the promptings of mine own heart and 
 his urgency. 
 
 " God forgive me," I cried, " if I 
 fail in aught wherein truth or honesty 
 are concerned. He knoweth I would 
 do right, and yet save my father's 
 life." 
 
 Then falling on my knees, unmind- 
 ful of his presence, I prayed with an 
 intense vehemency, which overcame 
 all restraint, that my tongue might be 
 guided aright when I should be in his 
 presence who under God did hold my 
 
 father's life in his hands'. But hear- 
 ing Polly's voice in the hall, I started 
 up, and noticed Hubert leaning his 
 head on his hand, seemingly more 
 pitifully moved than was his went. 
 When she came in, he met her, and 
 said : 
 
 " Lady Ingoldsby, I pray you see 
 that Mistress Constance doth so attire 
 herself as shall heighten her natural 
 attractions ; for, beshrew me, if grave 
 Mr. Secretary hath not, as well as 
 other men, more pity for a fair 
 face than a plain one ; and al- 
 beif hers is always fair, nature doth 
 nevertheless borrow additional charms 
 from art." 
 
 " Tut, tut !" quoth Polly. " She is 
 a perfect fright in that hat, and her 
 ruff hideth all her neck, than which 
 no swan hath a w^hiter; and I pray 
 you what a farthingale is that ! Me- 
 thinks it savors of the fashions of the 
 late queen's reign. Come, Con, cheer 
 up, and let us to thy chamber. I'll 
 warrant you. Master liookwood, she 
 will be twice as winsome when I have 
 exercised my skill on her attire." 
 
 So she led me away, and I suffered 
 her to dress mine hair herself, and 
 choose such ornaments as she did 
 deem most becoming. Albeit she 
 laughed and jested all the while, me- 
 thinks the kindness of her heart show- 
 ed through this apparent gaiety ; and 
 when her task was done, aud she kiss- 
 ed my forehead,, I threw my arms 
 round her neck and wept. 
 
 " Nay, nay !" she cried ; " no tears, 
 coz — they do serve but to swell the 
 eyelids and paint the nose of a reddish 
 hue ;" and shaping her own visage in- 
 to a counterfeit of mine, she set me 
 laughing against my will, and drew 
 me by the hand down the stairs and 
 into the parlor. 
 
 " How now^, sir ?" she cried to Hu- 
 bert. " Think you I have indifferent- 
 ly well performed the task you set 
 me?" 
 
 " Most excellently well," he answer- 
 ed, and handed us to her coach, which 
 w^as to carry us to Seething Lane. 
 When we were seated in it, she told 
 
1 84 
 
 Constancz Sherwood, 
 
 me Hubert had disclosed to her tlie 
 secret of mj fathers plight, and thali 
 she was more concerned than she 
 could well express at so great a mis- 
 hap, but nevertheless entertained a 
 comfortable hope this day should pres- 
 ently see the end of our troubles. 
 Howsoever, she did know but half of 
 the trouble I was in, weighty as was the 
 part she was privy to. Hubert, she 
 told me, had dealt with a marvellous 
 great zeal and ability in this mat- 
 ter, and proved himself so good a 
 negotiator that she doubted not Sir 
 Francis himself must needs have ap- 
 preciated his ingenuity. 
 
 " That young gentleman," she add- 
 ed, " will never spoil his own market 
 by lack of timely boldness or oppor- 
 tune bashfulness. My Lady Arun- 
 del related to me last night at Mrs. 
 Yates's what passed on Monday at the 
 banquet-hall at Whitehall. Hath he 
 told you his hap on that occasion ?" 
 
 " No," I answered. " I pray you, 
 Polly, what befel him there ?" 
 
 ^- Well, her majesty was at dinner, 
 and Master Hubert comes there to 
 see the fashion of the court. His 
 handsome features and well-set shape 
 attract the queen's notice. With a 
 kind of an affected frown she asks 
 Lady Arundel what he is. She an- 
 swers she knows him not. Howso- 
 ever, an inquiry is made from one to 
 another who the youth should be, till 
 at length it is told the queen he is 
 young Rookwood of Euston,in Suffolk, 
 and a ward of Sir Henry Stafford's." 
 
 " Mistaking him then for Basil ?" I 
 said. 
 
 Then she : " I think so ; but how- 
 soever this inquisition with the eye of 
 her majesty fixed upon him (as she is 
 wont to fix it, and thereby to daunt 
 such as she doth make the mark of 
 her gazing), stirred tlie blood of our 
 young gentleman, Lady Arundel said, 
 insomuch that a deep color rose in his 
 pale cheek and straightway left it 
 again ; which the queen observing, 
 she called him unto her, and gave him 
 her hand to kiss, encouraging him 
 with gracious words and looks; and 
 
 then diverting her speech to the lo.\l.- 
 and ladles, said that she no sooner 
 observed him than she did note theri? 
 was in him good blood, and she ven- 
 tured to affirm good brains also ; and 
 then said to him, ' Fail not to come to 
 court, sir, and I will bethink myself to 
 do you good.' Now I warrant you, 
 coz, this piece of a scholar lacked not 
 the wit to use this his hap in the fur- 
 therance of his and your suit to Sir 
 Francis, whom he adores as his saint, 
 and courts as his M-.iecenas." 
 
 This recital of Polly's worked a tu- 
 multuous conflict in my soul ; for veri- 
 ly it strengthened hope touching my 
 father's release ; but methinks any 
 other channel of such hope should have 
 been more welcome. A jealousy, an 
 unsubstantial fear, an uneasy misdoubt 
 oppressed this rising hope. I feared 
 for Hubert the dawn of such favor as 
 was shown to him by her whose regal 
 hand doth hold a magnet which hath 
 oftentimes caused Catholics to make 
 shipwreck of their souls. And then 
 truth doth compel me to confess my 
 weakness. Albeit God knoweth I de- 
 sired not for my true and noble sweet- 
 heart her majesty's gracious smiles, or 
 a higher fortune than Providence hath 
 by inheritance bestowed on him, a 
 vain humane feeling worked in me 
 some sort of displeasure that his 
 younger brother should stand in the 
 queen's presence as the supposed head 
 of the house of Rookwood, and no 
 more mention made of him than if he 
 had been outlawed or dead. Not that 
 I had then reason to lay this error to 
 Hubert's door, for verily naught in 
 Polly's words did warrant such a sus- 
 picion ; but my heart was sore, and 
 my spirits chafed with apprehensions. 
 God forgive me if I then did unjustly 
 accuse him, and, in the retrospect of 
 this passage in his Kfe, do suffer sub- 
 sequent events to cast backward shall- 
 ows on.it, whereby I may wrong him 
 who did render to me (I write it wit!i 
 a softened — yea, God is my witness — 
 a truly loving, albeit sorrowiug, heart) 
 a great service in a needful time. 0!>. 
 Hubert, Hubert ! my heart acheth iov 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 85 
 
 thee. Methlnks God will show thee 
 great mercy yet, but, I fear me, by 
 such means only as I do tremble to 
 thmk of. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 When we reached Seething Lane, 
 Polly bade me be of good heart, for 
 that Lady Sydney was a v«ry affable 
 and debonnaire lady, and Sir Francis 
 a person of toward and gentle manners, 
 and exceedingly polite to women. We 
 were conducted to a neat parlor, 
 where my Lady Sydney was awaiting 
 us. A more fair and accomplished 
 lady is not, I ween, to be found in 
 England or any other country, than 
 this daughter of a great statesman, 
 and wife at that time of Sir Philip 
 Sydney, as she hath since been of my 
 Lords Essex and St. Albans. Me- 
 thinks the matchless gentleman, noble 
 knight, and sweet writer, her first hus- 
 band, who did marry her portionless, 
 not like as is the fashion with so many 
 in our days, carrying his love in his 
 purse, must have needs drawn from 
 the fair model in his own house the 
 lovely pictures of beauteous women 
 he did portray in his " Arcadia." She 
 greeted us with so much heartfelt po- 
 liteness, and so tempered gay dis- 
 coursing with sundry marks of deli- 
 cate feeUng, indicative, albeit not ex- 
 pressive, of a sense of my then trou- 
 ble, that, albeit a stranger, methinks 
 her reserved compassion and ingeni- 
 ous encouragements served to tran- 
 quillize my discomposed mind more 
 than Polly's efforts toward the same 
 end. She told us Lord Arundel had 
 died that morning; which tidings 
 turned my thoughts awhile to Lady 
 Surrey, with many cogitations as to 
 ihe issue of this event in her regard. 
 
 After a short space of time, a step 
 neared the door, and Lady Sydney 
 smiled and said, " Here is my father." 
 1 had two or three times seen Sir 
 Francis Walsingham in public assem- 
 blies, but his features were neverthe- 
 
 less not familiar to me. Now, after 
 he had saluted Polly and me, and 
 made inquiry touching our relatives, 
 while he conversed with her on indif- 
 ferent topics, I scanned his face with 
 such careful industry as if in it I 
 should read the issue of my dear fa- 
 ther's fate. Methinks I never beheld 
 80 unreadable a countenance, or one 
 which bore the impress of so refined 
 a penetration, so piercing an inquisi- 
 tiveness, so keen a research into 
 others* thoughts, with so close a con- 
 cealment of his own. I have since 
 heard what his son-in-law did write of 
 him, that he impoverished himself by 
 the purchase of dear intelligence; 
 that, as if master of some invisible 
 spring, all the secrets of Christendom 
 met in his closet, and he had even a 
 key to unlock the Pope's cabinet. 
 His mottoes are said to be video ct ta- 
 ceo, and that knowledge can never be 
 bought at too high a price. And veri- 
 ly methinks they were writ in his face, 
 in his quick-turning eyes, his thin, 
 compressed lips, and his soft but re- 
 solved accents, minding one of steel 
 cased in velvet. 'Tis reported he can 
 read any letter without breaking the 
 seal. For mine own part, I am of 
 opinion he can see through parch- 
 ment, yea, peradventure, through 
 stone walls, when bent on some dis- 
 covery. After a few minutes he turn- 
 ed to me with a gracious smile, and 
 said he was very glad to hear that I 
 was a young gentlewoman of great 
 prudence, and well disposed in all re- 
 spects, and that he doubted not that, 
 if her majesty should by his means 
 show me any favor, I should requite it 
 with such gratitude as should appear 
 in all ray future conduct. 
 
 " God knoweth," I stammered, mine 
 eyes filling with tears, "I would be 
 grateful to you, sir, if it should please 
 you to move her majesty to grant my 
 prayer, and to her highness for the 
 doing of it." 
 
 *' And how would you show such 
 gratitude, fair Mistress Constance?" 
 he said, smiling in an encouraging 
 manner. 
 
i86 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 " By sach humble duty," I answer- 
 ed, '• as a poor obscure creature can 
 pay to her betters/' 
 
 " And I hope, also," he said, " that 
 such dutifulness will involve no un- 
 pleasing effort, no painful constraint 
 on your inclinations ; for I am assur- 
 ed her majesty will never desire from 
 you anything but what will well ac- 
 cord with your advantage in this world 
 and in the next." 
 
 These words caused me some kind 
 of uneasiness ; but as they called for 
 no answer, I took refuge in silence ; 
 only methinks my face, which he did 
 seem carefully to study, betrayed 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Providence," Sir Francis then 
 said, " doth oftentimes marvellously 
 dispose events. What a rare instance 
 of its gracious workings should be 
 seen in your case. Mistress Constance, 
 if what your heart doth secretly in- 
 cline to should become a part of that 
 dutifulness which you do intend to 
 practice in future !" 
 
 Before I had clearly apprehended 
 the sense of his words. Lady Sydney 
 said to Polly : 
 
 " My father hath greatly commend- 
 ed to Sir Philip and me a young gen- 
 tleman which I understand, Lady In- 
 goldsby, to be a friend of yours, Mr. 
 Hubert Rookwood, of Euston. He 
 says the gracefulness of his person, his 
 excellent parts, his strong and subtle 
 capacity, do excellently fit him to 
 learn the discipline and garb of the 
 times and court." 
 
 " Ay," then quoth Sir Francis, " he 
 nath as large a portion of gifts and en- 
 dowments as I have ever noticed in 
 one of his age, and I'll warrant he 
 proves no mere vegetable of the court, 
 spi*inging up at night and sinking at 
 noon." 
 
 Polly did warmly assent to these 
 praises of Hubert, for whom she had 
 always entertained a great liking; 
 but she merrily said he was not gay 
 enough for her, v/hich abhorred mel- 
 ancholy as cats do water. 
 
 "Oil, fair lady," quoth Sir Francis, 
 " Go\ djfend we should be melan- 
 
 choly ; but verily 'tis fitting we should 
 be sometimes serious, for while .we 
 laugh all things are serious round 
 about us. Tlie whole creation is 
 serious in serving God and us. The 
 holy Scriptures bring to our ears the 
 most serious things in the world. All 
 that are in heaven and hell are serious. 
 Then how should we be always gay ?" 
 
 Polly said — for when had she not, I 
 pray you, somewhat to say? — that cer- 
 tain thing* in nature had a propensity 
 to gaiety which naught could quell, 
 and instanced birds and streamlets, 
 which never cease to sing and babble as 
 long as they do live or flow. And to 
 be serious, she thought, would kill her. 
 The while this talk was ministered be- 
 tween them, my Lady Sydney, on a 
 sign from her father, I ween, took my 
 hand in hers, and offered to show me 
 the garden ; for the heat of the room, 
 she said, was like to give me the head- 
 ache. Upon which I rose, and follow- 
 ed her into a court planted with trees, 
 and then on to an alley of planes 
 strewed with gravel. As we entered 
 it I perceived several persons walking 
 toward us. When the first thought 
 came into my mind who should be the 
 tall personage in the centre, of hair 
 and complexion fair, and of so stately 
 and majestic deportment, I marvel my 
 limbs gave not way, but my head 
 swam and a mist obscured mine eyes. 
 Methinks, as one dreaming, I heard 
 Lady Sydney say, " The queen, Mis- 
 tress Sherwood ; kneel down, and kiss 
 her majesty's hand." Oli, in the brief 
 moment of time when my Hps pressed 
 that thin, white, jewelled hand, what 
 multiplied thoughts, resentful memo- 
 ries, trembling awe, and instinctive 
 homage to royal greatness, met in my 
 soul, and worked confusion in my 
 brain ! 
 
 "Ah, mine own good Sydney," I 
 heard her majesty exclaim ; " is this 
 the young gentlewoman your wise fa- 
 ther did speak of at Gl-reenwlch yester- 
 day? Th'^, daughter of one S'.ierwoo;! 
 now in prison tor popish contu- 
 macy ?" 
 
 " Even so," sa.d L-^dy Sydney ; 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 187 
 
 " and your sabred majesty hath it now 
 in her power to show 
 
 ' The quality of mercy is not strained—' " 
 
 " ' But droppeth as Ihc gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath,' " 
 
 interrupted the queen, taking the 
 w oida out of her mouth. " We be not 
 ignorant of those lines. Will Shake- 
 speare hath it, 
 
 ' 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown/ 
 
 And i' faith we differ not from him, 
 for verily mercy is our habit and the 
 propension of our soul ; but, by God, 
 the malice and ingratitude of recusant 
 traitors doth so increase, with manifold 
 dangers to our person and state, that 
 mercy to them doth turn into treason 
 against ourselv^es, injury to religion, 
 and an offence to God. Rise," her 
 majesty then said to me ; and as I 
 stood before her, the color, I ween, 
 deepening in my cheeks, " Thou hast a 
 fair face, wench," she cried ; " and if I 
 remember aright good Mr. Secretary's 
 words, hast used it to such purpose 
 that a young gentleman we have of 
 late taken into our favor is somewhat 
 excessive m his doting on it. Go to, 
 go to ; thou couldst go further and fare 
 worse. We oui'selvcs are averse to 
 marriage ; but if a woman must needs 
 have a husband (and that deep blush- 
 ing betokeneth methinks thy bent 
 thereon), she should set her heart 
 wisely, and govern it discreetly." 
 
 •' Alas, madam !" I cried, " 'tis not 
 of marriage I now do think ; but, on 
 my knees" (and falling again at her 
 feet, I clasped them, with tears), " of 
 my father's release ; I do crave your 
 majesty's mercy." 
 
 " Content thee, wench ; content 
 thee. Mr. Secretary hath obtained 
 from us the order for that foolish 
 man's banishment from our realm." 
 
 " Oh, madam I" I cried, " God bless 
 you !" 
 
 Then my heart did smite me I 
 should with so great vehemency bless 
 her who, albeit in this nearest instance 
 ;>itirul to me, did so relentlessly deal 
 
 with others ; and I bethought me of 
 Mistress AYard, and the ill-usage she 
 was like to meet with. And her 
 words touching Hubert, and F;ilence 
 concerning Basil, weighed like lead 
 on my soul ; yet I taxed myself with 
 folly therein, for verily at this time 
 the less he was thought of the greater 
 should be his safety. Sir Francis 
 had now approached the queen, and I 
 did hear her commend to him his gar- 
 den, which she said was very neat 
 and trim, and the pattern of it most 
 quaint and fanciful. Polly did also 
 kiss her hand, and Sir Walter Raleigh 
 and Sir Christopher Hatton, which 
 accompanied her majesty, whilst she 
 talked with Sir Francis, conversed 
 with Lady Sydney. I ween my Lord 
 Leicester and many other noblemen 
 and gentlemen were also in her train, 
 but mine eyes took scant note of what 
 passed before them ; the c^een herself 
 was the only object I could contem- 
 plate, so marvellous did it seem I 
 should thus have approached her, and 
 had so much of her notice as she did 
 bestow on me that day. And here I 
 cannot choose but marvel how strange- 
 ly our hearts are made. How favors 
 to ourselves do alter the current of 
 our feelings ; how a near approach to 
 those which at a distance we do think 
 of with unmitigated enmity, doth soft- 
 en even just resentments ; and what 
 a singular fascination doth lie in royal- 
 ty for to win unto itself a reverence 
 which doth obliterate memories which 
 in common instances should never lose 
 their sting. 
 
 The queen's barge, which had moor- 
 ed at the river-side of Sir Francis's 
 garden, was soon filled again with the 
 goodly party it had set down ; and as 
 it went up the stream, and I stood gaz- 
 ing on it, methought the whole scene 
 had been a dream. 
 
 Lady Sydney and Polly moved Sir 
 Francis to repeat the assurance her 
 majesty had given me touching the 
 commutation of my father's imprison- 
 ment into an order of banishment. He 
 satisfied me thereon, and did promise 
 to procure for me permission to s(x* 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 him once more before his departure ; 
 which interview did take place on the 
 next day ; and when I observed the 
 increased paleness of his face and fee- 
 bleness of his gait, the pain of bidding 
 that dear parent farewell equalled not 
 the joy I felt in the hope that liberty 
 and the care of those good friends to 
 whose society he would now return, 
 should prolong and cheer the remain- 
 ing days of his life. Methinks there 
 was some sadness in him that the 
 issue he had so resolutely prepared 
 for, and confidently looked to, should 
 be changed to one so different, and 
 that only by means of death would he 
 have desired to leave the English mis- 
 sion ; but he meekly bowed his will to 
 that of God, and said in an humble 
 manner he was not worthy of so ex- 
 alted an end as he had hoped for, and 
 he refused not to live if so be he 
 might yet serve God in obscure and 
 unnoticed ways. 
 
 When I returned home after this 
 comfortable, albeit very sad, parting, 
 I was too weary in body and in mind 
 for to do aught but lie down for a 
 while on a settle, and revolve in my 
 mind the changes which had taken 
 place around mo. Hubert caiie for 
 a brief time that evening; and me- 
 thinks he had heard from Polly the 
 haps at Seething Lane. He strove 
 for to move me to speak of the queen, 
 and to tell him the very words she 
 had uttered. The eager sparkling of his 
 eyes, the ill-repressed smilingness of his 
 countenance, the manner of his ques- 
 tioning, worked in me a secret anger, 
 which caused the thanks I gave him 
 for his successful dealings in my fa- 
 ther's behalf to come more coldly from 
 mine heart than they should otherwise 
 have done, albeit I strove to frame 
 them in such kind terms as were be- 
 fitting the great service he had ren- 
 dered us. But to disguise my 
 thoughts my tongue at last refused, 
 and I burst forth : 
 
 " But, for all that I do thank you, 
 Hubert, yea, and am for ever indebted 
 to you, which you will never have 
 reason, from my conduct and exceed- 
 
 ingly kind sisterly love, to doubt : bear 
 with me, I pray you, when I say (al- 
 beit you may think me a very foolish 
 creature) that I wish you not joy, but 
 rather for your sake do lament, the 
 new favor you do stand in with the 
 queen. O Hubert, bethink you, ere 
 you set your foot on the first step or 
 that slippery ladder, court favor, that 
 no man can serve two masters." 
 
 " Marry," he answered in a light 
 manner, " by that same token or text, 
 papists can then not serve the queen 
 and also the Pope !" 
 
 There be nothing which so chilleth 
 or else cutteth the heart as a jesting 
 retort to a fervent speech. 
 
 I hid my face on my arm to hide 
 some tears. 
 
 " Constance," he softly said, seeing 
 me moved, " do you weep for me ?" 
 
 " Yea," I murmured ; " God know- 
 eth what these new friendships and 
 this dangerous favor shall work in 
 you contrary to conscience, truth, and 
 virtue. Oh ! heaven shield Basil's 
 brother should be a favorite of the 
 queen !" 
 
 "Talk not of Basil," he fiercely cried, 
 " I warrant you the day may be 
 at hand when his fate shall hang 
 on my favor with those who can make 
 and mar a inan, or ruin and mend his 
 fortunes, as they will, by one stroke of 
 a pen !" 
 
 " Yea," I replied ; " I doubt not his 
 fortune is at their mercy. His soul, 
 God be praised, their arts cannot 
 reach." 
 
 " Constance," he then said, fixedly 
 gazing on me, " if you only love me, 
 there is no ambition too noble, no 
 heights of virtue too exalted, no sac- 
 rifices too entire, but I will aim at, as- 
 pire to, resolve on, at your bidding." 
 
 "Love your I said, raising mine 
 eyes to his, somewhat scornfully I 
 fear, albeit not meaning it, if I judge 
 by his sudden passion. 
 
 « God defend," he cried, « I do not 
 arrive at hating you with as great 
 fervency as I have, yea, as even yet I 
 do love you ! O Constance, if I should 
 one day be what I do yet abhor to think 
 
CoM-ance Sherwood, 
 
 189 
 
 of, lliG guilt thereof shall lie with you 
 if there be justice on earth or in 
 heaven !" 
 
 I. shook my head, and laying my 
 hand on his, sadly answered : 
 
 '' 1 choose not to bandy words with 
 you, Hubert, or charge you with what, 
 if I spoke the truth, would be too 
 keen and resentful reproaches for 
 your unbrotherly manner of dealing 
 with Basil and me ; for it would ill 
 become the close of this day, on 
 which I do owe you, under God, my 
 dear father's life, to upbraid where I 
 would fain only from my heart yield 
 thanks. I pray you, let us part in 
 peace. My strength is well-nigh 
 spent and my head acheth sorely." 
 
 He knelt down by my side, and 
 whispered, " One word more before I 
 go. You do hold in your keeping 
 Basil's fate and mine. I will not for- 
 sake the hope that alone keepeth me 
 from desperation. Hush ! say not the 
 word which would change me from a 
 friend to a foe, from a Catholic to an 
 apostate, from a man to a fiend. I 
 have gone well-nigh into the gate of 
 hell; a slender thread yet holds me 
 back ; snap it not in twain." 
 
 I spoke not, for verily my tongue 
 clove to the roof of my mouth, and a 
 fainting sensation of a sudden came 
 over me. I felt his lips pressed on 
 my hand, and then he left me ; and 
 that night I felt very ill, and for nigh 
 unto a fortnight could by no means 
 leave my bed. 
 
 One morning, being somewhat 
 easier, I sat up in a high-backed chair, 
 in what had once been our school- 
 room ; and when Muriel, who had 
 been a most dihgent nurse to me in 
 that sickness, came to visit me, I 
 pressed her for to tell me truly if she 
 liad heard aught of Basil or of Mis- 
 tress Ward; for every day when I 
 had questioned her thereon she had 
 denied all knowledge of their haps, 
 which noAV began to work in me a 
 suspicion she did conceal from me 
 some misfortune, which doubt, I told 
 her, was more grievous to me than to 
 be informed what had befallen them ; 
 
 and so constrained her to admit that, 
 albeit of Basil she had in truth no 
 tidings, which she judged to be flxvor- 
 able to our hopes, of Mistress Ward 
 she had heard, in the first instance, a 
 report, eight or ten days before, that 
 she had been hung up by the hands 
 and cruelly scourged ; which torments 
 she was said by the jailors, which Mr. 
 Lacy had spoken with, to have borne 
 with exceeding great courage, saying 
 they were the preludes of martyrdom, 
 with which, by the grace of God, she 
 hoped she should be honored. Then 
 Mr. Roper and Mr. Wells, who was 
 now returned to London, had brought 
 tidings the evening before that on the 
 preceding day she had been brought 
 to the bar, where, being asked by the 
 judges if she was guilty of that 
 treachery to the queen and to the laws 
 of the realm of furnishing the means 
 by which a traitor of a priest had es- 
 caped from justice, she answered with 
 a cheerful countenance in the affirma- 
 tive ; and that she never in her life 
 had done anything of which she less 
 repented than of the delivering that 
 innocent lamb frofti the wolves which 
 should have devoured him. 
 
 " Oh, Muriel," 1 cried, " cannot you 
 see her dear resolved face and the 
 lighting up of her eyes, and the quick 
 foshion of her speech, when she said 
 this?" 
 
 " I do picture her to myself," Muriel 
 answered in a low voice, " at all hours 
 of the day, and marvel at mine own 
 quietness therein. But I doubt not 
 her prayers do win for me the grace 
 of resignation. They sought to oblige 
 her to confess where Mr. Watson was, 
 but in vain ; and therefore they pro- 
 ceeded to pronounce sentence upon 
 her. But withal telling her that the 
 queen was merciful, and that if she 
 would ask pardon of her majesty, and 
 would promise to go to church, she 
 should be set at liberty; otherwise 
 that she must look for nothing but 
 certain death." 
 
 I drew a deep breath then, and said, 
 " The issue is, then, not doubtful." 
 
 " She answered," Muriel said, " that 
 
190 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 as to the queen, she had never offended 
 her majesty; that as to what she had 
 done in favoring Mr. Watson's escape, 
 she believed the queen herself, if she 
 had the bowels of a woman, would 
 have done as much if she had known 
 the ill-treatment he underwent; and 
 as to going to church, she had for 
 many years been convinced that it 
 was not lawful for her so to do, and 
 that she found no reason now for to 
 change her mind, and would not act 
 against her conscience ; and therefore 
 they might proceed to the execu- 
 tion of the sentence pronounced 
 against her ; for that death for such a 
 cause w^ould be very welcome, and 
 that she was willing to lay dovrn not 
 one life only, but many, if she had 
 them, rather than act. against her re- 
 ligion." 
 
 " And she is then condemned to 
 death without any hope ?" I said. 
 
 Muriel remained silent. 
 
 " Oh, Muriel !" I cried ; " it is not 
 done ? it is not over ?" 
 
 She wiped one tear that trickled 
 down her cheek, and said, " Yesterday 
 she suffered at Tyburn with a wonder- 
 ful coi^stancy and alacrity." 
 
 I hid my face in my hands ; for the 
 sight of the familiar room, of the chair 
 in which she was sitting what time she 
 took leave of us, of a little picture 
 pinned to the wall, which she had 
 gifted me with, moved me too much. 
 But when I closed mine eyes, there 
 arose remembrances of my journeying 
 with her ; of my foolish speeches 
 touching robbers ; of her motherly re- 
 proofs of my so great confidence, and 
 comfort in her guidance ; and I ^vas 
 fain to seek comfort from her who 
 should have needed it rather than me, 
 but who indeed had it straight from 
 heaven, and thereby could impart some 
 share of it to others. 
 
 " Muriel," I said, resting my tired 
 head on her bosom, " the day you say 
 she suffered, I now mind me, I was 
 most ill, and you tended me as cheer- 
 fully ti^, if you had no grief." 
 
 ''Oh, 'tis no common grief," she 
 answered, "no casting-down sorrow. 
 
 her end doth cause me ; rather some 
 kind of holy jealousy, some over-eager 
 pining to follow her." 
 
 A waiting-woman then came in, and 
 I saw her give a letter to Muriel, who 
 I noticed did strive to hide it from me. 
 But I detected it in her hand, and 
 cried, " 'Tis from Basil ; how hath it 
 come?" and took it from her; but 
 trembling so much, my lingers could 
 scarce untie the strings, for I was yet 
 very unwell from my sickness. 
 
 " Mr. Hodgson hath sent it," quoth 
 Muriel ; " God yield it be good news !" 
 
 Then my eyes fell on the loved 
 writing, and read what doth follow : 
 
 " Dear Heart and sweet Wife 
 soon to be— God be praised, we are 
 now safe in port at Calais, but have 
 not lacked dangers in our voyage. 
 But all is well, I ween, that doth end 
 well ; and I do begin my letter w^ith 
 the tokens of that good ending that 
 mine own sweet love should have no 
 fears, only much thankfulness to God, 
 whilst she doth read of the perils we 
 have escaped. We carried Mr. Wat- 
 son — Tom and I and two others — Into 
 the boat, on the evening of .the da}- 
 when I last saw you, and made for the 
 Dutch vessel out at sea near the river's 
 mouth. The light was waning, but 
 not yet so far gone but that objects 
 were discernible ; and we had not 
 rowed a very long time before wc 
 heard a splashing of oars behind us, 
 and turning round, what should we see 
 but one of the Queen's barges, and by 
 the floating pennon at the stern discerii- 
 ed her majesty to be on board ! AVe 
 hastily turned our boat, and I my back 
 toward the bank ; threw a cloak over 
 Mr. Watson, who, by reason of his 
 broken limbs, was lying on a mattress 
 a^ the bottom of it ; and Tom and tlie 
 others feigned to be fishing. When 
 the royal barge passed by, some one 
 did shout, railing at us for that we did 
 fish in the dark, and a storm coming uj 
 the river ; and verily it did of a sud I 'n 
 begin to blow very strong. Sund.-y 
 small craft were coming from the se:^. 
 into the river for shelter; and as they 
 did meet us, expressed marvel we 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 igi 
 
 sliould adventure forth, jeering us for 
 our thinking to catch iish raid a storm 
 menacing* None of us, albeit good 
 rowers, were much skilled in the mari- 
 ner's art; but we commended ourselves 
 to God and went onward all the 
 night ; and wlien the morning was 
 bireaking, to our unspeakable comfort, 
 we discovered the l3utch vessel but a 
 i'ew strokes distant at anchor, when, as 
 we bethought ourselves nearly in 
 safety, a huge rolling wave (for now 
 the weather had waxed exceedingly 
 rough) upset our boat/' 
 
 O Muriel," I exclaimed. 
 
 that 
 
 night I tossed about in a high fever, 
 and saw Basil come dripping wet at 
 the foot of my bed : I warrant you 
 'twas second sight." 
 
 " Read on, read on," Muriel said ; 
 *• nor delude yourself touching vis- 
 ions." 
 
 " Tom, the otlior boatman, and I, 
 being good swimmers, soon regained 
 the boat, the which floated keel up- 
 wards, whereon we climbed, but well- 
 nigh demented were we to find Mr. 
 AVatson could nowhere be seen. In 
 desperation I plunged again into the 
 sea, swimming at hazard, with diffi- 
 culty buffeting the waves ; when nearly 
 spent I descried the good priest, and 
 seized him in a most unmannerly 
 fashion by the collar, and dragging him 
 along, made shift to regain the floating 
 keel; and Tom, climbing to the top, 
 waved high his kerchief, hoping to be 
 seen by the Dutchman, who by good 
 hap did espy our signal. Soon had 
 we the joy to see a boat lowered and 
 advance toward us. With much dif- 
 ficulty it neared us, by reason of the 
 fury of the waves ; but, God be thank- 
 ed, it did at last reach us ; and Mr. 
 Watson, insensible and motionless, 
 was hoisted therein, and soon in safety 
 conveyed on board the vessel. I much 
 feared for his life ; for, I pray you, 
 \7as such a cold, long bath, succeeding 
 o a painful exposed night, meet medi- 
 cine for broken limbs, and the fever 
 which doth accompany such hurts ? I 
 wot not ; but yet, God be praised, he 
 ii now in the hospital of a monastery 
 
 in this town, well tended and cared 
 for, and the leeches do assure me like 
 to do well. Thou mayest think, sweet- 
 heart, that after seeing him safely 
 stowed in that good lodgment, I waited 
 not for to change my clothes or brea!: 
 my fast, before I went to the church ; 
 and on my knees blessed the Almighty 
 for his protection, and hung a thank- 
 offering on to our Lady's image ; for I 
 warrant you, when I was fishing for 
 Mr. Watson in that raging sea, I miss- 
 ed not to put up Hail Marys as 
 fast as I could think them, for be- 
 shrew me if I had breath to spare for 
 to utter. I do now pen this letter at 
 my good friend Mr. Wells's brother's, 
 and Tom will take it with him to Lon- 
 don, and Mr. Hodgson convey it to 
 thee. Thy affectionate and humble 
 obedient (albeit intending to lord it 
 over thee some coming day) servant 
 and lover, Basil Rookwood. 
 
 " Oh, how the days do creep till I 
 be out of my wardship! Methinks I 
 do feel somewhat like Mrs. Helen In- 
 goldsby, who doth hate patience, she 
 saith, by reason that it doth always 
 keep her waiting. I would not be 
 patient, sweet one, I fear, if impatience 
 would carry me quicker to thy dear 
 side." 
 
 " Well," said Muriel, sweetly smil- 
 ing when I had finished reading this 
 comfortable letter, "the twain which 
 we have accompanied this past fort- 
 night with our thoughts and prayers 
 have both, God be praised, escaped 
 from a raging sea into a safe harbor, 
 albeit not of the same sort— the one 
 earthly, the other heavenly. Oh, but 
 I am very glad, dear Constance, thou 
 art spared a greater trial than hath 
 yet touched thee !" and so pure a joy 
 beamed in her eyes, that methought no 
 one more truly fulfilled that bidding, 
 " to rejoice with such as rejoice, as 
 well as to weep with such as weep." 
 
 This letter of my dear Basil hasten- 
 ed my recovery ; and three days later, 
 having received an invitation thereun- 
 to, I went to visit the Countess of Sur- 
 rey, now also of Arundel, at Arundel 
 House. The trouble she was in by 
 
192 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 reason oP her gran^lflitlior's death, and 
 of my Ladj Lumlcj's, who had preced- 
 ed her father to the grave, exceeded 
 anything she had yet endured. The 
 earl her husband continued the same 
 hard usage toward her, and never so 
 much as came to visit her at that time 
 of her affliction, but remained in Nor- 
 folk, attending to his sports of hunting 
 and the like. Howsoever, as he had 
 !?atisfied her uncles, Mr. Francis and 
 Mr. Leonard Dacre, Mr. James La- 
 bourn, and also Lord Montague, and 
 his ow^n sister Lady Margaret Sack- 
 ville, and likewise Lord Thomas and 
 Lord William Howard, his brothers, 
 that he put not in any doubt, albeit 
 words to that ciFecfc had once escaped 
 him, the validity of his marriage, she, 
 with great wisdom and patience, and 
 prudence very commendable in one of 
 her years, being destitute of any fitting 
 ])lace to dwell in, resolved to return to 
 ins house in London. At the which 
 at first he seemed not a little displeas- 
 ed, but yet took no measures for to 
 drive her from it. And in the order- 
 ing of the household and care of his 
 pi'operty manifested the same zeal, 
 • and obtained the same good results, as 
 she had procured whilst she lived at 
 Kenninghall. Methought she had 
 waxed older by some years, not weeks, 
 since I had seen her, so staid and com- 
 posed had become the fashion of her 
 speech and of her carriage. She con- 
 versed with me on mine own troubles 
 and comforts, and the various and op- 
 posite haps which had befallen me ; 
 which I told her served to strengthen 
 in me my early thinking, that sorrows 
 are oftentimes so intermixed with joys 
 that our lives do more resemble varia- 
 ble April days than the cloudless skies 
 of June, or the dark climate of win- 
 ter. 
 
 Wliilst we did thus discourse, mine 
 eyes fell on a quaint piece of work in 
 vsilk and silver, which was lying on a 
 table, as if lately unfolded. Lady 
 Arundel smiled in a somewhat sad 
 fashion, and said : 
 
 " I warrant thou art curious, Con- 
 stance, to examine that piece of em- 
 
 broidery; and verily as ragards the 
 hands wliich hath worked it, and the 
 kind intent with which it was wrought, 
 a more notable one should not easily 
 be found. Look at it, and see if thou 
 canst read the ingenious msaning of 
 it." 
 
 This was the design therein ex- 
 ecuted with exceeding great neatness 
 and beauty : there was a tree framed, 
 whereon two turtle-doves sat, on either 
 side one, with this difi:erence, that by 
 that on the right hand there were two 
 or three green leaves remaining, by 
 the other none at all — the tree on that 
 side being wholly bare. Over the top 
 of the tree were these words, wrought 
 in silver : " Amoris sorte pares." At 
 the bottom of the tree, on the side 
 where the first turtle-dove did sit by 
 the green leaves, these words were 
 also embroidered : " Hiec ademptum," 
 with an anchor under them. On the 
 other side, under the other dove, were 
 these words, in like manner wrought : 
 "Ilia peremptum," with pieces of 
 broken board underneath. 
 
 " See you what this doth mean ?" 
 the countess asked. 
 
 "' Nay," I answered ; " my wit i3 
 herein at fault." 
 
 " You will," she said, " when yo:i 
 know whence this gift comes to me. 
 Methought, save by a few near to me 
 in blood, or by marriage connected, 
 and one or two friends — thou, my 
 Constance, being the chiefesi; — I was 
 unknown to all the world ; but a sad 
 royal heart having had notice, in the 
 midst of its own sore griefs, how the 
 earl my husband doth, through evil 
 counsel, absent and estrange himself 
 from me, partly to comfort, and partly 
 to show her love to one she once 
 thought should be her daughter-in- 
 law, for a token thereof she sent me 
 this gift, contrived by her own think- 
 ing, and wrought with her own hands. 
 Those tw^o doves do represent herself 
 and me. On my side an anchor and 
 a few green leaves (symbols of hope), 
 show I may yet flourish, because my 
 lord is alive ; though, by reason of Ium 
 absence and unkindness, I mourn as a 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 193 
 
 lone tui-tlc-dovc. But the bare boughs 
 and broken boards on her side signify 
 that her hopes arc wliollj wrecked by 
 the death of the duke, for whom she 
 doth mourn witliout hope of comfort 
 or redress." 
 
 The pathetic manner in which Lady 
 Arundel made this speech moved me 
 ahnost to tears. 
 
 " If PhlHp," she said, " doth visit me 
 again at any time, I will hang up this 
 ingenious conceit where he should see 
 it. Methinks it will recall to him the 
 l)ast, and move him to show me kind- 
 ness. Help me, Constance," she said 
 after a pause, " for to compose such an 
 answer as my needle can express, 
 \viiich shall convey to this royal pris- 
 oner both thanks, and somewhat of 
 hope also, albeit not of the sort she 
 doth disclaim." 
 
 I mused for a while, and then with 
 a pencil drew a pattern of a hke tree 
 to that of the Scottish queen's design ; 
 and the dove which did typify the 
 Countess of Arundel I did represent 
 fastened to the branch, whereon she 
 sat and mourned, by many strings 
 wound round her heart, and tied to the 
 anchor of an earthly hope, whereas 
 the one which was the symbol of the 
 forlorn royal captive did spread her 
 wings toward the sky, unfettered by 
 the shattered relics strewn at her feet. 
 Lady Arundel put her arm round my 
 neck, and said she liked well this de- 
 sign ; and bade me for to pray for her, 
 that the invisible strings, which verily 
 did restrain in her heavenward mo- 
 tions, should not always keep her 
 from soaring thither where only true 
 joys are to be found. 
 
 During some succeeding weeks I 
 often visited her, and we wrought to- 
 gether at the same frame in the work- 
 ing of this design, which she had set 
 on hand by a cunning artificer from 
 ihe rough pattern I had drawn. Much 
 i:ilk the while was ministered between 
 us touching religion, which did more 
 and more engage her thoughts ; Mr. 
 15ayley, a Catholic gentleman who be- 
 longed to the earl her husband, and 
 whom she did at that time employ to 
 
 carry relief to sick and poor persons, 
 helping her greatly therein, being well 
 instructed himself, and haunting such 
 priests as did reside secretly in Lon- 
 don at that time. 
 
 About the period when Basil was 
 expected to return, my health was 
 again much affected, not so sharp- 
 ly as before, but a weakness and fail- 
 ing of strength did show the effects of 
 such sufferings as I had endured, 
 Hubert's behavior did tend at that 
 time for to keep me in great uneasi- 
 ness. When he came to the house, 
 albeit he spake but seldom to me, if 
 we ever were alone he gave sundry 
 hints of a persistent hope and a pos- 
 sible desperation, mingled with vague 
 threats, which disturbed me more than 
 can be thought of. Methinks Kate, 
 Polly, and Muriel held council touch- 
 ing my health ; and thence arose a 
 very welcome proposal, from my Lady 
 Tregony, that I should visit her at 
 her seat in Norfolk, close on the bor- 
 ders of Suffolk, whither she had re- 
 tired since Thomas Sherwood's death. 
 Polly, who had a good head and a 
 good heart, albeit too light a mind, 
 forecasted the comfort it should be to 
 Basil and me, when he returned, to be 
 so near neighbors until we were mar- 
 ried (which could not be before some 
 months after he came of ago), that we 
 could meet every day; Lady Tre- 
 gony's seat being only three miles dis- 
 tant from Euston. They wrote to 
 him thereon ; and when his answer 
 came, the joy he expressed was such 
 that nothing could be greater. And 
 on a fair day in the spring, when the 
 blossoms of the pear and apple-trees 
 were showing on the bare branches, 
 even as my hopes of coming joys did ' 
 bud afresh after long pangs of separa- 
 tion, I rode from London, by slow 
 journeys, to Banham Hall, and amidst 
 the sweet silence of rural scenes, quiet 
 fields, and a small but convenient 
 house, where I was greeted with ma- 
 ternal kindness by ewe in whom age 
 retained the Avarmth of heart of youth, 
 I did regain so much strength and! 
 good looks, that when, one day, a- 
 
194 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 horseman, when I least thought of it, 
 rode to the door, and I turned white 
 and red in tarns, speechless with de- 
 light, perceiving it to be Basil, he took 
 me by boih hands, looked into my face 
 and cried : 
 
 '• Hang the leeches ! Suffolk air 
 was all thou didst need, for all they did 
 so fright me." 
 
 "Norfolk air, I pray you," quoth 
 my Lady Tregony, smiling. 
 
 " Nay, nay," quoth Basil. '• It 
 doth blow over the border from Suf- 
 folk." 
 
 " Happiness, leastways, bloweth 
 thence," I whispered. 
 
 "Yea" he answered; for he was 
 noi one fo? to make long speeches. 
 
 But, ah me ! the sight of him was a 
 cure to all mine ailments. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXI. 
 
 It is not to be credited with how 
 great an admixture of pleasure and 
 pain I do set myself to my daily 
 task of writing, for the thought 
 of those spring and summer months 
 spent in Lady Tregony's house doth 
 stir up old feelings, the sweetness 
 of which hath yet some bitterness in 
 it, which T would fain separate from 
 the memories of that happy time. 
 
 Basil had taken up his abode at 
 Euston, whither I so often went and 
 whence he so often came, that me- 
 thinks we could both have told (for 
 mine own part I can jet do it, even 
 after the lapse of so many years) the 
 shape of each tree, the rising of each 
 bank, the every winding of the fail' 
 river Ouse betwixt one house and the 
 other. Yea, when I now sit down on the 
 shore, gazing on the far-off sea, be- 
 tliinklng myself it doth break on the 
 coast of England, I sometimes newly 
 draw 0:1 memory's tablet that old 
 large house, the biggest in all Suffolk, 
 albeit homely in its exterior and inte- 
 rior plainness, which sitteth in a green 
 hollow between two graceful swelling 
 hills. Its opposite meadows starred 
 
 in the spring-tide with so many dai- 
 sies and buttercups that the grass 
 scantily showeth amidst these gay in- 
 truders ; the ascending walk, a mile 
 in length, with four rows of ash-trees 
 on each side, the tender green of 
 which in those early April days mocked 
 the sober tints of the darksome tufis oi 
 fir ; and the noble deer underneath 
 the old oaks, carrying in a stately 
 manner their horned heads, and dart- 
 ing along the glades with so swift a 
 course that the eye could scarce fol- 
 low them. But mostly the little wood- 
 en bridge where, when Basil did fish, 
 I was wont to sit and watch the sport, 
 I said, but verily him, of whose sight 
 I was somewhat covetous after his 
 long absence. And I mind me that 
 one day when we were thus seated, he 
 on the margin of the stream and I 
 leaning against the bridge, we held an 
 argument touching country diversions, 
 which began in this wise : 
 
 " Methinks," I said, " of all dis- 
 ports fishing hath this advantage, that 
 if one faileth in the success he looketh 
 ibr, he hath at least a wholesome 
 walk, a sweat air, a fragrant savor of 
 the mead flowers. He seeth the 
 young swans, herons, ducks, and many 
 other fowls with their broods, which is 
 surely better than the noise of hounds, 
 the blast of horns, and the cries the 
 hunters make. And if it be in part 
 usedibr the increasing of the body's 
 health and the solace of the mind, it 
 can also be advantageously employed 
 for the health of the soul, for it is not 
 needful in this diversion to have a 
 great many persons with you, and this 
 solitude doth fiivor thought and th:^ 
 serving of God by sometimes repeat- 
 ing devout prayers." 
 
 To this Basil replied : " That as 
 there be many men, there be also 
 many minds ; and, for his part, when 
 the woods and fields and skies seemed 
 in all one loud cry and confusion with 
 the earning of the hounds, the gallop- 
 ping of the horses, the hallowing of the 
 huntsmen, and the excellent echo re- 
 sounding from the hills and valleys, 
 he did not think th^re could be a 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 195 
 
 more delectable pastime or a more 
 tuneable sound by any degree than 
 this, and specially in that place which 
 is formed so meet for the purpose. 
 And if he should wish anything, it 
 would be that it had been the time of 
 year for it, and for me to ride by his 
 side on a sweet misty morning to hear 
 this goodly music and to be .recreated 
 with this excellent diversion. And 
 for the matter of prayers," he added, 
 smiling, "I warrant thee, sweet 
 preacher, that as wholesome cogita- 
 tions touching Almighty God and his 
 goodness, and brief inward thanking 
 of him for good limbs and an easy 
 heart,. have come into my mind on a 
 horse's back with a brave westerly 
 wind blowing about my head, as in 
 the quiet sitting by a stream listing to 
 the fowls singing." 
 
 " Oh, but Basil," I rejoined, " there 
 are more virtues to be practised by 
 an angler than by a hunter." 
 
 " How prove you that, sweetheart ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Then I : " Well, he must be of a 
 well-settled and constant belief to en- 
 joy the benefit of his expectation. He 
 must hh full of love to his neighbor, 
 that he neither give offence in any 
 particular, nor be guilty of any gener- 
 al destruction ;' then he must be ex- 
 ceeding patient, not chafing in losing 
 the prey when it is almost in hand, or 
 in breaking his tools, but with pleased 
 sufferance, as I have witnessed in thy- 
 self, amend errors and think mis- 
 chances instructions to better careful- 
 ness. He must be also full of humble 
 thoughts, not disdaining to kneel, lie 
 down, or wet his fingers when occa- 
 sion commands. Then must he be 
 prudent, apprehending the reasons 
 why the fish will not bite ; and of a 
 thankful nature, showing a large 
 gratefulness for the least satisfaction." 
 
 " Tut, tu' ," Basil replied, laughing ; 
 " thinkest thou no patience be needful 
 when the dogs do lose the scent, or 
 your horse refuseth to take a gate ; 
 no prudonce to forecast which way to 
 turn when the issue be doubtful ; no 
 humility to brook a fall with twenty 
 
 fellows passing by a-jeering of you ; 
 no thankfulness your head be not 
 broken ; no love of your neighbor for 
 to abstain in the heat of the chase 
 from treading down his corn, or for to 
 make amends when it be done ? Go 
 to, go to, sweetheart ; thou art a dex- 
 trous pleader, but hast failed to prove 
 thy point. Methinks there doth ex- 
 ist greater temptations for to swear or 
 to quarrel in hunting than in fishing, 
 and, if resisted, more excellent virtues 
 then observed. One day last year, 
 when I was in Cheshire, Sir Peter 
 Lee of Lime did invite me to hunt the 
 stag, and there being a great stag in 
 chase and many gentlemen hot in the 
 pursuit, the stag took soil, and divers, 
 whereof I was one, alighted and 
 stood with sword drawn to have a cut 
 at him." 
 
 '• Oh, the poor stag !" I cried ; " I 
 do always sorely grieve for him." 
 
 " Well," he continued, " the stags 
 there be wonderfully fierce and dan- 
 gerous, which made us youths more 
 eager to be at him. But he escaped 
 us all ; and it was my misfortune to be 
 hindered in my coming near him, 
 the way being slippery, by a fall 
 which gave occasion to some which 
 did not know me to speak as if I had 
 failed for fear ; which being told me, 
 I followed the gentleman who first 
 spoke it, intending for to pick a quarrel 
 with him, and, peradventure, measure 
 my sword with his, so be his denial 
 and repentance did not appear. But, 
 I thank God, afore I reached him my 
 purpose had changed, and in its slead 
 I turned back to pursue the stag, and 
 happened to be the only horseman in 
 when the dogs set him up at bay ; and 
 approaching near him, he broke 
 through the doga and ran at me, and 
 took my horse's side v/ith his horns. 
 Tiien I quitted my horse, and of a 
 sudden getting behind him, got on his 
 back and cut his throat with my 
 sword." 
 
 " Alack !" I cried, " I do mislike 
 these bloody pastimes, and love not 
 to think of the violent death of aay 
 living creature." 
 
196 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 " Well, dear heart," he answered, 
 ** I will not make thee sad again by 
 the mention of the killing of so much 
 as a rat, if it displeaseth thee. But 
 truly I mislike not to think of that 
 day, for I warrant thee, in turning 
 back from the pursuit of that injuri- 
 ous gentleman, somewhat more of vir- 
 tue did exist than it hath been my 
 hap often to practice. For, look you, 
 sweet one, to some it doth cause no 
 pain to forgive an injury which touch- 
 cth not their honor, or to plunge into 
 the sea to fish out a drowning man ; 
 but to be styled a coward, and yet to 
 act as a Christian man should do, not 
 seeking for to be revenged, why, me- 
 thinks, there should be a little merit in 
 it." 
 
 "Yea," I said, "much in every 
 way ; but truly, sir, if your thinking 
 is just that easy virtue is little or no 
 virtue, I shall be the least virtuous 
 wife in the world." 
 
 Upon this he laughed so loud that 
 I told him he would fright all the 
 fishes away. 
 
 " r faith, let them go if they list," he 
 cried, and cast away his rod. Then 
 coming to where I was sitting, he invit- 
 ed me to walk with him alongside the 
 stream, and then asked me for to ex- 
 plain my last speech. 
 
 " Why, Basil," I said, " what, I 
 pray you, should be the duty of a vir- 
 tuous Avife but to love her husband ?" 
 
 So then he, catching my meaning, 
 smiled and replied, 
 
 " If that duty shall prove easy to 
 thy affectionate heart, I doubt not but 
 others will arise which shall call for 
 the exercise of more difficult virtue." 
 
 When we came to a sweet nook, 
 where the shade made it too dark for 
 grass to grow, and only moss yielded 
 a soft carpet for the feet, we sat down 
 on a shelving slope of broken stones, 
 and I exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, Basil, methinks we shall be 
 too happy in this fair place ; and I do 
 tax myself presently with hardness of 
 heart, that in thy company, and the 
 forecasting of a blissful time to come, 
 I lose the sense of recent sorrows." 
 
 " God doth yield thee this comfort," 
 he answered, " for to refresh thy body 
 and strengthen thy soul, which have 
 both been verily sorely afflicted of 
 late. I Ave en he doth send us breath- 
 ing-times with this merciful intent." 
 
 By such discourses as these we en- 
 tertained ourselves at sundry times ; 
 but some of the sweetest hours we 
 spent were occupied in planning the fu- 
 ture manner of our lives, the good we 
 should strive to do amongst our poor 
 neighbors, and the sweet exercise of 
 Catholic religion Ave should observe. 
 
 Foreseeing the frequent concealing 
 of priests in his house, Basil sent one 
 day for a young carpenter, one Mas- 
 ter Owen, who hath since been so 
 noted for the contriving of hiding- 
 places in all the recusants' houses in 
 England; and verily what I noticed 
 in him during the days he was at work 
 at Euston did agree with the great re- 
 pute of sanctity he hath since obtain- 
 ed. His so small stature, his trick of 
 silence, his exceeding recollected and 
 composed manner filled me Avith ad- 
 miration ; and Basil told me nothing 
 Avould serve him, the morning- he ar- 
 rived, Avhen he found a priest was in 
 the house, but to go to shrift and holy 
 communion, Avhich was his practice, 
 before ever he set to work at his good 
 business. I took much pleasure in 
 watching his progress. He scooped 
 out a cell in the Avails of the gallery, 
 contriving a door such as I remember- 
 ed at Sherwood Hall, Avhich none could 
 see to open unless they did know of 
 the spring. All the time he Avas la- 
 boring thereat, I could discern him to 
 be praying ; and Avhen he Avot not any 
 to be near him, sang hymns in a loud 
 and exceeding sweet voice. I have 
 never observed in any one a more re- 
 ligious behavior than in this youth, 
 Avho, by his subtle and ingenious art, 
 hath saved the lives of many priests, 
 and procured mass to be said in houses 
 Avhere none should have durst for to 
 say or hear it if a refuge of this kind 
 did not exist, Avhereiu a man may lie 
 ensconced for years, and none can find 
 liim, if he come not forth himself. 
 
 I 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 [97 
 
 "When he was gone, other sort of 
 workmen were called in, for to make 
 more habitable and convenient a portion 
 of this large house. For in this the 
 entire consenting of our minds did ap- 
 pear, that neither of us desired for to 
 spend money on showy improvements, 
 or to inhabit ten chambers when five 
 should suffice. What one proposed, 
 the other always liked well ; and if in 
 tastes we did sometimes differ, yet no 
 disagreement ensued. For, albeit Ba- 
 sil cared not as much as I did for the 
 good ordering of the library, his indul- 
 gent kindness did nevertheless incline 
 him to favor me with a promise that 
 one hundred fair, commendable books 
 should be added to those his good 
 father had collected. He said that 
 Hubert should aid us to choose these 
 goodly volumes, holy treatises, and 
 liistories in French and English, if it 
 liked me, and poetry also. One pleas- 
 ant chamber he did laughingly appoint 
 for to be the scholar's room, in the which 
 he should never so much as show his 
 face, but Hubert and I read and write, 
 if we listed, our very heads off. The 
 ancient chapel was now a hall ; and, 
 save some carving on the walls which 
 could not be recovered, no traces did 
 remain of its old use. But at the top- 
 most part of the house, at the head of 
 a narrow staircase, was a chamber 
 wherein mass was sometimes said ; and 
 since Basil's return, he had procured that 
 each Saturday a priest should come and 
 spend the night with him, for the con- 
 venience of all the neighboring Catho- 
 lics who resorted there for to go to their 
 duty. Lady Trcgony and her house- 
 hold — which were mostly Catholic, but 
 had not the same commodities in her 
 house, where to conceal any one was 
 more hard, for that it stood almost in 
 the village of Fakenham, and all 
 comyrs and goers proved visible to the 
 inhabitants — did repair on Sundays, 
 at break oF day, to Euston. How 
 sweet were those rides in the fiiir 
 morning light, the dew bespangling 
 every herb and tree, and the wild 
 flowers filling the air with their fresh 
 fragrance ! The pale primroses, the 
 
 azure harebell, the wood-anemone, and 
 the dark-blue hyacinth — what dainty 
 nosegays they furnished us with for 
 our Blessed Lady's altar ! of which 
 the fairest image I ever beheld stood 
 in the little secret chapel at Euston. 
 Basil did much affection this image of 
 Blessed Mary; for as far back as he 
 could remember he had been used to 
 say his prayers before it ; and when his 
 mother died, he being only seven years 
 of age, he knelt before this so lively 
 representation of God's Mother, be- 
 seeching of her to be a mother to him 
 also; which prayer methinks verily 
 did take effect, his life having been 
 marked by singular tokens of her ma- 
 ternal care. 
 
 1\\ the Holy Week, which fell that 
 year in the second week of April, he 
 procured the aid of three priests, and 
 had all the ceremonies performed 
 which do appertain to that sacred sea- 
 son. On Wednesday, toward evening 
 began Tenebrce^ with the mysterious 
 candlestick of fifteen lights, fourteen of 
 them representing, by the extinguishing 
 of them, the disciples which forsook 
 Christ ; the fifteenth on the top, which 
 was not put out, his dear Mother, who 
 from the crib to the cross, was not 
 severed from him. On Thursday we 
 decked the sepulchre wherein the 
 Blessed Sacrament reposed with flow- 
 ers and all such jewels as we possessed, 
 and namely with a very fair diamond 
 cross which Basil had gifted me with, 
 and reverently attended it day and 
 night. " God defend," I said to Basil, 
 when the sepulchre was removed, " I 
 should retain for vain uses what was 
 lent to our Lord yester eve!" and 
 straightway hung on the cross to our 
 Lady's neck. On Friday we all crept 
 to the crucifix, and kissing, bathed it 
 with our tears. On Saturday every 
 fire was extinguished in the house, and 
 kindled again with hallowed fire. 
 Then ensued the benediction of the 
 paschal candle, and the rest of tlic 
 divine ceremonies, till mass. At 
 mass, as soon as the priest pro- 
 nounced ''' Gloria in excelsis," a cloth, 
 contrived by Lady Tregony and me. 
 
198 
 
 Constance Sherioood. 
 
 and which veiled the altar, made re- 
 splendent with lights and flowers, was 
 suddenly snatched away, and many 
 little bells we had prepared for that 
 purpose rung, in imitation of what 
 ^vas done in England in Catholic times, 
 and now in foreign countries. On 
 l^a^ler Sanday, after mass, a benedic- 
 tion was given to divers sorts of meat, 
 and, in remembrance of fhe Lamb 
 sacrificed two days before, a great pro- 
 portion of lamb. Nigh one hundred re- 
 cusants had repaired to Euston that 
 day for their paschal communion. 
 Basil did invite them all to break 
 Lent's neck with us, in honor of Christ's 
 joyful resurrection ; and many bless- 
 ings were showered that day, I ween, 
 on Master Kookwood, and for his sake, 
 I ween, on Mistress Sherwood also. 
 The sun did shine that Easter morning 
 with more than usual brightness. The 
 common people do say i-t danceth for 
 joy at this glorious tide. For my 
 part, methought it had a rare youthful 
 brilliancy, more cheering than hot, 
 more hghtsome than dazzling. All 
 nature seemed to rejoice that Christ 
 was risen ; and pastoral art had 
 devised arches of flowers and gay 
 wreaths hanging from pole to pole and 
 gladdening every thicket. 
 
 Verily, if the sun danced in the 
 sky, my poor heart danced in my 
 bosom. At Basil's wishing, anticipat- 
 ing future duties, I went to the kitchen 
 for to order the tansy-cakes which 
 were to be prizes at the hand-ball 
 playing on the next day. Like a fool- 
 ish creature, I was ready to smile at 
 every jest, howsoever trifling; and 
 when Basik put in his head at the 
 door and cried, " Prithee, let each one 
 that eateth of tansy-cake to-morrow, 
 which signifieth bitter herbs, take also 
 of bacon, to show he is no Jew," the 
 ■svenches and I did laugh till the tears 
 ran down our cheeks. Ah me ! when 
 the heart doth ovei-flow with joy 't'is 
 marvellous how the least word maketh 
 meiTiment. 
 
 One day late in April I rode with 
 Basil for to see some hawking, which 
 verily is a pleasure for high and 
 
 mounting spirits ; howsoLsvcr, I wore 
 not the dress which the ladies in this 
 country do use on such occasions, for I 
 have always thought it an unbecoming 
 thing for women to array themselves 
 in male attire, or ride in fashion like a 
 man, and Basil is of my thinking 
 thereon. It was a clear, calm, sun- 
 shiny evening, about an hour before 
 the sun doth usually mask himself, 
 that we went to the river. There we 
 dismounted and, for tho first time, I 
 did behold this noble pastime. For is 
 it not rare to consider how a wild bird 
 should be so brought to hand and so 
 well managed as to m_ake us such 
 pleasure in the air ; bat most of all to 
 forego her native liberty and feeding, 
 and return to her servitude and diet? 
 And what a lesson do they read to us 
 when our wanton wills and thoughts 
 take no heed of reason and conscience's 
 voices luring us back to duty's perch. 
 
 When we had stood a brief time 
 watching for a mallard, Basil perceiv- 
 ed one and whistled off his falcon. 
 She flew from him as if she would 
 never have turned her head again, yet 
 upon a shout came in. Then by de- 
 grees, little by little, flying about and 
 about, she mounted so high as if she 
 had made the moon the place of her 
 flight, but presently came down like a 
 stone at the sound of his lure. I wax- 
 ed very eager in the noticing of these 
 haps, tind was well content to be an 
 eye-witness of this sport. Methought 
 it should be a very pleasant thing to 
 be Basil's companion in it, and wear 
 a dainty glove and a gentle tasel on 
 my fist which should never cast off 
 but at my bidding, and when I let it 
 fly would return at my call. And this 
 thought minded me of a faithful love 
 never diverted from its resting-place 
 save by heavenward aspirations al- 
 ternating betwixt earthly duties and 
 ghostly soarings. But oh, what a 
 tragedy was enacted in the air when 
 Basil, having detected by a little white 
 feather in its tail a cock in a brake, 
 cast off a tasel gentle, who never 
 ceased his circular motion till he had 
 recovered his place. Then suddenly 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 199 
 
 upon the flushing of the cock he came 
 down, and misshig of it in that down- 
 come, lo what working there was • on 
 both sides ! The cock mounting as if 
 he would have pierced the skies ; the 
 hawk fl jing a contrary way until he 
 had made the wind his friend ; what 
 speed the cock made to save himself! 
 What hasty pursuit the hawk made of 
 the fugitive ! after long flying killing 
 of it, but alack in killing of it killing 
 himself! 
 
 " Ah, a fatal ending to a fatal 
 strife !" exclaimed a known voice 
 close unto mine ear, a melodious one, 
 albeit now harsh to my hearing. 
 Mine eyes were dazzled with gazing 
 upward, and I confusedly discerned 
 two gentlemen standing near me, one 
 of which I knew to be Hubert. I 
 gave him my hand, and then Basil 
 turning round and beholding him and 
 his companion, came up to them with 
 a joyful greeting : 
 
 " Oh, Sir Henry," he exclaimed, " I 
 be truly glad to see you ; and you, 
 Huberi, what a wcbome surj^rise is 
 this !" 
 
 Then he introduced me to Sir Hen- 
 ry Jerningham ; for he it was who, 
 bowing ill a courteous fashion, ad- 
 dressed to me such compliments as 
 gentlemen are wont to pay to ladies at 
 the outset of their acquaintanceship. 
 
 These visitors had left their horses 
 a few paces off, and then Sir Henry 
 explained that Hubert had been abid- 
 ing with him at his seat for a few 
 da3^s, and that certain law business in 
 which Basil was concerned as well as 
 his brother, and himself also, as hav- 
 ing been for one year his guardian, did 
 necessitate a meeting wherein these 
 matters should be brought to a close. 
 
 " So," quoth he then, " Master Basil, 
 I proposed we should invade your 
 solitude in place of withdrawing you 
 from it, which methought of the two 
 evils should be the least, seeing what 
 attractions do detain yon at Euston 
 at this time." 
 
 I foolishly dared not look at Hubert 
 when Sir Henry made this speech, 
 and Basil with hearty cheer thanked 
 
 him for his obliging conduct and the 
 great honor he did him lor to visit him 
 in this amicable manner. Then he 
 craved his permission for to accompa- 
 ny me to Lady Tr^gony's house, trust- 
 ing, he said, to Hubert to conduct him 
 to Euston, and to perform there all 
 hospitable duties during the short time 
 he should be absent himself. 
 
 '• Nay, nay," quoth Sir Henry, " but, 
 with your license, Master B:isil, we 
 will ride with you and this lady to 
 Banhara Hall. Methinks, seeing you 
 are such near neighbors, that Mistress 
 Sherwood lacketh not opportunities to 
 enjoy your company, and that you 
 should not deprive me of the pleasure 
 ot* a short conversation with her 
 whilst Hubert and you entertain your- 
 selves for the nonce in the best way you 
 can." 
 
 Basil smiled, and said it contented 
 him very much tliat Sir Henry should 
 enjoy my conversation, which he 
 hoped in future should make amends 
 to his friends for his own deficiencies. 
 So we all mounted our horses, and 
 Sir Henry rode alongside of mc^ and 
 Basil and Hubert behind un ; fo.- only 
 two could hold abreast in tlic narrow 
 lane which led to Fakenhan:. A chill 
 had fallen on my heart since Hubert'3 
 arrival, which I can only liken to the 
 sudden overcasting of a bright sun- 
 shiny day by a dark, cold cloud. 
 
 At first Sir Henry cntCxcd into dis- 
 course wnth me touching hawking, 
 which he talked of in a merry fashion, 
 drawdng many similitudes betwixt fal- 
 coners and lovers, which he said were 
 the likest people in the world. 
 
 " For, I pray you," said he, " are 
 not hawks to the one what his mistress 
 is to the other ? the objects of his care, . 
 admiration, labor, and all. They be 
 indeed his idols. To them he con- 
 secrates his amorous ditties, and 
 courts each one in a peculiar dialect. 
 Oh, believe me. Mistress Sherwood, 
 that lady may style herself fortunate 
 in love who shall meet with so much 
 thought, affection, and solicitude from 
 a lover or a husband as his birds do 
 from a srood ostrin^er." 
 
200 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 Then diTcrfcing his speech to other 
 topics, he told me it was bruited that 
 the queen did intend to make a pro- 
 gress in the eastern counties that sum- 
 mer, and that her majesty should be 
 entertained in a very splendid manner 
 at Kenninghall by my Lord Arundel 
 and also at his house in Norwich. 
 
 " It doth much grieve me to hear it," 
 I answered. 
 
 Then he : " Wherefore, Mistress 
 Sherwood?" 
 
 "Because,"! said, "Lord Arundel 
 hath already greatly impaired his for- 
 tune and spent larger sums than can 
 be thought of in the like prodigal 
 courtly expenses, and also lost a good 
 part of the lands which his grand- 
 father and my Lady Lumley would 
 have bequeathed to him if he had not 
 turned spendthrift and so greatly dis- 
 pleased them." 
 
 " But and if it be so," quoth he 
 again, " wherefore doth this young no- 
 bleman's imprudence displeasure you, 
 Mistress Sherwood ?" 
 
 I answered, " By reason of the pain 
 which his follies do cause to his sweet 
 lady, which for many years hath been 
 more of a friend to my poor self, than 
 unequal rank and, if possible, still 
 more unequal merit should warrant." 
 
 "Then I marvel not," replied Sir 
 Henry, "at your resentment of her 
 husband's folly, for by all I have ever 
 seen or heard of this lady she doth 
 show herself to be the pattern of a 
 wife, the model of high-born ladies ; 
 and 'tis said that albeit so young, there 
 doth exist in her so much merit and 
 dignity that some noblenaen confess 
 that when they come into her presence 
 they dare not swear, as 'at other times 
 they are wont to do before the best of 
 the kingdom. But I have heard, and 
 am verily inclined to believe It, that he 
 is much changed in his dispositions to- 
 ward his lady; though pride, it may 
 be, or shame at his ill-usage of her, 
 or fear that it should seem that, now 
 his favor with the queen doth visibly 
 decline, he should turn to her whom, 
 when fortune smiled upon him, he did 
 keep aloof from, seeking her only 
 
 when clouds gather round him, do hin- 
 der him from showing these new in- 
 clinations." 
 
 " How much he would err," I ex- 
 claimed, " and wrong his noble wife if 
 he misdoubted her heart in such a 
 case ! Methinks most women would 
 be ready to forgive one they loved 
 when misfortune threatened them, but 
 she beyond all others, who never at 
 any time allowed jealousy or natural 
 resentments to draw away her love 
 from him to whom she hath vowed it. 
 But is Lord Arundel then indeed in 
 less favor with her majesty? And 
 how doth this surmise agree with the 
 report of her visit to Kenninghall ?" 
 
 " Ah, Mistress Sherwood," he an- 
 swered, " declines in the human body 
 often do call for desperate remedies, 
 and the like are often required when 
 they occur in court favor. 'Tis a dan- 
 gerous expedient to spend two or three 
 thousands of pounds in one or two 
 days for the entertainment of the 
 queen and the court ; but if, on the 
 report of her intended progress, o.ie 
 of such high rank as Lord Arundel 
 had failed to place his house- at hor 
 disposal, his own disgrace and his 011- 
 emies' triumph should have speedily 
 ensued. I pray God my Lord Bur- 
 leigh do not think on Cottessy ! Egad, 
 I would as lief pay down at once one 
 year's income as to be so uncertainly 
 mulcted. I warrant you Lord Arun- 
 del shall have need to sell an estate 
 to pay for the honor her majesty will 
 do him. He hath a spirit will not 
 stop half-way in anything he doth 
 pursue." 
 
 "Then think you, sir," I said, " Ire 
 will be one day as noted for liis vir- 
 tues as now for his faults ?" 
 
 Sir Henry smiled as he answered, 
 "If Philip Howard doth set himself 
 one day to serve God, I promise you 
 his zeal therein will far exceed what 
 he hath shown in the devil's service." 
 
 " I pray you prove a true prophet, 
 sir," I said ; and, as we now had 
 reached the door of Lady Tregony's 
 house, I took leave of this courteous 
 gentleman, and hastily turned toward 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 20I 
 
 Basil — with a:i uneasy desire to set 
 liim on his guard to use some reserve 
 in his speeches with Hubert, but with- 
 al at a loss how to frame a brief warn- 
 ing, or to speak without being over- 
 heard. Howsoever, I drew him a 
 little aside, and whispered, " Prithee, 
 be silent touching Owen's work, even 
 to Hubert." 
 
 He looked at me so much astonish- 
 ed, and methouglit with so great a 
 look of pain, that .m j heart smote me. 
 We exchanged a brief farewell ; and 
 when they had all ridden away, I felt 
 sad. Our partings were wont to be 
 more protracted ; for he would most 
 times ask me to walk back with him 
 to the gate, and then made it an ex- 
 cuse that it should be unmannerly not 
 to see me home, and so three or four 
 times we used to -walk to and fro, till 
 at last I did laughingly shut the door 
 on him, and refused to open it again. 
 But, ah me ! that evening the chill I 
 spoke of had fallen on our simple joys 
 like a blight on a fair landscape. 
 
 On the next day two missives came 
 to me from Euston, sent by private 
 hand, but not by the same messenger. 
 I leave the reader to judge what I felt 
 in reading these proofs of the disposi- 
 tions of two brothers, so alike in fea- 
 tures, so different in soul. This was 
 Basil's letter : 
 
 " Mine own dear Heart — Tlic 
 business which hath brought Sir Hen- 
 rj and Hubert here will, I be fright- 
 ened, hold me engaged all to-morrow. 
 But, before I sleep. I must needs write 
 thee (poor penman as I be) how much 
 it misliketh me to sec in ihee an ill 
 opinion of mine only and dear brother, 
 and such suspicion as verily no one 
 should entertain of a friend, but much 
 less of one so near in blood. I do 
 yield thee that he is not as zealous as I 
 could wish in devout practices, and 
 something too fond of worldly pleas- 
 ures ; but God is my witness, I should 
 as soon think of doubting mine own 
 existence as his fidelity to his religion, 
 or Ills kindness to myself. So, prithee, 
 dear love, pain me not again by the 
 utterance of such injurious words to 
 
 Hubert as that I should not trust him 
 witli any secrets howsoever weighty, 
 or should observe any manner of re- 
 straint in communicating with him 
 touching common dangers and inter- 
 ests. Methinks he is very sad at tin's 
 time, and that the sight of his pater- 
 nal home hath made him melancholy. 
 Verily, his lot hath in it none of the 
 brightness which doth attend mine, 
 and I would we could anyways 
 make him a partaker in the happiness 
 we do enjoy. I pray God he may 
 help me to effect this, by the forward- 
 ing of any wish he hath at heart ; but 
 he was always of a very reserved 
 habit of mind, and not prone to speak 
 of his own concernments. Forgive, 
 sweetheart, this loving reproof, from 
 thy most loving friend and servant, 
 " Basil Rookwood." 
 Hubert's was as folio weth: 
 " Mada3I — My presumption to- 
 ward you hath doubtless been a sin 
 calling for severe punishment ; but I 
 pray you leave not the cause of it un- 
 remembered. The doubtful mind you 
 once showed in my regard, and of 
 which the last time I saw you some 
 marks raethought did yet appear, 
 should be my excuse if I have erred 
 in a persistency of love, which most 
 women would less deserve indeed, but 
 would more appreciate than you have 
 done. If this day no token doth 
 reach me of your changed mind, be it 
 so. I depart hence as changed as you 
 do remain unchanged. It may be for 
 mine own weal, albeit passion deems 
 of it otherwise, if you finally reject 
 mo whom once you did look apon 
 with so great favor, that the very 
 thought of it works in me a revived 
 tenderness as should be mine own un- 
 doing if it prevailed, for this country 
 hath laws which are not broken in 
 vain, and faithful loyal service is differ- 
 ently requited than traitorous and ob- 
 stinate malignity. I shall be the greate r 
 for lacking your love, proud lady ; but 
 to have it I would forego all a sovo.r- 
 eign can bestow — all that ambition 
 can desire. These, then, are my last 
 words. If we meet not to-day, God 
 
202 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 knoweth with what sentiments we 
 shall one day meet, when justice hath 
 overtaken yon, and love in me hath 
 turned to hatred ! 
 
 '• HCBERT ROOKWOOD." 
 
 " Ay," I bitterly exclaimed, laying; 
 the two letters side by side before me, 
 " one endeth with love, the other with 
 hate. The one showeth the noble 
 fruits of true affection, the other the 
 bitter end of selfish passion." Then 
 I mused if. I should send Basil, or 
 show him later Hubert's letter, clear- 
 ing myself of any injustice toward 
 him, but destroying likewise for ever 
 his virtuous confidence in his brother's 
 honor. A short stnigglo with myself 
 ensued, but I soon resolved, for the 
 present at least, on silence. If danger 
 did seem to threaten Basil, which his 
 knowledge of his brother's baseness 
 could avert, then I must needs speak ; 
 but God defend I should without con- 
 straint pour a poisoned drop into the 
 clear fount of his undoubting soul. 
 Passion may die away, hatred may 
 cease, repentance arise ; but the evil 
 done by the revealing of another's sin 
 worketh endless wrong to the doer 
 and the hearer. 
 
 The day on which I received these 
 two letters did seem the longest I had 
 ever known. On the next Basil came 
 to Banham Hall, and told me his 
 guests were gone. A load seemed 
 lifted from my heart. But, albeit we 
 resumed our wonted manner of life, 
 and the same mutual kindness and ac- 
 customed duties and pleasures filled 
 our days, I felt less secure in my hap- 
 piness, less thoughtless of the world 
 without, more subject to sudden sink- . 
 ings of heart in the midst of greatest 
 merriment, than before Hubert's visit. 
 
 In the early part of June, Mr. Con- 
 gleton wrote in answer to Basil's ea- 
 ger pressings • that he would fix the 
 (lay of our marriage, that he was of 
 opinion a better one could not be found 
 than that of our Lady's Visitation, on 
 the 2d of July, and that, if it pleased 
 God, lie should then take the first 
 journey he had made for five-aud- 
 twenty years ; for nothing would serve 
 
 Lady Trcgony but that the wedding 
 should take place in her house, wdiere 
 a priest w^ould marry us in secret at 
 break of day, and then we should 
 ride to the parish church at Euston for 
 the public ceremony. He should, he 
 added, carry Muriel with him, howso- 
 ever reluctant she should be to leave 
 London ; but he promised us this 
 sliQuld be a welcome piece of con- 
 straint, for that she longed to see me 
 again more than can be told. 
 
 Verily, pleasant letters reach- 
 ed me that week ; for my father wrote 
 he w^as in better health, and in 
 great peace and contentment of mind 
 at Rheims, albeit somewhat sad, when 
 he saw younger and more fortunate 
 men (for so he styled them) depart for 
 the English mission ; and by a cyph&r 
 we had agreed on he gave me to un- 
 derstand Edmund Genings was ol 
 that number. And Lady Arundel, to 
 whom I had reported the conversation 
 I had with Sir Henrj^ Jerningham, 
 sent me an answer which I will here 
 transcribe : 
 
 "My tvell-beloved Coxstanck 
 — You do rightly read my heart, and 
 the hope you express in my regard, 
 with so tender a friendship and solici- 
 tous desire for my happiness, hath in- 
 deed a better foundation than idle 
 surmises. It hath truly pleased God 
 that Philip's disposition toward me 
 should change ; and albeit this change 
 is not as yet openly manifested, he 
 nevertheless doth oftentimes visit me, 
 and testifies much regret for his past 
 neglect of one whom he doth now 
 confess to be his truest friend, his 
 greatest lover, and best comfort. O 
 mine own dear friend! my life has 
 known many strange accidents, but 
 none greater or more strange than this, 
 that my so long indifferent husband 
 should turn into a secret lover who 
 doth haunt me by stealth, and looking 
 on me with new eyes, appears to can- 
 ceive so much admiration for my 
 worthless beauty, and to find such 
 pleasure in my poor company, that it 
 would seem as if a new face and per- 
 son lad been given ic me wherewith 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 20: 
 
 to inspire Iilm with this love forliei* (o 
 whom he doth owe it. Oh, I promise 
 thee this husbandly wooln«jj liketh me 
 well, and methinks I would not at 
 once disclose to the world this new 
 kindness he doth show me and revival 
 of conjugal affection, but rather hug it 
 and cherish it like a secret treasure 
 until it doth take such deep root that 
 nothing can again separate his heart 
 from me. His fears touching the 
 queen's ill-conception of him increase, 
 and his enemies do wax more power- 
 ful each day. The world hath become 
 full of uneasiness to him. Methinks 
 he would gladly break with it ; but 
 like to one who walketh on a narrow 
 plank, with a precipice on each side 
 of him, his safety lieth only in advanc- 
 ing. The report is true — I would it 
 were false — of the queen's progress, 
 and her intended visit to Kenninghall. 
 1 fear another fair estate in the north 
 must needs pay the cost thereof; but 
 avoidance is impossible. I am about 
 to remove from London to Arundel 
 Castle, where my lord doth will me 
 for the present to reside. The sea- 
 breezes on that coast, and the mild air 
 of Sussex, he thinks should improve 
 iny health, which doth at this time re- 
 ([iiire care. Touching religion, I 
 have two or three times let fall words 
 which implied an increased inclination 
 to Catholic religion. Each time his 
 countenance did veiy much alter, and 
 assumed a painful expression. I fear 
 he is as greatly opposed to it as here- 
 tofore. But if once resolved on what 
 conscience doth prescribe, with God's 
 help, I hope that neither new-found 
 joys nor future fears shall stay me 
 from obeying its voice. 
 
 '' And so thou art to be married 
 come the early days of July ! I' faith 
 thy Basil and thou have, like a pair of 
 doves, cooed long enough, I ween, 
 amidst the tall trees of Euston ; which, 
 if you are to be believed, should be 
 the most delectable place in the whole 
 world. And yet some have told me 
 it is but a huge plain building, and 
 the country about it, except for its 
 luxuriant trees, of no notable beauty. 
 
 The sunshine of thine own heart shed- 
 deth, I ween, a radiancy on the plain 
 walls and the unadorned gardens 
 greater than nature or art can bestows 
 i cry thee mercy for this niaUcious 
 surmise, and give thee license, when I 
 shall write in the same strain touching 
 my lord's castle at Arundel to flout 
 me in a like manner. Some do dis- 
 dainfully style it a huge old fortress ; 
 others a very grand and noble pile. If 
 that good befalleth me that he doth 
 visit me there, then I doubt not but it 
 will be to me the cheerfullest place in 
 existence. Thy loving servant to 
 command, 
 
 " Ann Arundel and Surrey." 
 This letter came to my hand at 
 Whitsuntide, when the village folks 
 were enacting a pastoral, the only 
 merit of which did lie in the innocent 
 glee of the performers. Tne sheep- 
 shearing feast, a very pretty festival, 
 ensued a few days later. A fat lamb 
 was provided, and the maidens of the 
 town permitted to run after it, and she 
 which took hold of it declared the lady 
 of the lamb. 'Tis then the custom to 
 kill and carry it on a long pole before 
 the lady and her companions to the 
 green, attended with music and nioris- 
 co dances. But this year I ransomed 
 the lamb, and had it crowned with 
 blue corn-flowers and poppies, and 
 led to a small paddock, where for 
 some time I visited and fed it every 
 day. Poor little lamb ! like me, it 
 had one short happy time that sum- 
 mer. 
 
 In the evening I went with the 
 lasses to the banks of the Ouse, and 
 scattered on the dimpling stream, as is 
 their Wont at the lamb-ale, a thousand 
 odorous flowers — new-born roses, the 
 fleur-de-luce, sweet-williams, und yel- 
 low coxcombs, the small-flowered 
 lady's-slipper, the prince's-feather and 
 the clustered bell-flower, the sweet- 
 basil (the saucy wenches srniledwhei* 
 they furnished me with a bunch 
 thereof), and a great store of midsum- 
 mer daisies. When, with due observ- 
 ance, I threw on the water a handful 
 of these goLlen-tufted and silver- 
 
204 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 crowned flowerets, I thought of Mas- 
 ter Chaucer's Imes : 
 
 " Above all the flowers in the mead 
 
 These love I most— these flowers white and red, 
 
 And in French called la bdle Marguerite. 
 O commendable flower, and most in mind ! 
 O flower and gracious excellence ! 
 
 O amiable Marguerite," 
 
 The great store of winsome and gra- 
 ciously-named flowers used that day 
 set me to plan a fair garden, wherein 
 each month should yield in its turn to 
 the altar of our secret chapel a pure 
 incense of nature's own furnishing. 
 Basil was helping me thei-eto, and my 
 Lady Tregony smiling at my quaint 
 devices, when Mr. Cobham, a cousin 
 of her ladyship, arrived, bringing with 
 him news of the queen's progress, 
 which quickly diverted us from other 
 thoughts, and caused my pencil to 
 stand idle in mine hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ^' Aji., ladies," exclaimed Mr. Cob- 
 ham — pleased, I ween, to see how 
 eagerly we looked for his news-—" I 
 promise you the eastern counties do 
 exhibit their loyalty in a very com- 
 mendable fashion, and so report 
 saith her majesty doth think. The 
 gallant appearance and brave array 
 of the Suffolk esquires hath drawn 
 from her highness sundry marks of 
 her approval. What think you, my 
 Lady Tregony, of two hundred bach- 
 elors, all gaily clad in white-velvet 
 coats, and those of graver years in 
 black-velvefc coats and fair gold 
 chains, with fifteen hundred men all 
 mounted on horseback, and Sir Wil- 
 liam le Spring of Lavenham at their 
 head. I warrant you a more comely 
 troop and a nobler sight should not 
 f 'ten be seen. Then, in Norfolk, 
 what great sums of moMcy have been 
 spent! Notably at Kenninghall, 
 where for divers days not only the 
 queen herself was lodged and feasted, 
 with all her household, council, court- 
 iers, and all their company, but all 
 
 the gentlemen also, and people of the 
 country who came thither upon the oc- 
 casion, in such plentiful, bountiful, and 
 splendid manner, as the like had nev- 
 er been seen before in these counties. 
 Every night she hath slept at some 
 gentleman's seat. At Holdstead Hall 
 I had thQ honor to be presented to her 
 highness, and to ^ee her dance a 
 minuet. But an unlucky accident did 
 occur that evening,'* 
 
 "No lives were lost, I hope?' 
 Lady Tregony said. 
 
 "No lives," Master Cobham an- 
 swered j "but a very precious fan 
 which her majesty let drop into the 
 moat — one of white and red feathers, 
 which Sir Francis Drake had gifted 
 her with on New Year's day. It was 
 enamelled with a half-moon of mother- 
 o'-pearl and had her majesty's picture 
 within it." 
 
 *'And at Norwich, sir?" I asked. 
 " Methinks, by some reports we heard, 
 the pageants there must have proved 
 exceeding grand." 
 
 " Kare indeed," he replied. " On 
 the 16th she did enter the town at 
 Harford Bridge. The mayor receiv- 
 ed her witli a long Latin oration, very 
 tedious ; and, moreover, presented 
 her with a fair cup of silver, saying, 
 * Here is one hundred pounds pure 
 gold.* To my thinking, the cup was 
 to her liking more than the speech, 
 and the gold most of all; for when 
 one of her footmen advanced for to 
 take the cup, she said sharply, ' Look 
 to it : there is one hundred pounds.' 
 Lord! what a number of pageants 
 were enacted that day and those which 
 followed! Deborah, Judith, Esther 
 at one gate ; Queen Martia at an- 
 other ; on the heights near Blanche- 
 flower Castle, King Gurgunt and his 
 men. Then all the heathen deities in 
 turn : Mercury driving full speed 
 through the city in a fantastic car ; 
 Jupiter presenting her with a riding- 
 rod, and Venus with a white dove. 
 But the rarest of ail had been desism- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 205 
 
 ed by Master Churchyard. Where 
 her majesty was to take her barge, at 
 tlie back-door of my Lord Armidel's 
 town-house, he had prepared a goodly 
 P masque of water-nymphs concealed in 
 E a deep hole, and covered with green 
 J canvas, which suddenly opening as if 
 • the ground gaped, first one nymph 
 was intended 10 pop up and make a 
 speech to the queen, and then an- 
 other ; and a very complete concert to 
 sound secretly and strangely out of 
 the earth. But when the queen pass- 
 ed in her coach, a thunder-shower 
 came down like a water-spout, and 
 great claps of thunder silenced the 
 concert ; which some did presage to be 
 an evil omen of the young lord*s for- 
 tunes." 
 
 " r faith," cried Basil, " I be sorry 
 for the young nobleman, and yet more 
 for the poor artificer of this ingenious 
 pageant, to whom his nymphs turned 
 into drowned rats must needs have 
 been a distressing sight." 
 
 " He was heard to lament over it," 
 Master Cobham said, " in very pa- 
 thetic terms : ' What shall I say' 
 (were his words) ^of the loss of vel- 
 vets, silks, and cloths of gold ? Well, 
 . nothing but the old adage — Man doth 
 \ purpose, but God dispose.' Well, the 
 f mayor hath been knighted; and her 
 ' majesty said she should never forget 
 his, city. On her journey she looked 
 back, and, with water in her eyes, 
 shaked her riding whip, and cried, 
 * Farewell Norwich !' Yesterday she 
 was to sleep at Sir Henry Jerning- 
 ham's at Cottessy, and hunt in his 
 park to-day." 
 
 " Oh, poor Sir Henry !" I said 
 laughing. " Then he hath not escap- 
 ed this dear honor ?" 
 
 '• Notice of it was sent to him but 
 two days before, from Norwich," Mas- 
 ter Cobham rejoined ; " and I ween he 
 should have been glad for to be ex- 
 cused." 
 
 Lady Tregony then reminded us 
 that supper was ready, and we remov- 
 ed to the dining-hall ; but neither did 
 this good gentleman weary of relatinp: 
 nor we of listening to the various 
 
 haps of the royal progress, which he 
 continued to describe whilst we sat at 
 meat. 
 
 He was yet talking when the 
 sound of a horse gallopping under the 
 windows surprised us, and we had 
 scarce time to turn our heads before 
 Basil's steward came tumbling into 
 the room head foremost, like one de- 
 mented. 
 
 " Sir, sir !" he cried, almost beside 
 himself; "in God's name, what do 
 you here, and the queen coming for 
 to sleep at your house to-morrow ?" 
 
 Methinks a thunder-clap in the 
 midst of the stilly clear evening 
 should not have startled us so much. 
 Basil's face flushed very deeply ; 
 Lady Tregony looked ready to faint ; 
 my heart beat as if it should burst ; 
 Master Cobham threw his hat into 
 the air, and cried, " Long live Queen 
 Elizabeth, and the old house of Rook- 
 wood !" 
 
 " Who hath brought these tidings ?" 
 Basil asked of the steward. 
 
 " Marry," replied the man, " one of 
 her majesty's gentlemen and two 
 footmen have arrived from Cottessy, 
 and brought this letter from Lord 
 Burleigh for your honor." 
 
 Basil broke the seal, read the mis- 
 sive, and then quietly looking up, said, 
 " It is true ; and I must lose no time 
 to prepare my poor house for her ma- 
 jesty's abode in it." 
 
 He looked not now red, but some- 
 what pale. Methinks he was thinking 
 of the chapel, and what it held ; and 
 the queen's servants now in the house. 
 I would not stay him ; but, taking my 
 hand whilst he spoke, he said to Lady 
 Tregony, 
 
 " Dear lady, I shall lack yours and 
 Constance's aid to-morrow. Will you 
 do me so much good as to come with 
 her to Euston as early before dinner 
 as you can ?" 
 
 " Yea, we will be with you, my 
 good Basil," she answered, "before 
 ten of the clock." 
 
 " 'Tis not," he said, " that I intend 
 to cast about for fine silks and cloths 
 of gold, or contrive pageants — God 
 
!o6 
 
 Constance Sherwood^ 
 
 defend it ! — or ransack the country for 
 rare and costly meats ; but such hon- 
 orable cheer and so much of comfort 
 as a plain gentleman's house can af- 
 ford, I be bound to provide for my 
 sovereign when she deigneth to use 
 nine house." 
 
 " Master Cobham, I do crave the 
 honor of your company also," he add- 
 ed, turning to that gentleman, who, with 
 many acknowledgments of his courte- 
 sy, excused himself on the plea that 
 he must needs be at his own seat the 
 next day. 
 
 Then Basil, mounting his horse 
 which the steward had brought with 
 him, rode away so fast that the old 
 man could scarce keep up with him. 
 
 Not once that night did mine eyes 
 close themselves. Either I sat bolt 
 upright in my bed counting each time 
 the clock struck the number of chimes, 
 or else, unable to lie still, paced up 
 and down my chamber. The hours 
 seemed to pass so slowly, more than 
 in times of deep grief. It seemed so 
 strange a hap that the queen should 
 come to Euston, I almost fancied at 
 moments the whole thing to be a 
 dream, so fantastic did it appear. 
 Then a fear would seize me lest the 
 chapel should have been discovered 
 before Basil could arrive. Minor 
 cares hkewise troubled me ; such as 
 the scantiness and bad state of the 
 furniture, the lack of household con- 
 veniences, the difficulty that might 
 arise to procure sufficient food at a 
 brief notice for so great a number of 
 persons. Oh, how my head did work 
 all night with these various thinkings ! 
 and it seemed as if the morning would 
 never come, and when it did that 
 Lady Tregony would never ring her 
 bell. Then I bethought myself of 
 the want of proper dresses for her 
 and myself to appear in before her 
 rnajesty, if so be we were admitted to 
 her presence. Howsoever, I found 
 she was indiiferently well provided 
 in that respect, for her old good gowns 
 stood in a closet where dust could not 
 reach them, and she bethought herself 
 I could wear my wedding-dress, which 
 
 had come from the seamstress a few 
 days before ; and so we should not be 
 ashamed to be seen. I must needs 
 confess that, though many doubts and 
 apprehensions filled me touching this 
 day, I did feel some contentment in 
 the thought of the honor conferred 0:1 
 Basil. If there was pride in this, I 
 do cry God mercy for it. As we 
 rode to Euston, the fresh air, the eager 
 looks of the people on the road — for 
 now the report had spread of the 
 queen's coming — the stir which it 
 caused, the puttings up of flags, and 
 buildings of green arches, strengthen- 
 ed this gladness. Basil was awaiting 
 us with much impatience, and immedi- 
 ately drew me aside. 
 
 " I have locked," he said, " all the 
 books and church furniture, and our 
 Blessed Lady's image, in Owen's hid- 
 ing place ; so methinks we be quite 
 secure. Beds and food I have sent 
 for, and they keep coming in. Prithee, 
 dear love, look well thyself to her 
 majesty's chamber, for to make it as 
 handsome and befitting as is possible 
 with such poor means thereunto. I 
 pray God the lodging may be to her 
 contentation for one night." 
 
 So I hasted to the state-chamber — 
 for so it was called, albeit except for 
 size it had but small signs of state 
 about it. Howsoever, with the maids' 
 help, I gathered into it whatsoever 
 furniture in the house was most hand- 
 some, and the wenches made wreaths 
 of ivy and laurel, which we hung 
 round the bare walls. Thence I went 
 to the kitchen, and found her majesty's 
 cook was aiTived, with as many scul- 
 lions as should have served a whole 
 army ; so, except speaking to him 
 civilly, and inquiring what provisions 
 he wanted, I had not much to do 
 there. Then we went round the 
 house with Mr. Bowyer, the gentle- 
 man-usher, for to assign the chambers 
 to the queen's ladies, and the lords 
 and gentlemen and the waiting-women. 
 Tiiere was no lack of room, but murh 
 of ])roper furniture ; albeit chairs and 
 tables were borrowed on all sides from 
 the neighboring cottages, and Lady 
 
Constance SJierwood. 
 
 207 
 
 Trogonj sent for a store from her 
 house. Mr. Bowyer held in liis hand 
 a list of the persons of the court now 
 journeying with the queen ; Lord 
 Burleigh, Sir Francis Walsingham, 
 Sir Christopher llatton, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, and many other famous 
 courtiers were foremost in it. When 
 their lodgings were fixed, he glanced 
 down the paper, and, mine eyes follow- 
 ing his, I perceived among the minor 
 gentlemen there set down Hubert's 
 name, which moved me very much ; 
 for we did not of a surety know at 
 that lime ho did belong to the court, 
 and I would fain he had not been 
 present on this occasion, and new un- 
 easy thoughts touching what had 
 passed at Sir Francis Walsingham's 
 house, and the words the queen had 
 let fall concerning him and me, crossed 
 my mind in consequence. But in that 
 same list I soon saw another name 
 which caused me so vehement an emo- 
 tion that Basil, noticing it, pulled me 
 by the hand into another room for to 
 isk me the cause of that sudden pas- 
 ion. 
 
 " Basil," I whispered, " mine heart 
 will break if that murthering Richard 
 Topcliffe must sleep under your roof." 
 
 '• God defend it !" he exclaimed. 
 But pausing in his speech leant his 
 arm against the chimney and his head 
 on it for a brief space. Then raising 
 it, said, in an altered tone, " Mine own 
 love, be patient. We must needs 
 drink this chalice to the dregs" (which 
 showed me his thoughts touching this 
 visit had been from the first less hope- 
 ful than mine). Taking my pencil 
 out of mine hand, he walked straight 
 to the door before which Mr. Bowyer 
 was standing, awaiting us, and wrote 
 thereon Master Topcliffe's name. Me- 
 thought his hand shook a little in the 
 doing of it. I then whispered again 
 in his ear: 
 
 " Know you that Hubert is in the 
 queen's retinue ?" 
 
 "No, indeed!" he exclaimed; and 
 then with his bright winning smile, 
 " Prithee now, sho\v him kindness for 
 my sake. He had best sleep in my 
 
 chamber to-nlglit. It will make room, 
 and mind us of our boyish days." 
 
 The day was vraning and long 
 shadows falling on the grass when 
 tidings came that her majesty had been 
 hunting that morning, and would not 
 arrive till late. About dusk warning 
 was given of her approach. S!i:^ 
 rode up on horseback to the hous • 
 amidst the loud cheering of the crowii, 
 with all her train very . richly attireJ. 
 But it had waxed so dark their coun- 
 tenances could not be seen. Her 
 master of the horse lifted her from 
 the saddle, and she went straight to 
 her own apartments, being exceeding 
 tired, it was said, with her day's sport 
 and long riding. Notice was given 
 that her highness would admit none 
 to her presence that evening. How- 
 soever, she sent for Basil, and, giving 
 him her hand to kiss, thanked him in 
 the customary manner for the use of 
 his house. It had not been intended 
 that Lady Tregony and I should sleep 
 at Euston, where the room did scarce- 
 ly suffice for the queen's suite. S > 
 when it was signified her. majesty 
 should not leave her chamber that 
 night, but, after a shght refection, im- ^ 
 mediately retire to rest, and her ladies 
 likewise, who were almost dead with 
 fatigue, she ordered our horses to be 
 brought to the back-door. Basil stole 
 away from the hall where the lords 
 and gentlemen were assembled for to 
 bid us good-night. After he had lift- 
 ed me on the saddle, he threw his arm 
 round the horse's neck as if for to de- 
 tain him, and addressing me very 
 fondly, called me his own love, his 
 sole comfort, his best treasure, with 
 many other endearing expressions. 
 
 Then I, loth to leave him alone 
 amidst false friends and secret ene- 
 mies, felt tenderness overcome me, 
 and I gave him in return some very 
 tender and passionate assurances of 
 affectioti ; upon which he kissed mine 
 hands over and over again, and our 
 hearts, overcharged with various emo- 
 tions, found relief in this interchange 
 of loving looks and words. But, alas J 
 this brief interview had an unthought 
 
208 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 of -vvitncss more than good Lady 
 Tregoiiy, who said once or twice, 
 " Come, children, bestir yourselves," 
 or " Tut, tut, we should be off;" but 
 still Kngered herself for to pleasure 
 us. I chanced to look up, whilst Ba- 
 sil was fastening my horse's bit, and 
 . by the light of a lamp projecting from 
 the w^all, I saw Hubert at an open 
 window right over above our heads. 
 I doubt not but that he had seen the 
 laanner of our parting, and heard the 
 significant expressions therein used; 
 for a livid hue, and the old terrible 
 look which I had noticed in him be- 
 fore, disfigured his countenance. I 
 am of opinion that until that time 
 lie had not believed with certainty 
 that my natural, unbiassed inclination 
 did prompt me to marry Basil, or that 
 I loved him with other than a conven- 
 ient and moderate regard, which, if 
 cii'cumstances reversed their positions, 
 should not be a hindrance to Iiis own 
 suit. Basil having finished his man- 
 agement with my bridle stepped back 
 with a smile and last good-night, all 
 u.i conscious of that menacing visage 
 wlilcli my terrified eyes were now 
 averted from, but which I still seemed 
 pursued by. It made me weep to 
 think that these two brothers should 
 lie in the same chamber that coming 
 night ; the one so confiding and guile- 
 less of .heart, the other so full of 
 envy and enmity. 
 
 I was so tired when I reached home 
 that I fell heavily asleep for some 
 hours. But, awaking between five 
 and six of the clock, and not able to 
 rest in my chamber, dressed myself 
 and went into the garden. Not far 
 from the house there was an arbor, 
 with a seat in it. Passing alongside 
 of it, I perceived, with no small terror, 
 a man lying asleep on this bench. 
 And then, with increased affright, but 
 not believing mine own eyes, but 
 rather thinking it to be a vision, saw 
 Basil, as it seemed to me, in the same 
 di'css he wore the day before, bat with 
 his face much paler. Aery burst from 
 me, for methought perluips he should 
 be dead. But he awoke at ray scream, 
 
 looked somewhat wildly about him foi 
 a minute, rubbed his eyes, and then 
 with a kind of smile, albeit an exceed- 
 ing sad one, said, 
 
 " Is it you, my good angel ?" 
 
 " O Basil," I cried, sitting down by 
 his side, and taking hold of his chilled 
 hand, '' what hath happened ? Why 
 are you here ?" 
 
 He covered his face with his hands. 
 Methinks he was praying. Then he 
 raised his pale, noble visage and 
 said : 
 
 " About one hour after your depart- 
 ure, supper being just ended, I was 
 talking with Sir Walter Raleigh and 
 some other gentlemen, when a mes- 
 sage was brought unto me from I<ord 
 Burleigh, who had retired to his 
 chamber, desiring for to speak with 
 me. I thought it should be somewhat 
 anent the queen's pleasure for the or- 
 dering of the next day, and waited at 
 once on his lordship. When I came 
 in, he looked at me with a very severe 
 and harsh countenance. ' Sir,' he said 
 in an abrupt manner, ' I am mformed 
 that you are excommunicated for 
 papistry. How durst you then at- 
 tempt the royal presence, and to kiss 
 her majesty's hand ? You — unfit to 
 company with any Christian person — 
 you are fitter for a pair of stocks, and 
 are forthwith commanded not to ap- 
 pear again in her sight, but to hold 
 yourself ready to attend her councirs 
 pleasure.' Constance, God only 
 knoweth what I felt ; and oh, may he 
 forgive me that for one moment I did 
 yield to a burning resentment, and 
 forgot the prayers I have so often put 
 up, that when persecution fell on me 
 I might meet it, as the early Chris- 
 tians did, wisii blessings, not with 
 curses. But look you, love, a judi- 
 cial sentence, torture, death methinks, 
 should be easier to bear than this in- 
 sulting, crushing, brutal tone, which is 
 now used toward Catholics. Yet if 
 Christ was for us struck by a slave 
 and bore it, we should also be able for 
 to endure their insolent scorn. Bitter 
 words escaped me, I think, albeit I 
 know not very well what I said ; but 
 
Constance SJierwooa 
 
 209 
 
 bis lonlship turned his back on the 
 man he liad insulted, and left the 
 room without listening to me. I be 
 |?lad of it now. What doth it avail to 
 remonstrate against injuries done un- 
 der pretence of law, or bandy words 
 with a judge which can compel you to 
 siK-nce ?" 
 
 " Basil," I cried, "' you may forgive 
 tliat rnan ; I cannot." 
 
 " Yea, but if you love me, you shall 
 forgive him," he cried. " God defend 
 mine injuries should work in thee an 
 unchristian resentment ! Nay, nay, 
 love, weep not ; think for what cause 
 I am ill-used, and thou wilt presently 
 rejoice thereat rather than grieve." 
 
 " But what happened when that 
 lord had left you ?" I asked, not yet 
 able to speak composedly. 
 
 Then he : " I stood stock-still for a 
 v\'hilc in a kind of bewilderment, hear- 
 ing loud laughter in the hall below, 
 and seeing, as it did happen, a man 
 the worse for liquor staggering about 
 the court. To my heated brain it did 
 seem as if hell had been turned loose 
 m my house, where some hours be- 
 ibre — " Then he stopped, and again 
 sinking his head on liis hands, paused 
 a little, and then continued without 
 looking up : " Well, I came down 
 tlic stairs and walked straight out at 
 th3 front door. As I passed the hall 
 I heard some one ask, ' Which is the 
 master of this huge house ?* and an- 
 other, whom by his voice I knew to be 
 Topcliffe, answered, ' Rookwood, a 
 papist, newly crept out of his ward- 
 ship. As to his house, 'tis most fit for 
 the blackguard, but not for her gra- 
 cious majesty to lodge in. But I hope 
 she will serve God with great and 
 comfortable examples, and have all 
 such notorious papists presently com- 
 mitted to prison.* This man's speech 
 seemed to restore me to myself, and a 
 lii-mer spirit came over me. I resolv- 
 ed not to sleep under mine own roof, 
 where, in the queen's name, such ig- 
 nominious treatment had been award- 
 ed me, and went out of my house, re- 
 citing those verses of the Psalms, ' O 
 God, save me in thy name, and in thy 
 
 strength judge me. Because strangers 
 have risen up against me, and the 
 strong have sought my soul.' I came 
 here almost unwittingly, and not 
 choosing to disturb any one in the 
 midst of the night, lay down in this 
 place, and, I thank God, soon fell 
 asleep." 
 
 " You did not see Hubert ?" I timid- 
 ly inquired. 
 
 " No," he said, " neither before nor 
 after my interview with Lord Bur- 
 leigh. I hope no one hath accused 
 him of papistry, and so this time he 
 may escape." 
 
 " And who did . accuse you ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " I know not," he answered ; " we 
 are never safe for one hour. A dis- 
 contented groom or covetous neighbor 
 may ruin us when they list." 
 
 " But are you not in danger of be- 
 ing called before the council ?" I said. 
 
 "Yea, more than in danger," he 
 answered. " But I should hope a 
 heavy fine shall this time satisfy the 
 judges ; which, albeit we can ill afford 
 it, may yet be endured." 
 
 Then I drew him into the house, 
 and we continued to converse till good 
 Lady Tregony joined us. When I 
 briefly related to her what Basil had 
 told me, the color rose in her pale, 
 aged cheek ; but she only clasped her 
 hands and said, 
 
 " God's holy mil be done." 
 
 '• Constance," Basil exclaimed, 
 whilst he was eating some breakfast 
 we had set before him, " prithee get 
 me paper and ink for to write to Hu- 
 bert." 
 
 I looked at him inquiringly as I 
 gave him what he asked for. 
 
 " I am banished from mine own 
 house," he said ; " but as long as it is 
 mine the queen should not lack any- 
 thing I can supply for her comfort. . 
 She is my guest, albeit I am deemed 
 unworthy to come into her presence ; 
 I must needs charge Hubert to act the 
 host in my place, and see to all hos-- 
 pitable duties." 
 
 My heart swelled at this speecb.- 
 Methought, though I dared not uttei ■ 
 
2IO 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 my thinking for more reasons than 
 one, that Hubert had most like not 
 Avaited for his brother's licence to as- 
 sume the mastership of his house. 
 The messenger was despatched, and 
 then a long silence ensued, Basil 
 walking to and fro before the house, 
 and I embroidering, with mine eyes 
 often raised from my work to look to- 
 ward him. When nine o'clock struck 
 I joined him, and we strolled outside 
 the gate, and without forecasting to do 
 so walked along the well-known path 
 leading to Euston. When we reached 
 a turn of the road whence the house is 
 to be seen, we stopped and sat down 
 on a bimk under a sycamore tree. We 
 could discern from thence persons go- 
 ing in and out of the doors, and the 
 country-folk crowding about the win- 
 dows for to catch a glimpse of the 
 queen, the guard ever and anort push- 
 ing them back with their halberds. 
 ■ The numbers of them continually in- 
 - creased, and deputations began to ar- 
 rive Avith processions and flags. It 
 was passing strangs for to be sitting 
 there gazing as strangers on this tur- 
 moil, and folks crowding about that 
 house the master of which was ban- 
 ished from it. At last we noticed an 
 increased agitation amongst the people 
 which seemed to presage the queen's 
 • coming out. Sounds of shouting pro- 
 ceeded from inside the building, and 
 then a number of men issued from the 
 front door, and pushing back the 
 crowd advanced to the centre of the 
 green plot in front and made a circle 
 there with ropes. 
 
 '• What sport are they making ready 
 for ?" I said, turning to Basil. 
 
 '• God knoweth," he answered in a 
 despondent tone. Then came others 
 carrying a. great armed-chair, which 
 ..they placed on one side of the circle 
 ar*nd other chairs beside it, and some 
 (country people brought in their arms 
 ] loads of fagots, which they piled up in 
 ■ the midst of the green space. A pain- 
 ful suspicion crossed my mind, and I 
 stole a glance at Basil for to see if the 
 same thought had come to him. He 
 was looking another way. I cast 
 
 about if it should be possible on some 
 pretence to draw him off from that 
 spot, whence it misgave me a sorrow- 
 ful sight should meet his eyes. But at 
 that moment both of us were aroused by 
 loud cries of " God save the queen !" 
 '' Long live Queen EHzabeth !" and 
 we beheld her issue from the house 
 bowing to the crowd, which filled the 
 air with their cries and vociferous 
 cheering. She seated herself in the 
 arm.ed-chair, her ladies and the chief 
 persons of her train on each side of 
 her. On the edge of this half- circle 
 I discerned Hubert. The straining 
 of mine eyes was very painful ; 
 they seemed to burn in their sockets. 
 Basil had been watching the forth- 
 coming of the queen, but his sight was 
 not so quick as mine, and as yet 
 no fear such as I entertained had 
 struck him. 
 
 " What be they about ?" he said to 
 me with a good-natured smile. Before 
 I could answer — " Good God !" he 
 exclaimed in an altered voice ; " what 
 sound is that ?" for suddenly yells and 
 hooting noises arose, such as a mob do 
 salute criminals with, and a kind oi 
 procession issued from the front door. 
 "What, what is it?" cried Basil, 
 seizing my hand with a convulsive 
 grasp ; " Avhat do they carry ? — not 
 Blessed Mary's image ?" 
 
 "Yea," I said, "I see Topcliffe 
 walking in front of them. They will 
 burn it. There, there — they do lift it 
 in the air in mockery. Oh, some peo- 
 ple do avoid and turn away; now 
 they lay it down and light the fagots." 
 Then I put my hand over his eyes for 
 that he should not see a sort of dance 
 which was performed around the fire, 
 mixed Avith yells and insulting gestures, 
 and the queen sitting and looking on. 
 He forced my han^ away ; and when 
 I said, " Oh, prithee, Basil, stay not 
 here — come with me, " he exclaimed • 
 
 " Let me go, Constance ! let me go ! 
 Shall I stand aloof when at mine own 
 door the Blessed Motlier of God is 
 outraged ? Am I a Jew or a heretic 
 that I should enduie this sight and not 
 smite this o"p^n of carlli. wlu<'.]i dareth 
 
Constance SJierwood. 
 
 21 
 
 to insult tlic Qaccii of Saints ? Tea, 
 if I should be torn to pieces, I will not 
 suffer them to proceed." 
 
 I clung to him affrighted, and cried 
 out, •' Basil, you shall not go. Our 
 Blessed Lady forbids it ; your passion 
 doth blind you. You will offend God 
 and lose your soul if you do. Basil, 
 dearest Basil, 'tis human anger, not 
 godly sorrow only, moves you now." 
 Then he cast himself down with his 
 face on the ground and wept bitterly ; 
 which did comfort me, for his inflamed 
 countenance had been terrible, and 
 these tears came as a relief. 
 
 Meantime this disgusting scene end- 
 ed, and the queen withdrew; after 
 which the crowd slowly dispersed, 
 smouldering ashes alone remaining in 
 the midst of the burnt-up grass. Then 
 Basil rose, folded his arms, and gazed 
 on the scene in silence. At last he 
 said : 
 
 " Constance, this house shall no 
 longer be mine. God knowetli I have 
 loved it well since my infancy. More 
 dearly still since we forecasted to- 
 gether to serve God in it. But this 
 scene would never pass a,way from 
 my mind. This outrage hath stained 
 the home of my fathers. This people, 
 whose yells do yet ring in mine ears, 
 can no longer be to me neighbors as 
 Iieretofore, or this queen my queen. 
 God forgive me if I do err in this. I 
 do not curse her. No, God defend it ! 
 I pray that on her sad deathbed — for 
 Gurely a sad one it must be — she shall 
 cry for mercy and obtain it ; but her 
 subject I will not remain. I will com- 
 pound my estate for a sum of money, 
 and will go beyond seas, where God 
 is served in a Catholic manner and his 
 Holy Mother not dishonored. Wilt 
 thou follow mc there, Constance ?" 
 
 I leant my head on his shoulder, 
 weeping. " O, Basil," I cried, "I can 
 aiisvver only in the words of Ruth : 
 ' Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go ; 
 and where ihou shalt dwell, I also Avill 
 dwell. Tliy people shall be my pco- 
 pli\ and thy God my God.' " 
 
 He drew my arm in his, ar.d we 
 walked elov/ly av/cy towar;! Fakcri- 
 
 ha:n. "Wishhig to prepare his mind 
 for a possible misibrtune, I said : 
 " AVe be a thousand times happier 
 than those which shall possess thy 
 lands." 
 
 "What say you?" he quickly an- 
 swered ; " who shall possess them ? ' 
 
 " God knoweth," I rephed, afraid t ; 
 npeak further. 
 
 " Good heavens !" he exclaimed : 
 " a dreadful thought cometh to mc ; 
 where was Hubert this morning ?" 
 
 I remained silent. 
 
 " Speak, speak ! O Constance, God 
 defend he was there !" 
 
 His grief and horror were so great 
 I durst not reveal the truth, but made 
 some kind of evasive answer. To this 
 day methinks he is ignorant en that 
 point. 
 
 The queen and the court departed 
 from Euston soon after two of the 
 clock; not before, as I since heard, 
 the church furniture and books had 
 been all destroyed, and a malicious, 
 report set about that a piece of Lci* 
 majesty's plate was missing, as an ex- 
 cuse for to misuse the poor senar.:.'- 
 which had showed grief at the destruc- 
 tion carried on befcre their eye?. 
 When notice of their departure reach- 
 ed Banhaii Hall, whither we had re- 
 turned, Basil immediately went bad: 
 to Euston. I much lamented ho 
 Lhould be alone that evening, ivi tlic^ 
 midst of so many sad sights and 
 thoughts as his house now should 
 afford him, little forecasting the event 
 which, by a greater mishap, .surmount- 
 ed minor subjects of grief. 
 
 About six of the clock, Sir Francir- 
 Walsingham, attended by an esquire 
 and two grooms, arrived at Lady Tre- 
 gony's seat, and was received by her 
 with the courtesy she was wont to ob- 
 serve with every one. After some 
 brief discoursing with her on indiffer- 
 ent matters, he said his business was 
 with young Mistress Sherwood, and 
 he desired to see her alone. There- 
 upon I was fetched to him, and 
 straightway lie began to speak of the 
 queen's good opinion of me, and that 
 h.cr highness had been -well contented 
 
2\2 
 
 Constance Slierwood. 
 
 with mj bcliavloi- v.licii I Iiad been 
 admitted into lier presence at liis 
 "house; and that it should well please 
 her majesty I should marry a faithful 
 subject of her majesty's, whom she 
 liad taken into her favor, and then she 
 ivould do us both good. 
 
 I looked in a doubtful manner at 
 Sir Francis, feigning to misapprehend 
 his meaning, albeit too clear did it ap- 
 pear to me. Seeing I did not speak, 
 he v/cnt on : 
 
 " It is her majesty's gracious desire, 
 Mistress Sherwood, that you sliould 
 marry young Rookwood, her newly 
 appointed servant, and from this time 
 possvjssor of Euston House, and all 
 lands appertaining unto it, which have 
 devolved upon him in virtue of his 
 brother's' recusancy and his own recent 
 confomiity." 
 
 " Sir," I answered, " my troth is 
 plighted to his brother, a good man 
 and an honorable gentleman, up to this 
 lime master of Euston and its lands; 
 .nnd whatever shall betide him or his 
 j)os3essions, none but him shall be my 
 husband, if ten thousand queens as 
 ^rcat as this one should proffer me 
 jy-iolher." 
 
 " Madam," said Sir Francis, " be 
 not too rash in your pledges. I should 
 be loth to think one so well trained in 
 virtue and loyalty should persist in 
 maintaining a troth-phght with a con- 
 victed recusant, an exceeding malig- 
 nant papist, who is at this moment in 
 the hands of the pursuivants, and by 
 order of her majesty's council commit- 
 ted to Norwich gaol. If ho should 
 (which is doubtful) escape such a sen- 
 tence as should ordain him to a last- 
 ing imprisonment or perpetual banish- 
 ment from this realm, his poverty must 
 needs constrain him to relinquish all 
 l^rctensions to your hand: for his 
 brother, a most learned, well-disposed, 
 commendable young gentleman, with 
 s;uch good parts as fit him to aspire to 
 tiome high advancement in the state 
 and at court, having conformed some; 
 clays ago to the established religion 
 and given many proofs of his zeal and 
 sincerity therein, his brother's estates, 
 
 as is most just, have devolved on liira, 
 and a more worthy and, I may add, 
 irom long and constant devotion and 
 fervent humble passion long sine 3 en- 
 tertained for yourself, more desirable 
 candidate for your hand could not 
 easily be found." 
 
 I looked fixedly at Sir Francis, and 
 then said, subduing my voice as mucli 
 as possible, and restraining all ges- 
 tures : 
 
 "Sir, you have, I ween, a more 
 deep knowledge of men's hearts and 
 a more piercing insight into their 
 thoughts than any other person in the 
 world. You are wiser than any other 
 statesman, and your wit and sagacity 
 are spoken of all over Christendom. 
 But methinketh, sir, there are two 
 things which, wise and learned as you 
 are, you are yet ignorant of, and these 
 are a woman's heart and a Catholic's 
 faith. I would as soon wed the mean- 
 est clown which yelled this day at 
 Blessed Mary's image, as the future 
 possessor of Euston, the apostate Hu- 
 bert Rookwood. Now, sir, I pray you, 
 send for the pursuivants, and let mo 
 be committed to gaol for the sam3 
 crime as my betrothed husband. Gai 
 knoweth I will bless you for it." 
 
 "Madam," Sir Francis coldly an- 
 swereJ, "the law taketh no heed of 
 persons out of their senses. A frantic 
 passion and an immoderxate flinaticism 
 have distracted your reason. Time 
 and reflection wdli, I doubt not, recall 
 you to better and more comfortable 
 sentiments ; in which case I pray you 
 to have recourse to my good offices, 
 which shall ever be at your service." 
 
 Then bowing, he left me ; and when 
 he was gone, and the tumult of my 
 soul had subsided, I lamented my ve- 
 hcmency, for methought if I had been 
 more cunning in my speech, I could have 
 done Basil some good ; but now it was 
 too late, and verily, if again exposed 
 to the same temptation, I doubt if I 
 could have dissembled the indignant 
 feelings which Sir Francis's advocacy 
 of Hubert's suit worked in me. 
 
 Lady Tregony, pitying my unhappy 
 plight, propo.ic.l to travel with m'j to 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 2T3 
 
 London, where I was now desirous to 
 return, for there I thought some steps 
 might be taken to procure Basil's re- 
 lease, with more hope of success than 
 if I tarried in the scene of our late 
 happiness. She did me also the good 
 to go with me in the first place to Nor- 
 Avich, where, by means of that same 
 governor to whom Sir Hammond I'Es- 
 trange had once written in my father's 
 behalf, we obtained for to see Basil for 
 a few minutes. His brother's apos- 
 tasy, and the painful suspicion that it 
 was by his means the secret of Owen's 
 cell at Euston had been betrayed, gave 
 him infinite concern ; but his own im- 
 prisonment and losses he bore with 
 very great cheerfulness ; and we en- 
 tertained ourselves with the thought 
 of a small cottage beyond seas, which 
 henceforward became the theme of 
 such imaginings as lovers must needs 
 cherish to keep alive the flame of hope. 
 Two days afterward I reached Lon- 
 don, having travelled very fast, and 
 only slept one night on the road. 
 
 It sometimes happens that certain 
 misfortunes do overtake us which, had 
 we foreseen, we should well-nigh have 
 despaired, and misdoubted with what 
 strength we should meet them; but 
 God is very merciful, and fitteth the 
 back to the burthen. K at the time 
 that Basil left me at four of the clock 
 to return to Euston, without any doubt 
 on our minds to meet the next day, I 
 should have known how long a parting 
 was at hand, methinks all courage 
 would have failed me. But hope 
 worketh patience, and patience in re- 
 turn breedeth hope, and the while the 
 soul is learning lessons of resignation, 
 which at first would have seemed too 
 hard. At the outset of this trouble, I 
 expected he should have soon been 
 set at liberty on the payment of a fine ; 
 but I had forgot he was now a poor 
 man, well-nigh beggared by the loss of 
 his inheritance. Mr. Swithin Wells, 
 one of the best friends he and myself 
 had — ^for, alas ! good Mr. Roper had 
 died during my absence — ^told me that, 
 when Hubert heard of his brother's 
 arrest, he fell into a great anguish of 
 
 mind, and dealt earnestly with hia 
 new patrons to procure his release, but 
 with no effect. Then, in a letter 
 which he sent him, he offered to remit 
 unto him whatever moneys he desired 
 out of his estates ; but Basil steadfast- 
 ly refused to receive from him so much 
 as one penny, and to this day has per- 
 sisted in this resolve. I have since 
 seen the letter which he wrote to him 
 on this occasion, in which this resolu- 
 tion was expressed, but in no angry or 
 contumelious terms, freely yielding 
 him his entire forgiveness for his of- 
 fence against him, if indeed any did 
 exist, but such as was next to nothing 
 in comparison of the offence toward 
 God committed in the abandonment of 
 his faith ; and with all earnestness be- 
 seeching him to think seriously upon 
 his present state, and to consider if the 
 course he had taken, contrary to the 
 breeding and education he had receiv- 
 ed, should tend to his true honor, repu- 
 tation, contentment of mind, and eter- 
 nal salvation. This he said he did 
 plainly, for the discharge of his ov.n 
 conscience, and the declaration of a:i 
 abiding love for him. 
 
 For the space of a year and two 
 months he remained in prison at Nor- 
 wich, Mr. Wells and Mr. Lacy fur- 
 nishing him with assistance, without 
 which he should have lacked the nec- 
 essaries of life ; leastways such conven- 
 iences as made his sufferings toler- 
 able. At the end of that time, it may 
 be by Hubert's or some other friend's 
 efforts, a sentence of banishment was 
 passed upon him, and he went beyond 
 seas. I would fain have then joined 
 him, but it pleased not God it should 
 be at that time possible. Some 
 moneys which we're owing to him by 
 a well-disposed debtor he looked for 
 to recover, but till that happened he 
 had not means for his own subsistence, 
 much less wherewith to support a 
 wife in howsoever humble a fa&hion. 
 Dr. Allen (now cardinal) invited him 
 to Rheims, and received him there 
 with open arms. My father, during 
 the last years of his life, found in him 
 a most dutiful and affectionate sonj, 
 
214 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 who closed his eyes with a true filial 
 reverence. Our love waxed not fcr 
 this long separation less ardent or less 
 tender ; only more patient, more ex- 
 alted, more inwardly binding, now so 
 much the more outwardly impeded. 
 The greatest excellency I found in my- 
 self was the power of apprehending 
 and the virtue of loving his. If his 
 name appear not so frequently in this 
 my writing as it hath hitherto done, 
 even as his visible presence was lack- 
 ing in that portion of my life which 
 followed his departure, the thought of 
 him never leaves me. If I speak of 
 virtue in any one else, my mind turns 
 to him, the most perfect exemplar I 
 have met with of self-forgetting good- 
 ness ; if of love, my heart recalls the 
 perfect exchange of affection which 
 doth link his soul with mine ; if of joy, 
 the memory of that pure happiness I 
 found in his society ; if of sorrow, of 
 the perpetual grief his absence did 
 cause me ; if of hope, the abiding 
 anchor whereon I rested mine during 
 the weary years of separation. Yea, 
 when I do write the words faith, hon- 
 or, nobility, firmness, tenderness, then 
 I think I am writing my dear Basil's 
 name. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 The year which followed Basil's ar- 
 rest, and during which he was in the 
 prison at Norwich, I wholly spent in 
 London ; not with any success touch- 
 ing the procuring of his release, as I 
 had expected, but with a constant 
 liope thereof which had its fulfilment 
 later, albeit not by any of the means I 
 had looked to. I shared the while 
 with Muriel the care of her now aged 
 and very infirm parents, taking her 
 place at home when she went abroad 
 on her charitable errands, or employed 
 by her in the like good works when 
 my ability would serve. A time 
 Cometh in most persons' lives, when 
 maturity doth supplant youthfulness. 
 I say most persons, because I have no- 
 
 ticed that there are some who never do 
 seem to attain unto any maturity of 
 mind, and do live and die with the 
 same childish spirit they had in youth. 
 To others this change, albeit real, is 
 scarcely perceptible, so gradual are its 
 effects ; but some again, either from a 
 natural thoughtfulness, or by the influ- 
 ence of circumstances tending to sober 
 in them the exuberance of spirits which 
 appertaineth to early age, do wax 
 mature in disposition before they grow 
 old in years ; and this befel me at that 
 time. The eager temper, the intent de- 
 sire and pursuit of enjoyment (of a 
 good and innocent sort, I thank God) 
 which had belonged to me till then, 
 did so much and visibly abate, that it 
 caused me some astonishment to see 
 myself so changed. Joyful hours I 
 have since known, happy days where- 
 in mine heart hath been raised in ador- 
 ing thankfulness to the Giver of all 
 good ; but the color of my mind iiath 
 no more resembled that of former 
 years, than the hues of the evening 
 sky can be likened to the roseate flusli 
 of early morning. The joys have 
 been tasted, the happiness relished, 
 but not with the same keenness as 
 heretofore. Mine own troubles, the 
 crowning one of Basil's misfortune, 
 and what I continued then to witness 
 in others of mine own faith, wrought 
 in me these effects. The life of a 
 Catholic in England in these days 
 must r.eeds, I think, produce one of 
 two frames of mind. Either he will 
 harbor angry passions, which religion 
 reproves, which change a natural in- 
 dignation into an unchristian temper 
 of hatred, and lead him into plots and 
 treasons ; or else he becomes detached 
 from the world, very quiet, given to 
 prayer, ready to take at God's hands, 
 and as from him at men's also, suffer- 
 ings of all kinds ; and even those as 
 yet removed from so great perfection 
 learn to be still, and to bethink them- 
 selves rather of the next world than 
 of the present one, more than even 
 good people did in old times. 
 
 The only friends I haunted at that 
 time were Mr. and Mrs. Swithin Wells, 
 
Consta.zcc Sherwood, 
 
 215 
 
 111 the summer of that year 1 heard 
 oxie day, when in their company, that 
 Father Edmund Campion was soon to 
 arrive in London. Father Parsons 
 was then lodging at Master George 
 Gilbert's house, and much talk was 
 ministered touching this other priest's 
 landing, and how he should be con- 
 ducted tliither in safety. Bryan Lacy, 
 Thomas James, and many others, took 
 it by turns to watch at the landing- 
 place where he was expected to dis- 
 (jrabark. Each evening Mr. Wells's 
 friends came for. to hear news thereof. 
 One day, when no tidings of it had yet 
 transpired, and the company was leav- 
 ing, Mr. James comes in, and having 
 shut the door, and glanced round the 
 room before speaking, says, with a 
 smile, 
 
 " What think you, sirs and ladies ?" 
 
 " Master Campion is arrived," cries 
 Mistress Wells. 
 
 " God be praised !" cries her hus- 
 band, and all giving signs of joy do 
 gather round Mr. James for to hear 
 the manner of his landing. 
 
 " Well," quoth he, " I had been 
 j)acing up and down the quay for well- 
 nigh five hours, when I discerned a 
 boat, which (God only knoweth where- 
 fore) I straightway apprehended to be 
 the one should bring Master Campion. 
 And when it reached the landing- 
 place, beshrew me if I did not at once 
 see a man dressed in some kind of a 
 merchant suit, which, from the marks 
 I had of his features from Master Par- 
 sons, I made sure was the reverend* 
 father. So when he steps out of the 
 boat I stand close to him, and in an 
 audible voice, ' Good morrow, Ed- 
 mund,' says I, wliich he hearing, turns 
 round and looks me in the face. We 
 both Smile and shake hands, and I 
 lead him at once to Master Gilbert's 
 house. Oh, I promise you, it was 
 with no small comfort to myself I 
 brought that work to a safe ending. 
 But now, sir," he continued, turning 
 to Mr. Wells, " what think you of this ? 
 Nothing win serve Master Campion 
 but a place must be immediately hired, 
 and a spacious one also, for him to be- 
 
 gin at once to preach, for he saith he 
 is here but for that purpose, and that 
 he would not the pursuivants should 
 catch him before he hath opened h'fj 
 lips in England ; albeit, if God will 
 grant him for the space of one year 
 to exercise liis ministry in tliis realm, 
 he is most content to lay down his life 
 afterward. And methinks ho con- 
 siders Almighty God doth accept this 
 bargain, and is in haste for to begin." 
 
 "Hath Master Gilbert called his 
 friends together for to consider of it ?" 
 asked Mr. Wells. 
 
 " Yea," answered Mr. James. " To- 
 morrow, at ten of the clock, a meeting 
 will be held, not at his house, for 
 greater security, but at Master Brown's 
 shop in Southwark, for this purpose, 
 and he prayeth you to attend it, sir, 
 and you, and you, and you," he con- 
 tinued, turning to Bryan Lacy, Wil- 
 liam Gresham, Godfrey Fuljambe, 
 Gervase Pierpoint, and Philip and 
 Charles Bassett, which were all 
 present. 
 
 The next' day I heard fi-Dii M:-3. 
 Wells that my Lord Paget, at t!ie in- 
 stigation of his friends ^/hich met at 
 Mr. Brown's, had hired, in his own 
 name, Noel House, in the which one 
 very large chamber should serve as a 
 chapel, and that on the feast of St. Pe- 
 ter and St. Paul, which fell on the 
 coming Sunday, Father Campion 
 would say mass there, and for the first 
 time preach. She said the chief 
 Catholics in London had combined for 
 to send there, in the night, some vest- 
 ments, some ornaments for the altar, 
 books, and all that should be needful 
 for divine worsliip. And the young 
 noblemen and gentlemen which had 
 been at her house the night before, and 
 many others also, such as Lord Vaux, 
 WDUam and Richard Griffith, Arthur 
 Cress well, Charles Tilvey, Stephen 
 Berkeley, James Hill, Thomas de»Sal- 
 isbury, Thomas Fitzherbert, Jerom 
 Bellamy, Thomas Pound, Richard 
 Stanyhurst, Thomas Abmgton, and 
 Charles Arundel (this was one o? the 
 Queen's pages, but withal a zealous 
 Catholic), had joine J themselves in a 
 
2l6 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 company, for to act, some as sacristans 
 of this secret chapel, some as messen- 
 gers, to go round and give notice of 
 the preachments, and some as porters, 
 which would be a very weiglity office, 
 for one unreliable person admitted into 
 that oratory should be the ruin of all 
 concerned. 
 
 Muriel and I, with Mr. Wells, went 
 at an early hour on the Sunday to 
 Noel House. Master Philip Bassett 
 was at the door. He smiled when he 
 saw us, and said he supposed he need- 
 ed not to ask us for the password. 
 The chamber into which we went was 
 so large, and the altar so richly adorn- 
 ed, that the like, I ween, had not been 
 seen since the queen had changed tiie 
 religion of the country. 
 
 Mass was said by Father Campion, 
 and that noble company of devout gen- 
 tlemen aforementioned almost all com- 
 municated thereat, and many others 
 beside, and ladies not a few. When 
 mass Yvas ended, and Father Campion 
 stood up for to begin his sermon, so 
 deep a silence reigned in that crowded 
 assembly — for the chamber was more 
 full than it could well hold — that a pin 
 should have been heard to di'op. 
 Some thirsting for to hear Catholic 
 ])reaching, so rare in these days, some 
 eager to listen to the words of a man 
 famous for his learning and parts, 
 both before and after his conversion, 
 beyond any other in this country. For 
 mine own part, methought his very 
 countenance was a preachment. When 
 his eyes addressed themselves to 
 heaven, it seemed as if they did 
 verily see God, so piercing, so awed, 
 so reverent was their gaze. He took 
 for his text the words, " Thou art Pe- 
 ter, and on this rock I will build my 
 church, and the gates of hell shall 
 not prevail against it." My whole 
 soul was fastened on his words ; and 
 albeit I have had but scant occasion 
 to compare one preacher with another, 
 I do not think it should be possible for 
 a more pathetic and stirring eloquence 
 to flow from human lips than his who 
 that day gave God's message to a siif- 
 feriilg and persesuted people. I had 
 
 not taken mine eyes off his pale and 
 glowing face not for so much as one 
 instant, until, near the close of his 
 discourse, I chanced to turn them to a 
 place almost hidden by the curtain of 
 an altar, Avhere some gentleman were 
 standing, concealing themselves from 
 sight. Alas ! in one instant the fervent 
 glowing of my heart, the staid, rapt in- 
 tentness with which I had listened, the 
 heavemvard lifting up of my soul, van- 
 ished as if a vision of death had risen 
 before me. I had seen Hubert Rook- 
 wood's face, that face so like — oh, 
 what anguish was that likeness to me 
 then! — to my Basil's. No one but 
 me could perceive him, he was so hid 
 by the curtain ; but where I sat it 
 opened a little, and disclosed the stern, 
 melancholy, beautiful visage of the 
 apostate, the betrayer of his own 
 brother, the author of our ruin, the de- 
 stroyer of our happiness. I thank 
 God that I first beheld hiin again in 
 that holy place, by the side of the al- 
 tar whereon Jesus had lately descend- 
 ed, whilst the words of his servan 
 were in mine ears, speaking of love 
 and patience. It was not hatred, God 
 knoweth it, I then felt for Basil's 
 brother, but only terror for all pres- 
 ent, and for him also, if peradventure 
 he was there with an evil intent. 
 Mine eyes were fixed as by a spell 
 on his pale face, the while Father 
 Campion's closing words were uttered, 
 which spoke of St. Peter, of his crime 
 and of his penance, of his bitter tears 
 and his burning love. '• If," he cried, 
 '• there be one here present on whose 
 soul doth lie the guilt of a like sin ; 
 one peradventure yet more guilty than 
 Peter ; one like Judas in his crime ; 
 one like Judas in his despair — to him 
 I say, There is mercy for thee ; tliere 
 is hope for thee, there is ^heaven for 
 thee, if thou wilt have it. Djoni 
 not thyself, and God will never 
 doom thee." These or the like words 
 (for memory doth ill serve rae to re- 
 call the fervent adjurations of that 
 apostolical man) he used ; and, lo, I 
 beheld tears running down like rain 
 from Hubert's eyes^an unchecked, ve- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 21/ 
 
 hement torrent which seemed to defy 
 all restraint. How 1 blessed those 
 tears ! what a yearning pity seized me 
 I'or him who did shed them ! How 
 I longed to clasp his hand and to weep 
 with him ! I lost sight of him when 
 the sermon was finished ; but in the 
 street, when we departed — which wai 
 done slowly and by. degrees, for to 
 avoid notice, four or five only going 
 out at a time — I saw him on the other 
 side of the pavement. Our eyes met ; 
 he stopped in a hesitating manner, and 
 I also doubted what to do, for I 
 thought Mistress Wells and Muriel 
 would be averse to speak to him. 
 Then he rapidly crossed over, and 
 said, in a whisper : 
 
 " Will you see me, Constance, if I 
 com.e to you this evening r" 
 
 I pondered ; I feared to quench, it 
 might be, a good resolve, or precipitate 
 an evil one by a refusal ; and building 
 hopes of the former on the tears I had 
 seen him shed, I said : 
 
 " Yea, if you como ac! Basil's broth- 
 er and mine." 
 
 He turned and w^alkcd hastily away. 
 
 Mistress Wells and Muriel asked 
 me with some affright if it was Hu- 
 bert wdio had spoken to me, for they 
 had scarce seen his face, although from 
 his figure they had judged it was him ; 
 and when I told them he had been at 
 Noel House, " Then we are undone !" 
 the one exclaimed; and Muriel said, 
 '• We must straightway apprise Mr. 
 Wells thereof; but there should be 
 hopes, I think, he came there in some 
 good disposition." 
 
 " I think so too," I answered, and 
 told them of the emotion which I had 
 noticed in him at the close of the ser- 
 mon, which comforted them not a lit- 
 tle. But he came not that evening ; 
 and Mr. Wells discovered the next 
 day that it was Thomas Fitzherbert, 
 who had lately arrived in London, 
 and was not privy to his late con- 
 formity, which had invited him to come 
 to Noel House. Father Campion con- 
 tinued to preach once a day at the least, 
 often twice, and sometimes thrice, and 
 very marvellous effects ensued. Each 
 
 day greater crowds did seek admit- 
 tance for to hear him, and Noel House 
 was as openly frequented as if it had 
 been a public church. Numbers of 
 well-disposed Protestants came for to 
 hear him, and it was bruited at the 
 time that Lord Arundel had been 
 amongst them. He converted many 
 of the best sort, beside young gentle- 
 men students, and others of all condi- 
 tions, which by day, and some by night, 
 sought to confer with him. I went to 
 the preachments as often as possible. 
 We could scarce credit our eyes and 
 ears, so singular did it appear that one 
 should dare to preach, and so many to 
 listen to Catholic doctrine, and to seek 
 to be reconciled in the midst of so great 
 dangers, and under the pressure of ty- 
 rannic laws. Every day some new- 
 comer was to be seen at Noel House, 
 sometimes their faces concealed under 
 great hats, sometimes stationed behind 
 curtains or open doors for to escape 
 observation. 
 
 After some weeks had thus passed, 
 when I ceased to expect Hubert should 
 come, he one day asked to see me, and 
 having sent for Kate, who was then in 
 the house, I did receive him. Her 
 presence appeared greatly to displease 
 him, but he began to speak to me in 
 Italian; and first he complained of 
 Basil's pride, which would not suffer 
 him to receive any assistance from him 
 who should be so willing to give it. 
 
 "Would you — " I said, and was 
 about to add some cutting speech, but 
 I resolved to restrain myself and by no 
 indiscreet words to harden his soul 
 against remorse, or perhaps endanger 
 others. Then, after some other talking, 
 he told me in a cunning manner, mak- 
 ing his meaning clear, but not couch- 
 ing it in direct terms, that if I would 
 conform to the Protestant religion and 
 marry him, Basil should be, he could 
 warrant it, set at liberty, and he would 
 make over to him more than one-halt' 
 of the income of his estates yearly, 
 which, being done in secret, the law 
 could not then touch him. I made no 
 answer thereunto, but fixing mine eyea 
 on him, said, in English ; 
 
2L 
 
 Constancs Sherwood. 
 
 " Hubert, what should be your opin- 
 ion of the sermon on St. Peter and St. 
 Paul's Day?" He changed color. 
 " Was it not," I said, " a moving one ?" 
 Biting his lip, he replied : 
 
 " I deny not the preacher's talent." 
 
 ^•' O Hubert," I exclaimed, " fence 
 not yourself with evasive answers. I 
 know you believe as a CathoHc." 
 
 *' The devils believe," he answered. 
 
 " Hubert," I then said, with all the 
 energy of my soul, " if you would not 
 miserably perish — if you would not 
 lose your soul — promise me this night 
 to retrace your steps ; to seek Father 
 Campion and be reconciled." His lip 
 quivered; methought I could almost 
 see his good angel on one side of him 
 and a tempting fiend on the other. 
 But the last prevailed, for with a bit- 
 ter sneer he said : 
 
 "Yea, willingly, fair saint, if you 
 will marry me." 
 
 Kate, who till then had not much 
 understood what had passed, cried out, 
 '• Fie, Hubert, fie on thee to tempt her 
 to abandon Basil, and he a prisoner." 
 
 " Madam," he said, turning to her, 
 " recusants should not be so bold in 
 their language. The lavfs of the land 
 are transgressed in a very daring man- 
 ner now-a-days. and those who obey 
 them taunted for the performance of 
 their duty to the queen and the coun- 
 try." 
 
 Oh, what a hard struggle it proved 
 to be patient ; to repress the vehement 
 reproaches which hovered on my lips. 
 Kate looked at me affrighted. I trem- 
 bled from head to foot. Father Cam- 
 pion's life and the fate of many others, 
 it might be, were in the hands of this 
 man, this traitor, this spy. To upbraid 
 him I dared not, but wringing my 
 hands, exclaimed: 
 
 " O Hubert, Hubert ! for thy moth- 
 er's sake, who looks dowa on us from 
 heaven, listen to me. There be no 
 crimes which may not be forgiven ; but 
 some there be which if one doth com- 
 mit them he forgiveth not himself, and 
 is likely to perish miserably." 
 
 " Think you I know this not ?" he 
 fiercely cried; "think you not that I 
 
 suffer even now the torment you speak 
 of, and envy the beggar in the street 
 his stupid apfithy?" He drew a paper 
 from his bosom and unfolded ii. A 
 terrible gleam shot through his eyes. 
 " I could compel you to be my wife." 
 
 " No," I said, looking him in the 
 face, " neither man nor fiends can give 
 you that power. God alone can do it, 
 and he will not." 
 
 " Do you see this paper ?" he asked. 
 " Here are the names of all the recu- 
 sants who have been reconciled by the 
 Pope's champion. I have but to speak 
 the word, and to-morrow they arc 
 lodged in the Marshalsea or the Tower, 
 and the priest first and foremost." 
 
 " But you will not do it," I said, with 
 a singular calmness. "No, Hubert; 
 as God Almighty liveth, you will not. 
 You cannot commit this crime, this 
 foul murther." 
 
 " If it should come to that," he fierce- 
 ly cried, " if blood should be shed, on 
 your head it will fall. You can save 
 them if you list." 
 
 " Would you compel mc by a bloody 
 threat to utter a false vow ?" I said. " O 
 Hubert, Hubert ! that you, you should 
 threaten to betray a priest, to denounce 
 Catholics! There was a day — have 
 you forgot it ? — when at the chapel at 
 Euston, your father at your side, you 
 knelt, an innocent child, at the altar's 
 rail, and a priest came to you and said, 
 ' Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi 
 cuslodiat animam tiiam ad vitam ceter- 
 nam.' If any one had then told you " — 
 
 "Oh, for God's sake speak not of 
 it!" he wildly cried; "that way mad- 
 ness doth lie." 
 
 " No, no," I cried ; " not madness, 
 but hope and return." 
 
 A change came over his face; he 
 thrust the paper in my hand. " De- 
 stroy it," he cried ; " destroy it, Con- 
 stance !" And then bursting into tears, 
 " Gad knoweth I never meant to do it." 
 
 " O Hubert, you have been mad, dear 
 brother, more mad than guilty. Pray, 
 and God will bless you." 
 
 "Call me not brother, Constance 
 Would to God I had been only mad! 
 But it is too late now to think on it," 
 
Chapter XXIII.— P. 218. 
 
Con3tanc3 Sherwood. 
 
 219 
 
 "Nay, na}','*' I crlol, "it never h 
 too late." 
 
 *'Pray for mo then," lie said, and 
 \vent to the door : but, turning sudden- 
 ly, -vvhippered in a scarce audible man- 
 ncr^ " Ask Father Campion to pray 
 lor me," and then rushed out. 
 
 Kate had now half-fainted, and would 
 Iiavc it we were all going to be killed. 
 I pacified and sent her home, lest she 
 should fright her parents with her 
 rambhng speeches. 
 
 Albeit Hubert's last words had seem- 
 ed to be sincere, I could not but call to 
 mind how, after he had been apparent- 
 ly cut to the hearb and moved even to 
 tears by Father Campio^i's preaching, 
 he had soon uttered threats which, 
 howsoever recalled, left me in doubt if 
 it should be safe to rely on his silence ; 
 so I privately informed Mr. Wells, and 
 he Master George Gilbert and Father 
 Parsons, of what had passed between 
 us. At the same time, I have never 
 known whether by Hubert's means, or 
 in any other way, her majesty's coun- 
 cil got wind of the matter, and gave 
 out that great confederacies were made 
 by the Pope and foreign princes for 
 the invasion of (his country, and that 
 Jcsui-s and ccminary priests were sent 
 to prepare their ways. Exquisite dili- 
 gence was used for the apprehension 
 of all such, but more particularly the 
 Pope's charnp'on, as Master Campion 
 was called. So in the certainty that 
 Hubert was privy to the existence of 
 the chapel at Noel House, and that 
 many Protestants were also acquaint- 
 ed with it, and likewise with his lodg- 
 ing at Master EUiot's, where not a few 
 resorted to him in the night, he was 
 constrained by Father Parsons to leave 
 London, to the no small regret of Cath- 
 olics and others also which greatly ad- 
 mired his learning and eloquence, the 
 like of which was not to be found in 
 any other person at that time. None 
 of those which had attended the preach- 
 ments at Noel House were accused, 
 nor the place wherein they had met 
 disclosed, which inclineth me to think 
 Hubert did not reveal to her majesty's 
 government his knowledge thereof. 
 
 About two montlio afterward Basil's 
 release and banishment happened. I 
 v/ou!d fain have seen him on his way 
 to the coast ; but the order for his de- 
 parture vras so sudden and peremptory, 
 the queen's officers not losing sight of 
 him until he w^as embarked on a ves- 
 sel going to France, that I was depriv- 
 ed of that happiness. That he was no 
 longer a prisoner I rejoiced; but it 
 seemed as if a second and more griev- 
 ous separation had ensued, now that 
 the sea did divide me from the dear 
 object of my love. 
 
 Lady Arundel, whose affectionate 
 heart resented with the most tender 
 pity the abrupt interruption of our hap- 
 piness, had often written to 1113 during 
 this year to urge my coming to Arun- 
 del Castle ; ^ for," said she, " melhinks, 
 my dear Constance, a third turtle-dove 
 might now be added to the two on the 
 Queen of Scotland's design; and on 
 thy tree, sweet one, the leaves are, I 
 warrant thee, very green yet, and fu- 
 ture joys shall blossom on its wholesome 
 branches, which are pruned but not de- 
 stroyed, injured but not withered." 
 She spoke with no small contentment 
 of her then residence, that noble castle, 
 her husband's worthiest possession (as 
 she styled it), and the grandest jewel 
 of his earldom. For albeit (thus she 
 wrote) " Kenninghall is larger in the 
 extent it doth cover and embrace, and 
 far more rich in its decorations and 
 adornments, I hold it not to be com- 
 parable in true dignity to this castle, 
 which, for the strength of its walls, the 
 massive grandeur of its keep, the vast 
 forests which do encircle it, the river 
 which bathes its feet, the sea in its vic- 
 inity and to be seen from its tower, the 
 stately trees about it, and the clingin:^ 
 ivy which softens with abundant ver- 
 dure the stern, frowning Avails, hath 
 not its like in all England," But a 
 letter I had from this dear lady a few 
 months after this one contained the 
 most joyful news I could receive, as 
 will be seen by those who read it : 
 
 '• My good Constance " (her ladyship 
 wrote.), '' I would I had you a prisoner 
 in this fortress, to hold and deiaiu at 
 
220 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 my pleasure. Methinks I will present 
 thee as a recusant, and sue for the 
 privilege of thy custody. Verily, I 
 should keep good watch over thee. 
 There be dungeons enough, I warrant 
 you, in the keep, wherein to imprison 
 runaway friends. Master Bayley doth 
 take great pains to explain to me the 
 names and old uses of the towers, chap- 
 els, and buildings within and without 
 the castle, which do testify to the zeal 
 and piety of past generations : the 
 Chapel of St. Martin, in the keep, 
 which was the oratory of the garrison ; 
 the old collegiate buildings of the Col- 
 lege of the Holy Trinity ; the Maison- 
 Dieu, designed by Richard, Earl of 
 Arundel, and built by his son on the 
 right bank of the river, for the harbor- 
 ing of twenty aged and poor men, eith- 
 er unmarried or widowers, which, from 
 infirmity, were unable to provide for 
 their own support ; the Priory of the 
 Friars Preachers, with the rising gar- 
 dens behind it ; the Cliapel of Blessed 
 Mary, over the gate ; that of St. James 
 ad Leprosos, which was attached to 
 he Leper's Hospital; and St. Law- 
 rence's, which standeth on the hill 
 above the tower ; and in the valley be- 
 low, the Priory of St. Bartholomew, 
 built by Queen Adeliza for the monks 
 of St. Austin. Verily the poor were 
 well cared for when all these monaster- 
 ies and hospitals did exist ; and it 
 doth grieve me to think that the mon- 
 eys which were designed by so many 
 pious men of past ages for the good of 
 religion should now be paid to my lord, 
 and spent in worldly and profane uses. 
 Howsoever, I have better hopes than 
 heretofore that he will one day serve 
 God in a Christian manner. And now, 
 methinks, after much doubting if I 
 should dare for to commit so weighty 
 a secret unto paper, that I must needs 
 tell thee, as this time I send my letter 
 by a trusty messenger, what, if I judge 
 rightly, will prove so great a comfort 
 to thee, my dear Constance, tliat thine 
 own griefs shall seem the lighter for 
 it. Thou dost well know how long I 
 have been well-afFected to Catholic re- 
 ligion, increasing tliereiu daily more 
 
 and more, but yet not wholly resolved 
 to embrace and profess it. But by 
 reading a book treating of the danger 
 of schism, soon after my coming here. 
 I was so efficaciously moved, that I 
 made a firm purpose to become a mem- 
 ber of the Catholic and only true Churcli 
 of God. I charged Mr. Bayley to seek 
 out a grave and ancient priest, and to 
 bring him here privately ; for I desired 
 very much that my reconciliation, and 
 meeting with this priest to that intent, 
 should be kept as secret as was possi- 
 ble, for the times are more trouble- 
 some than ever, and I would fain have 
 none to know of it until I can disclose 
 it myself to my lord in a prudent man- 
 ner. I have, as thou knoweth, no 
 Catholic women about me, nor any one 
 whom I durst acquaint with this busi- 
 ness ; so I was forced to go alone at 
 an unseasonable hour from mine own 
 lodging in the castle, by certain dark 
 ways and obscure passages, to the 
 chamber where this priest (whose name, 
 for greater prudence, I mention not 
 here) was lodged, there to make my 
 confession — it being thought, both by 
 Mr. Bayley and myself, that otherwise 
 it could not possibly be done without 
 discovery, or at least great danger 
 thereof. Oh, mine own dear Constance, 
 when I returned by the same way I 
 had gone, lightened of a. burthen so 
 many years endured, cheered by the 
 thought of a reconcilement so long de- 
 sired, strengthened and raised, least- 
 ways for a while, above all worldly 
 fears, darkness appeared light, rough 
 paths smooth; the moon, shining 
 through the chinks of the secret pas- 
 sage, which I thought had shed before 
 a ghastly light on the uneven walls, 
 now seemed to yield a mild and pleas- 
 ant brightness, like unto that of God's 
 grace in a heart at peace. And this 
 exceeding contentment and steadfast- 
 ness of spirit have not — praise him for 
 it — since left me ; albeit I have much 
 cause for apprehension in more ways 
 than one; for what in tliese days 
 is so secret it becometh not known ? 
 But whatever now shall befal me — 
 pubHc dangers or private sorrows — my 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 221 
 
 ^iioi do rest on a rock, not on the shift- 
 ing sands of human thinkings, and I 
 iun not ai'raid of what man can do unto 
 nie. Yea, Philip's displeasure I can 
 now endure, which of all things in the 
 world I have heretofore most appre- 
 iiended." 
 
 The infinite contentment this letter 
 fiave me distracted me somewhat from 
 ttic anxious thoughts that filled my mind 
 at the time it reached me, which was 
 soon after Hubert's visit. A few days 
 afterward Lady Arundel wrote again : 
 
 '' My lord has been here, but stayed 
 only a brief time. I found him very 
 affectionate in his behavior, but his 
 spirits so much depressed that I fear- 
 ed something had disordered him. 
 Conversation seemed a burthen to him, 
 and he often shut himself up in his 
 own chamber or walked into the park 
 with only his dog. When I spoke to 
 him he would smile with much kind- 
 ness, uttering such words as ' sweet 
 wife,' or ' dearest Nan,' and then fall 
 to musing again, as if his mind had 
 been too oppressed with thinking to 
 allow of speech. The day before he 
 left I was sorting flowers at one end 
 of the gallery in a place which the 
 wall projecting doth partly conceal. 
 I saw him come from the hall up the 
 stairs into it, and walk to and fro in 
 an agitated manner, his countenace 
 very much troubled, and his gestures 
 like unto those of a person in gix?at 
 pei-plexity of mind. I did not dare 
 so much as to stir from where I stood, 
 but watched him for a long space of 
 time with incredible anxiety. Some- 
 times he stopped and raised his hand 
 to his forehead. Another while he 
 went to the window and looked in- 
 tently, now at the tower and the val- 
 ley beyond it, now up to the sky, on 
 wliich the last rays of the setting sun 
 were throwing a deep red hue, as if 
 tlie world had been on fire. Then 
 turning back, he joined his hands to- 
 gether and anon sundered them again, 
 pacing up and down the while more 
 rapidly than before, as if an inward 
 conflict urged this unwitting speed. 
 At last I saw him stand still, lift up 
 
 his hands and eyes to heaven, and 
 move his lips as if in prayer. What 
 passed in his mind then, God only 
 know^eth. He is the most reluctant per- 
 son in the world to disclose his thoughts. 
 
 " When an hour afterward We met 
 in the library his spirits seemed some- 
 what improved. He spoke of his 
 dear sister Meg with much affection, 
 and asked me if I had heard from 
 Bess. Lord William, he said, was the 
 best brother a man ever had; and 
 that it should like him well to spend 
 his life in any corner of the world 
 God should appoint for him, so that 
 he had to keep him company Will and 
 Meg and his dear Nan, * which 1 have 
 so long ill-treated,' he added, * that as 
 long as I live I shall not cease to re- 
 pent of it ; and God he knoweth I de- 
 serve not so good a wife ;' with many 
 other like speeches which I wish he 
 would not use, for it grieveth mo he 
 should disquiet himself for what is 
 past, when his present kindness doth 
 so amply recompense former neglect. 
 Mine own Constance, I pray you keep 
 your courage alive in your afliictions. 
 There be no lane so long but it hath 
 a turning, the proverb saith. My 
 sorrows seemed at one time without 
 an issue. Now light breaketh through 
 the yet darksome clouds which do en- 
 viron us. So will it be with thee. 
 Bum this letter, seeing it doth contain 
 what may endanger the lives of more 
 persons than one. — Thy loving, faith- 
 ful friend, 
 
 " Ann, Arundel and Surrey." 
 
 A more agitated letter followed this 
 one, written at different times, and de- 
 tained for some days for lack of a 
 safe messenger to convey it. 
 
 " What I much fear," s© it began, 
 " is the displeasure of my lord when 
 he comes to know of my reconcile- 
 ment, for it cannot, I think, be long 
 concealed from him. This my fear, 
 dear Constance, hath been much in- 
 creased by the coming down from 
 London of one of his chaplains, who 
 afiirms he was sent on purpose by the 
 earl to read prayers and to preach to 
 me and my family ; and on last Sun- 
 
222 
 
 Constance Slierwood, 
 
 day he came into the great chamber 
 of the castle, expecting and desiring 
 to know my pleasure therein. I 
 thought best for to send for him to my 
 chamber, and I desired him not to 
 trouble himself nor me in that matter, 
 for I would satisfy the earl therein. 
 But oh, albeit I spoke very composed- 
 ly, my apprehensions are very great. 
 For see, my dear friend, Philip hath 
 been but lately reconciled to me, and 
 his fortunes are in a very desperate 
 condition, so that he may think I have 
 given the last blow to them by this 
 act, which his enemies will surely 
 brave at. Think not I do repent of 
 it. God knoweth I should as soon 
 repent of my baptism as of my return 
 to his true Church ; but though the 
 spirit is steadfast, the flesh is weak, 
 and the heart also. What will he say 
 to me when he cometh ? He did once 
 repulse me, but hath never upbraided 
 me. How shall I bear new frow^ns 
 after recent caresses? — ^peradventure 
 an eternal parting after a late reun- 
 ion ? O Constance, pray for me. But 
 I remember I have no means for to 
 send this letter. But God be praised, 
 I have now friends in heaven which 
 I may adjure to pray for me who 
 have at hand no earthly ones." 
 
 Four or five days later, her lady- 
 ship thus finished her letter: 
 
 " God is very merciful ; oh, let his 
 holy name be praised and magnified 
 for ever ! Now the weight of a 
 mountain is ofi* my heart. Now I 
 care not for what man may do unto 
 me. Phil has been here, and I 
 promise thee, dear Constance, when 
 his horse stopped at the castle-door, 
 my heart almost stopped its beating, 
 so great was my apprehension of his 
 anger. But, to my great joy and 
 admiration, he kissed me very ten- 
 derly, and did not speak the least 
 word of tiie chaplain's errand. And 
 when we did walk oui in the even- 
 ing, arid, mounting to the top of the 
 keep, stood there looking on the fine 
 trees and the sun sinking into the 
 sea, my dear lord, who had been 
 some time silent, turned to mc and 
 
 said, ' Meg has become Catholic/ 
 Joy and surprise almost robbed me 
 of my breath ; for next to his re- 
 concilement his sister's was what I 
 most desired in the world, and also 
 I knew what a particular love ho 
 had ever shown for her, as being his 
 only sister, by reason whereof he 
 would not seem to be displeased 
 with her change, and consequently 
 he could not in reason be much of- 
 fended with myself for being what 
 she was ; so when he said, " Meg has 
 become Catholic,' I leant my face 
 against his shoulder, and whispered, 
 
 * So hath Nan.' He spoke not nor 
 moved for some minutes. Methinks 
 he could have heard the beatings of 
 my heart. I w^as comforted that, al- 
 beit he uttered not so much as one 
 word, he made no motion for to with- 
 draw himself from me, whose head 
 still rested against his bosom. Sud- 
 denly he threw his arms about mc, 
 and strained me to his breast. So 
 tender an embrace I had never before 
 had from him, and I felt his tears fall- 
 ing on my head. But speech there 
 was none touching my change. How- 
 soever, before he left me I said to him, 
 
 * My dear Phil, Holy Scripture doth 
 advise those who enter into the ser- 
 vice of Almighty God to prepare 
 themselves for temptation. As soon 
 as I resolved to become Catholic, I 
 did deeply imprint this in my mind ; 
 for the times are such that I must ex- 
 pect to suffer for that cause.' ' Yea, 
 dearest Nan,' he answered, ^vith great 
 kindness, * I doubt not thou hast taken 
 the course which will save thy soul 
 from the danger of shipwreck, al- 
 though it doth subject thy body to the 
 peril of misfortune.' Then waxing 
 bolder, I said, ' And thou, Phil — ' and 
 there stopped short, looking what I 
 would speak. He seemed to struggle 
 for a while with some inward difficul- 
 ty of speaking his mind, but at last he 
 began, * Nan, I will not become Cath- 
 olic before I can resolve to live as a 
 Catholic, and I defer the former until 
 I have an intent and resolute purpose 
 to perform the latter. Nan, when I 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 223 
 
 tliink of my vllo usage oF thee, whom 
 1 should have so much loved and es- 
 teemed for thy virtue and discretion ; 
 of my wliolly neglecting, in a manner, 
 my duty to the carl my grandfather, 
 arid my aunt Lady Lumley ; of my 
 wasting, by profuse expenses, of great 
 sums of money in the following of the 
 courts, the estate which was left me, 
 and a good quantity of thine own lands 
 also ; but far more than all, my total 
 forgetting of my duty to Almighty 
 God — for, carried away with company, 
 youthful entertainments, pleasures, 
 and delights, my mind being wholly 
 ])osscsscd witli Iheni, I did scarce 
 so much as think of God, or of 
 anything concerning I'chgion or the 
 salvation of my soul — I do feel myself 
 unworthy of pardon, and utterly to be 
 contemned.' 
 
 " 80 much goodness, humility, and 
 virtuous intent was apparent in this 
 speech, and such comfortable hopes of 
 future excellence, that I could not 
 forbear from exclaiming, ' My dear 
 Phil, I ween thou wilt be one of those 
 who shall love God much, forasmuch 
 as lie will have forgiven thee much.' 
 And then I asked him how long it was 
 shicc tills change i his thinking, al- 
 beit not yet acted upon, had come to 
 him ? He said, it so happened that he 
 was present, the year before, at a dis- 
 putation held in the Tower of London, 
 between Mr. Sherwin and some other 
 priests on the one part, Charles Fuik, 
 Whittakers, and some other Protestant 
 ministers on the other ; and, by what 
 he heard and saw there, he had per- 
 ceived, he thought, on which side the 
 truth and true religion was, though at 
 tlic time he neither did intend to em- 
 brace or follow it. But, he added, 
 what had moved him of late most 
 powerfully thereunto was a sermon of 
 Father Campion's, which he had 
 heard at Ncel House, whither Charles 
 Arundel had carried him, some days 
 before his last visit to mo. ' The 
 whole of those days,' ho said, ' my 
 mind was so oppressed with remorse 
 and doubt, that 1 knew no peace, un- 
 til one c\cning, by a special grace 
 
 of God, when I was walking alone 
 in the gallery, I firmly resolved — al- 
 beit I knew not how or when to ac- 
 complish this purpose — to become ji 
 member of his Church, and to frame 
 my life according to it ; but I would 
 not acquaint thee, or any other person 
 living, with this intention, until I had 
 conferred thereof with my brother 
 William. Thou knowest, Nan, the 
 very .special love I bear him, and 
 which he hath ever shown to m(!. 
 Well, a few days after I returned to 
 London, I met him accidentally in the 
 street, he having come from Cumber- 
 land touching some matter of Bess's 
 lands ; and taking him home with me, 
 I discovered to him my determination, 
 somewhat covertly at first ; and after 
 I lent him a book to read, which was 
 written not long ago by Dr. Allen, 
 and have dealt with him so efficacious- 
 ly that he has also resolved to be- 
 come Catholic. He is to meet me 
 again next week, for further confer- 
 ence touching the means of putting 
 this intent into execution, which veri- 
 ly I see not how to effect, being so 
 Thatched by servants and so-called 
 friends, which besiege my doors and 
 haunt mine house in London on all 
 occasions.' 
 
 " This difficulty, dear Constance, I 
 sought to remedy by acquainting my 
 lord that his secretary, Mr. Mumford, 
 was Catholic, and he could, therefore, 
 disclose his thought with safety to 
 him. And I also advised him to seek 
 occasion to know Mr. Wells and some 
 other zealous persons, which would 
 confirm him in his present resolution 
 and aid him in the execution thereof. 
 It may be, therefore, you will soon see 
 him, and I'ervently do I commend him 
 to thy prayers and whatever service 
 in the one thing needful should be in 
 thy power to procure for him. My 
 heart is so transported with joy that 1 
 never remember the like emotions to 
 have filled it. My most hope for this 
 present time at least had been he 
 should show no dislike to my being 
 Catholic ; and lo, I find him to be one 
 in heart, and soon to be so in effect ; 
 
Constayice Sherwood. 
 
 and the great gap between us, which 
 r^o long hath been a yawning chasm 
 ol* despair, now filled up with a re- 
 newed love, and yet more by a parity 
 of thinking touching what it most be- 
 hoveth us to be united in. Deo gra- 
 
 tias r 
 
 Ht;re this portion of my lady's 
 manuscript ended, but these few hasty 
 lines were written below, visibly by a 
 trembling hand, and the whole closed, 
 I ween, abruptly. 'Methinks it was 
 left for me at Mr. Wells's, where I 
 found it, by Mr. Mum ford, or some 
 oihci' Catholic in the carl's house- 
 hold: 
 
 '• The inhabitanls of Arundel have 
 presented me for a recusant, and Mr. 
 Bayley has been committed and ac- 
 cused before the Bishop of Chichester 
 as a seminary priest. He hath, of 
 course, easily cleared himself of this ; 
 but because he will not take the 
 oath of supremacy, he is forced to quit 
 the country. lie hath passed into 
 Flanders." 
 
 And then for many weeks I had 
 no tidings of the dear writer, until 
 one day it was told us that when the 
 qneen had notice of her reconcilement 
 :;ije disliked of it to such a degree that 
 presently she ordered her, being then 
 with child, to be taken from her own 
 house and carried to Wiston, Sir 
 Thomas Shirley's dwelling-place, there 
 to be kept prisoner till further or- 
 ders. Alas ! all the time she remain- 
 ed there I received not eo much as 
 one line from her ladyship, nor did 
 her husband either, as I afterward 
 found. So straitly was she confined 
 and watched that none could serve or 
 have access to her but the knight and 
 his lady, and such as were approved 
 by them. Truly, as she since told me, 
 they courteously used her ; but special 
 care v/as taken that none that was 
 suspected for a priest should come 
 within sight of the house, which was 
 'no small addition to her sufferings. 
 Lady Margaret Sackville was at that 
 time also thrown into priecn. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 During the whole year of Lady 
 Arundel's imprisonment, neither h(?r 
 husband, nor her sister, nor her most 
 close friends, such as my poor un- 
 worthy self, had tidings from her, in 
 the shape of any letter or even mes- 
 sage, so sharply was she watched and 
 hindered from communicating with 
 any one. Only Sir Thomas Shirley 
 wrote to the earl her husband to in- 
 form him of his lady's safe delivery, 
 and , the birth of a daughter, which, 
 much against her will, was baptizixl 
 accordmg to the Protestant manner. 
 My Lord Arundel, mindful of her 
 words in the last mterview he had 
 with her before her arrest, began to 
 haunt Mr. "Wells's houFC in a private 
 way, and there I did often meet with 
 him, who being resolved, I ween, to 
 follow his lady's example in all 
 things, began to honor me with so 
 much of his confidence that I had 
 occasion to discern how true had been 
 Sir Henry Jerningham's forecasting, 
 that this young nobleman, when once 
 turned to the ways of virtue and piety, 
 should prove himself by so much the 
 more eminent in goodness as he had 
 heretofore been distinguished for his 
 reckless conduct. One day that he 
 came to Holborn, none others being 
 present but Mr. and Mrs, Wells and 
 myself, he told us that he and his 
 brother Lord William, having deter- 
 mined to become Catholics, and appre- 
 hending great danger in declaiing 
 themselves as such within the king- 
 dom, had resolved secretly to leave 
 the land, to pass into Flanders, and 
 there to remain till more quiet times. 
 
 "What steps," Mr. AVells asked, 
 " hath your lordship disposed for to ef- 
 fect this departure ?" 
 
 " In all my present doings," quoth 
 the earl, '• the mind of ray dear wife 
 doth seem to guide me. The last 
 time I was with her she informed me 
 that my secretary, John Mumtbrd, is a 
 Catholic, and I have since greatly 
 benefited by this knowledge. He is 
 gone to Hull, in Yorkshire, lor to take 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 225 
 
 order for our passage to Flanders, and 
 I do wait tidings from him before 1 
 leave London." 
 
 Then, turning to me, he inquired in 
 a very earnest manner if my thinking 
 agreed vrith his, that his sweet lady 
 should be contented he should forsake 
 the realm, for the sake of the religious 
 interests which moved him thereunto, 
 joined with the hope that when he 
 should be abroad and his lands confis- 
 cated, which he doubted not would 
 follow, she would be presently set at 
 liberty, and with her little wench join 
 him in Flanders. I assented thereun- 
 to, and made a promise to him that as 
 soon as her ladyship should be releas- 
 ed I would hasten to her, and feast her 
 ears with the many assurances of ten- 
 der affection he had uttered in hgr re- 
 gard, and aid her departure ; which 
 did also Mr. Wells. Then, drawing 
 me aside, he spoke for some time, with 
 tears in his eyes^ of his own good wife, 
 as he called her. 
 
 " Mistress Sherwood," he said, " I 
 lo trust in God that she shall find me 
 icnceforward as good a husband, to 
 A\y poor ability, by his grace, as she 
 has found me bad heretofore. No sin 
 grieves me anything so much as my 
 offences against her. What is past is 
 a nail in my conscience. My will is 
 t o make satisfaction ; but though I 
 should live never so long, I can never 
 do so further than by a good desire to 
 do it, which, while I have any spark 
 of breath, shall never be wanting." 
 
 And many words like these, which 
 he uttered in so heartfelt a manner 
 that I could scarce refrain from weep- 
 ing at the hearing of them. And so 
 we parted that day ; he with a confi- 
 dent hope soon to leave the realm ; 
 I with some misgivings thereon, 
 which were soon justified by the 
 event For a few days afterward 
 Mr. Lacy brought us tidings he had 
 met Mr. Mumford in the street, who 
 had told him — when he expressed sur- 
 prise at his return — that before he 
 could reach Hull he had been appre- 
 hended and carried before the Earl of 
 Huntingdon, president of York, and 
 
 examined by him, without any evil re- 
 sult at that time, having no papers or 
 suspicious things about him ; but be- 
 ing now watched, he ventured not to 
 proceed to the coast, but straightway 
 came to London, greatly fearmg Lord 
 Ai-undel should have left it. 
 
 " He hath not done so ?" I anxious- 
 ly inquired. 
 
 " Nay," answered Mr. Lacy, " so 
 far from it, that I pray you to guess 
 how Vaq noble earl — much against his 
 will, I ween — is presently employed." 
 
 " He is not in prison ?" I cried. 
 
 " God defend it !" he rephed. " No ; 
 he is preparing for to receive the 
 queen at Arundel House ; upon no- 
 tice given him that her majesty doth 
 intend on Thursday next to come 
 hither for her recreation." 
 
 " Alack !" I cried, " her visits to 
 such as be of his way of thinking bode 
 no good to them. She visited him and 
 his wife at the Charterhouse at the 
 time when his father was doomed to 
 death, and now when she is a prisoner 
 her highness doth come to Arundel 
 House. When she set her foot in 
 Euston, the whole fabric of my happi- 
 ness fell to the ground. Heaven shield 
 the Hke doth not happen in this in- 
 stance; but I do greatly apprehend 
 the issue of this sudden honor confer- 
 red on him." 
 
 On the day fixed for the great and 
 sumptuous banquet which was prepar- 
 ed for the queen at Arundel House, I 
 went thither, having been invited by 
 Mrs. Fawcett to spend the day with 
 her on this occasion, which minded 
 me of the time when I went with my 
 cousins and mine own good Mistress 
 Ward for to see her majesty's enter- 
 tainment at the Charterhouse, wherein 
 had been sowed the seeds of a bitter 
 harvest, since reaped by his sweet 
 lady and himself. Then pageants had 
 
 charms in mine eyes ; now, none 
 
 but rather the contrary. Howsoever, 
 I was glad to be near at hand on that 
 day, so as to hear such reports as 
 reached us from time to time of her 
 majesty's behavior to the earl. From . 
 all I could find, she seemed very well 
 
226 
 
 Gonstanc3 Sherwood, 
 
 contented; and Mr. Mumford, with 
 whom I was acquainted, came to Mrs. 
 Fawcett's chamber, hearing I was 
 there, and reported that her highnass 
 had given his lordship many thanks 
 for her entertainment, and showed 
 herself exceeding merrj all the time 
 she was at table, asking him many 
 questions, and relating anecdotes 
 which she had learnt from Sir Fulke 
 Greville, whom the maids-of-honor 
 were wont to say brought her all the 
 tales she heard ; at which Mrs. Faw- 
 cett said that gentleman had once de-. 
 clared that he was like Robin Good- 
 fellow ; for that when the dairy -maids 
 upset the milk-pans, or made a romp- 
 ing and racket, they laid it all on 
 Robin, and so, whatever gossip-tales 
 the queen's ladies told her, they laid it 
 all upon him, if he was ever so inno- 
 cent of it. 
 
 "Sir," I said to Mr. Mumford, 
 "think you her majesty hath said 
 aught to my lord touching his lady or 
 his lately -born little daughter ?" 
 
 " Once," he answered, " v/hen she 
 told of the noble trick she hath played 
 Sir John Spencer touching his grand- 
 son, Avhom he would not see because 
 his daughter did decamp from his 
 house in a baker's basket for to marry 
 Sir Henry Compton, and her majesty 
 invited him to be her gossip at the 
 christening of a fair boy to whom she 
 did intend to stand godmother, for that 
 he was the first-born child of a young 
 couple who had married for .love and 
 lived happily ; and so the old knight 
 said, as he had no heir, he should 
 adopt this boy, for he had disinherited 
 his daughter. So then, at the font, the 
 queen names him Spencer, and when 
 fihe leaves the church, straightway re- 
 veals to Sir John that his godson is 
 his grandson, and deals so cunningly 
 with him that a reconciliation doth 
 ensue. Well, when she related this 
 event, my lord said in a low voice, ' Oh 
 raadame, would it might please your 
 majesty for to place another child, now 
 at its mother's breast, a first-born one* 
 also, in its father's arms ! and as by 
 your gracious dealing your highness 
 
 wrought a reconciliation between a fa- 
 ther and a daughter, so likewise now 
 to reunite a parted husband from a 
 wife which hath too long languished 
 under your royal displeasure.' " 
 
 " What answered her grace ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " A few words, the sense of which I 
 could not catch," Mr. Mumford an- 
 swered ; " being placed so as to hear 
 my lord's speaking more conveniently 
 than her replies. He said again, 
 * The displeasure of a prince is a 
 heavy burden to bear.' And then, 
 methinks, some other talk was minis- 
 tered of a lighter sort. But be of good 
 heart, Mistress Sherwood ; I cannot 
 but think our dear lady shall soon be 
 set at liberty." 
 
 Mr. Mum ford's words were justi- 
 fied in a few days ; for, to my un- 
 speakable joy, I heard Lady Arun- 
 del had been released by order of 
 the queen, and had returned to Arun- 
 del Castle. It was her lord him- 
 self who brought me the good tid- 
 ings, and said he should travel 
 thither in three days, when his ab- 
 sence from court should be less noted, 
 as then her majesty would be at Rich- 
 mond. He shelved me a letter he 
 had received from his lady, the first 
 she had been able to write to him 
 for a whole year. She did therein 
 express her contentment, greater, she 
 said, than her pen could describe, at 
 the sight of the gray ivied walls, the 
 noble keep, her own chamber and its 
 familiar furniture, and mostly at the 
 thought of his soon coming ; and that 
 little Bess had so much sense already, 
 that when she heard his name, noth- 
 ing would serve her but to be carried 
 to the window, " whence, methinks," 
 the sweet lady said, " she doth see me 
 always looking toward the entrance- 
 gate, through which all my joy will 
 speedily come to me. When, for to 
 cheat myself and her, I cry, ' Hark 
 to my lord's horse crossing the bridge,' 
 she coos, so much as to say she is 
 glad also, and stretcheth lier arms 
 out, the pretty fool, as if to welcome 
 her unseen father, who, methinks. 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 227 
 
 when he doth come, will bo no 
 stranger to her, so often doth she 
 kiss the picture which hangeth about 
 lier mother's neck." 
 
 But, alas ! before the queen went 
 to Richmond, she sent a command that 
 my Lord Arundel should not go any- 
 wiiitlier out of his house (so Mr. Mum- 
 ford informed me), but remain there 
 a prisoner ; and my Lord Hunsdon, 
 who had been in former times his fa- 
 ther's page, and now was his great 
 enemy, was given commission to ex- 
 amine him about his religion, and also 
 touching Dr. Allen and the Queen of 
 Scots. Now was all the joy of Lady 
 ArundeFs release at an end. Now 
 the sweet cooings of her babe moved 
 her to bitter tears. " In vain," she 
 wrote tame then, " do we now look 
 for him to come ! in vain listen for the 
 sound of his horse's tread, or watch 
 the gateway which shall not open to 
 admit him ! I sigh for to be once 
 more a prisoner, and he, my sweet 
 life, at liberty. Alas! what kind of a 
 destiny does this prove, if one is free 
 only when the other is shut up, and 
 the word * parting' is written on each 
 page of our lives ?" 
 
 About a month afterward, Mr. 
 Mumford was sent for by Sir Christo- 
 pher Hatton, who asked him divers 
 dangerous questions concerning the 
 earl, the countess, and Lord William 
 Howard, and also himself — such as, 
 if he was a priest or no ; which indeed 
 I did not wonder at, so staid and rev- 
 erend was his appearance. But he 
 answered he never knew or ever 
 heard any harm of these honorable 
 persons, and that he himself was not 
 a priest, nor worthy of so great a dig- 
 nity. He hath since told me that on 
 the third day of his examination the 
 queen, the Earl of Leicester, and divers 
 others of the council came into the 
 liouse for to understand what he had 
 confessed. Sir Christopher told them 
 what answers he had made ; but they, 
 not resting satisfied therewith, caused 
 him, after many threats of racking 
 and other tortures, to be sent prisoner 
 to the Gate-house, where he was kept 
 
 for some months so close that none 
 might speak or come to him. But by 
 the steadfastness of his answers he at 
 last so cleared himself, and declared 
 the innocency of the earl, and his wife 
 and brother, that they were set at 
 liberty. 
 
 Soon after her lord's release, I re- 
 ceived this brief letter from Lady 
 Arundel : 
 
 " Mine own good Constance, — 
 I have seen my lord, who came here 
 the day after he was set free. He 
 very earnestly desires to put into exe- 
 cution his reconciliation to the Church 
 now that his troubles are a little over- 
 past. I have bethought myself that, 
 since Father Campion hath left Lon- 
 don, diligence might be used for to 
 procure him a meeting Avith Father 
 Edmonds, whom I have heard com- 
 mended for a very virtuous and reli- 
 gious priest, much esteemed both in 
 this and other countries. Prithee, ask 
 Mr. Wells if in his thinking this 
 should be possible, and let my lord 
 know of the means and opportunities 
 thereunto. I shall never be so much 
 indebted, nor he either, to any one in 
 this world, my dear Constance, as to 
 thee and thy good friends, if this inter- 
 view shall be brought to pass, and the 
 desired effect ensue. 
 
 " My Bess doth begin to walk alone, 
 and hath learned to make the sign of 
 the cross ; but I warrant thee I am 
 sometimes frightened that I did teach 
 her to bless herself, uutil such time as 
 she can understand not to display her 
 piety so openly as she now doeth. 
 For when many lords and gentlemen 
 were here last week for to consider 
 the course her majesty's progress 
 should take through Kent and Sussex, 
 and she, sitting on my knee, was no- 
 ticed by some of them for her pretty 
 ways, the clock did strike twelve ; 
 upon which, what doth she do but 
 straightway makes the sign of the 
 cross before I could catch her little 
 hand? Lord Cobham frowned, and 
 my Lord Burleigh shook his head; 
 but the Bishop of Chichester stroked 
 
228 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 her head, and said, with a smile, 
 * Honi soit qui malypense ;' for which 
 I pray God to bless him. Oh, but 
 what fears we do daily live in ! I 
 would sometimes we were beyond 
 seas. But if my lord is once recon- 
 ciled, methinks I can endure all that 
 may befal us. Thy true and loving 
 friend, 
 
 " Ann, Auundel and Surrey." 
 
 I straightway repaired to Mr. Wells, 
 and found him to be privy to Father 
 Edmonds's abode. At my request, he 
 acquainted Lord Arundel with this 
 secret, who speedily availed himself 
 thereof, and after a few visits to this 
 good man's garret, wherein he Avas 
 concealed, was by him reconciled, as I 
 soon learnt by a letter from his lady. 
 She wrote in such perfect contentment 
 and joy thereunto, that nothing could 
 exceed it. She said her dear lord had 
 recei\^d so much comfort in his soul 
 as he had never felt before in all his 
 life, and such directions from Father 
 Edmonds for the amending and order- 
 ing of it as did greatly help and fur- 
 ther him therein. Ever after that 
 time, from mine own hearing and ob- 
 servation, his lady's letters, and the 
 report of such as haunted him, I 
 learnt that he lived in such a manner 
 that ko seemed to be changed into an- 
 other man, having great care and vig- 
 ilance over all his actions, and addict- 
 ing himself much to piety and devo- 
 tion. He procured to have a priest 
 ever with him in his own house, by 
 whom he might frequently receive 
 the holy sacrament, and daily have 
 the comfort to be present at the holy 
 sacrifice, whereto, wdth great humility 
 and reverence, he himself in person 
 many times would serve. His visits 
 to his wife were, during the next 
 years, as frequent as he could make 
 them and as his duties at the court 
 and the queen's emergencies would al- 
 low of; who, albeit she looked not on 
 him with favor as heretofore, did 
 nevertheless exact an unremitting at- 
 tendance on his part on all public oc- 
 casions, and jealously noted every ab- 
 
 sence he made from London. Each 
 interview between this now loving 
 husband and wife was a brief space of 
 perfect contentment to both, and a re- 
 spite from the many cares and trou- 
 bles which did continually increase 
 upon him ; for the great change in his 
 manner of life had bred suspicion in 
 the minds of some courtiers and 
 potent men, who therefore began to 
 think him what he was indeed, but of 
 which no proof could be alleged. 
 
 During the year which followed 
 these haps mine aunt died, and Mr. 
 Congleton sold his house in Ely 
 Place, and took a small one in Gray's 
 Inn Lane, near to Mr. Wells's and 
 Mr. Lacy's. It had no garden, nor 
 the many conveniences the other did 
 afford ; but neither Muriel nor myself ' 
 did lament the change, for the vicinity 
 of these good friends did supply the 
 place of other advantages ; and it also 
 liked me more, whilst Basil lived in 
 poverty abroad, to inhabit a less 
 sumptuous abode than heretofore, and 
 dispense with accustomed luxuries. 
 Of Hubert I could hear but scanty 
 tidings at that time — only that he had 
 either lost or resigned his pla^e at 
 court. Mr. Hodgson was told by one 
 who had been his servant that he had 
 been reconciled; others said he did 
 lead a very disordered life, and haunt- 
 ed bad persons. The truth or falsity of 
 these statements I could not then dis- 
 cern ; but methinks, from what I have 
 since learnt, both might be partly true ; 
 for he became subject to fits of gloom, 
 and so dis comfortable a remorse as 
 almost unsettled his reason ; and then, 
 at other times, plunged into worldly 
 excesses for to drown thoughts of the 
 past. He was frightened, I ween, or 
 leastways distrustful of the society of 
 good men, but consorted with Catho- 
 lics of somewhat desperate character 
 and fortunes, and such as dealt in 
 plots and treasonable schemes. 
 
 Father Campion a arrest for a very 
 different cause — albeit his enemies did 
 seek to attach to him the name of trai- 
 tor — occurred this year at Mrs. Yates's 
 house in Worcestershire, and couster- 
 
Oonslance Sherwood, 
 
 229 
 
 nated the hearts of all recusants ; but 
 when he came to London, and speech 
 was had of him bj many amongst 
 them which gained access to him in 
 prison, and reported to others his 
 great courage and joyfulness in the 
 midst of suffering, then, methinks, a 
 contagious spirit spread amongst 
 Catholics, and conversions followed 
 which changed despondency into re- 
 joicing. But I will not here set down 
 the manner of his trial, nor the won- 
 derful marks of patience and constan- 
 cy which he showed under torments 
 and rackings, nor his interview with 
 her majesty at my lord Leicester's 
 house, nor the heroic patience of his 
 death ; for others with better know- 
 ledge thereof, and pens more able for 
 to do it, have written this martyr's life 
 and glorious end. But I will rather 
 relate such events as took place, as it 
 were, under mine own eye, and which 
 are not, I ween, so extensively known. 
 And first, I will speak of a conversa- 
 tion I held at that time with a person 
 then a stranger, and therefore of no 
 great significancy when it occurred, 
 but which later did assume a sudden 
 importance, when it became linked 
 with succeeding events. 
 
 One day that I was visiting at 
 Lady Ligoldsby's, where Polly and 
 her husband had come for to spend a 
 few weeks, and much company was 
 going in and out, the faces and names 
 of which were new to me, some gen- 
 tlemen came there whose dress at- 
 tracted notice from the French fashion 
 thereof. One of them was a young 
 man of very comely appearance and 
 pleasant manners, albeit critical per- 
 sons might have judged somewhat 
 of the bravado belonged to his atti- 
 tudes and speeches, but withal tem- 
 pered with so much gentleness and 
 courtesy, that no sooner had the eye 
 and mind taken note of the defect 
 than the judgment was repented of. 
 What in one of less attractive face 
 and behavior should have displeased, 
 in this youth did not offend. It was 
 ray hap to sit beside him at supper, 
 which lasted a long time ; and as his 
 
 behavior was very polite, I freely con- 
 versed with him, and found him to be 
 English, though from long residence 
 abroad his tongue had acquired a 
 foreign trick. AVhen I told him I 
 had thought he was a Frenchman, he 
 laughed, and said if the French did 
 ever try to land in England, they 
 should find him to be a very English- 
 man for to fight against tliem ; but in 
 the matter of dinners and beds, and the 
 liking of a clear sunny sky over above 
 a dim cloudy one, he did confess him- 
 self to be so much of a traitor as to 
 prefer France to England, and he 
 could not abide the smoke of coal 
 fires which are used in this country. 
 
 " And what say you, sir," I answer- 
 ed, " to the new form of smoke which 
 Sir Walter Kaleigh hath introduced 
 since his return from the late discov- 
 ered land of Virginia ?" 
 
 He said he had learnt the use of it 
 in France, and must needs confess he 
 found it to be very pleasant. Mon- 
 sieur Nicot had brought some seeds of 
 tobacco into France, and so much lik- 
 mg did her majesty Queen Catharine 
 conceive for this practice of smoking, 
 that the new plant went by the name 
 of the queen's herb. '■ It is not gen- 
 tlemen alone who do use a pipe in 
 France," he said, "but ladies also. 
 What doth the fair sex in England 
 think on it ?" 
 
 " I have heard," I answered, " that 
 her majesty herself did try for to 
 smoke, but presently gave it up, for 
 that it made her sick. Her highness 
 is also reported to have lost a wager 
 concerning that same smoking of to- 
 bacco." 
 
 "What did her grace bet?" the 
 gentleman asked. 
 
 " Why, she was one day," I replied, 
 "inquiring very exactly of the vari- 
 ous virtues of this herb, and Sir Wai- 
 ter did assure her that no one under- 
 stood them better than himself, for hs 
 was so well acquainted with all its 
 qualities, that he could even tell her 
 majesty the weight of the smoke of 
 every pipeful he consumed. Her 
 highness upon this said, ^ Monsieur 
 
'30 
 
 Constance She 
 
 Traveller, jou do go too far in putting 
 on me the license which is allowed to 
 such as return from foreign parts ;' 
 and she laid a wager of many pieces 
 of gold he should not be able to prove 
 his words. So he weighed in her 
 presence the tobacco before he put it 
 into his pipe, and the ashes after he 
 had consumed it, and convinced her 
 majesty that the deficiency did pro- 
 ceed from the evaporation thereof. 
 So then she paid the bet, and merrily 
 told him ' that she knew of many per- 
 sons who had turned their gold into 
 smoke, but he was the first who had 
 turned smoke into gold.* " 
 
 The young gentleman being amused 
 at this story, I likewise told him of 
 Sir Walter's hap when he first return- 
 ed to England, and was staying in a 
 friend's house : how a servant coming 
 into his chamber with a tankard of 
 ale and nutmeg toast, and seeing him 
 for the first time with a lighted pipe in 
 his mouth puffing forth clouds of 
 smoke, flung the ale in his face for to 
 extinguish the internal conflagration, 
 and then running down the stairs 
 alarmed the family with dismal cries 
 that the good knight was on fire, and 
 would be burnt into ashes before they 
 could come to his aid. 
 
 My unknown companion laughed, 
 and said he had once on his travels 
 been taken for a sorcerer, so readily 
 doth ignorance imagine wonders. 
 " Near unto Metz, in France," quoth 
 be, " I fell among thieves. My money 
 I had quilted within my doublet, which 
 they took from me, howsoever leaving 
 me the rest of my apparel, wherein 
 I do acknowledge their courtesy, since 
 thieves give all they take not; but 
 twenty-five French crowns, for the 
 worst event, I had lapped in cloth, 
 and whereupon did wind divers-col- 
 ored threads, wherein I sticked nee- 
 dles, as if I had been so good a hus- 
 band as to mend mine own clothes. 
 Messieurs the thieves were not so 
 frugal to take my ball to mend their 
 hose, but did tread it under their feet. 
 I picked it up with some spark of joy, 
 and I and my guide (he very sad, be- 
 
 cause he despaired of my ability to 
 pay him his hire) went forward to 
 Chalons, where he brought me to a 
 poor ale-house, and when I expostu- 
 lated, he replied that stately inns were 
 not for men w^ho had never a penny 
 in their purses ; but I told him that 
 I looked for comfort in that case more 
 from gentlemen than clowns ; where- 
 upon he, sighing, obeyed me, and with 
 a dejected and fearful countenance 
 brought me to the chief inn, where he 
 ceased not to bewail my misery as if 
 it had been the burning of Troy ; till 
 the host, despairing of my ability to 
 pay him, began to look disdainfully on 
 me. The next morning, when, he be- 
 ing to return home, I paid him his 
 hire, which he neither asked nor ex- 
 pected, and likewise mine host for 
 lodgings and supper, he began to talk 
 like one mad for joy, and professed I 
 could not have had one penny except 
 I were an alchemist or had a familiar 
 spirit." 
 
 I thanked the young gentleman for 
 this entertaining anecdote, and asked 
 him if France was not a very disquiet- 
 ed country, and nothing in it \sat wars 
 and fighting. 
 
 " Yea," he answered ; " but men 
 fight there so merrily, that it appears 
 more a pastime than aught else. Not 
 always so, howsoever. AVlien French- 
 man meets Frenchman in the fair 
 fields of Provence, and those of the 
 League and those of the Religion — God 
 confound the first and bless the last ! 
 — engage in battle, such encounters 
 ensue as have not their match for 
 fierceness in the world. By my troth, 
 the sight of dead bodies doih not ordi- 
 narily move me; but the valley of 
 Allemagne on the day of the great 
 Huguenot victory was a sight the like 
 of which I would not choose to look 
 on again, an I could help it." 
 
 " Were yon, then, present at that 
 combat, sir ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yea," he replied ; " I was at that 
 time with Lcsdiguieres, the Protestant 
 general, whom I had known at La 
 Rochelle, and boshrew me if a more 
 valiant soldier doth live, or a worthiei 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 231 
 
 soul in a stalwart frame. I was 
 standing by bis side wlien Tourves 
 tbe butcber came for to urge bim, witb 
 liis three bundred men, to ride over 
 tbe field and slay tbe wounded pa- 
 pists. ' No, sir,' quotb tbe general, ^ I 
 figbt men, but bunt tbem not down.' 
 The dead were heaped many feet 
 thick on the plain, and the horses 
 of tbe Huguenots waded to their 
 haunches in blood. Those of the Re- 
 ligion were mad at the death of the 
 Baron of AUemagne, tbe general of 
 their southern churches, brave cas- 
 tellanr, who, when the figbt w^as done, 
 took off bis helmet for to cool bis 
 burning forehead ; and lo, a shot sent 
 bim straight into eternity." 
 
 " The Catholics were then wholly 
 routed ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yea," be answered ; " mowed 
 down like grass in tbe bay-harvest. 
 De Vins, however, escaped. He 
 thought to liave bad a cheap victory 
 over those of tbe Religion ; but tbe 
 saints in heaven, to w^hom be trusted, 
 never told bim that Lesdiguieres ,on 
 be one side and d' AUemagne on tbe 
 o:her were hastening to tbe rescue, 
 nor that his Italian horsemen should 
 fail him in bis need. So, albeit tbe 
 papists fought like devils, as they are, 
 bis pride got a fall, which well-nigb 
 killed bim. He was riding frantically 
 back into tbe fray for to get himself 
 slain, w'ben St. Cannat seized bis bri- 
 dle, and called bim a coward, so I 
 have beard, to dare for to die when 
 his scattered troops bad need of bim ; 
 and so carried bim off tbe field. 
 D'Oraison, Jan son, Pontmez, hotly 
 pursued them, but in vain ; and all the 
 Protestant leaders,except Lesdiguieres, 
 returned that night to tbe castle of 
 AUemagne for to bury tbe baron." 
 
 A sort of sbiver passed througb the 
 young gentleman's frame as be uttered 
 these last words. 
 
 " A sad burial you then witnessed ?" 
 I said, 
 
 " I pray God," he answered, " nev- 
 er to witness another such." 
 
 " What was tbe horror of it ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Would you hear it ?" be inquired- 
 *' Yea," I said, " most willingly ; for 
 methinks I see what you describe." 
 
 Then be : " If it be so, peradven- 
 ture you may not thank me for this 
 describing ; for I warrant you it was 
 a fearful sight. I bad lost mine horse, 
 and so was forced to spend tbe night 
 at the castle. When it grew dark I 
 followed tbe officers, wdiicb, with a 
 great store of tbe men, also descend- 
 ed into tbe vault, which was garnished 
 all round witb white and warlike sculp- 
 tured forms on tombstones, most grim 
 in their aspect; and amidst those 
 stone images, grim and motionless, 
 the soldiers ranged themselves, still 
 covered with blood and dust, and 
 leaning on their halberds. In the 
 midst was the uncovered coffin of the 
 baron, his livid visage exposed to 
 view — menacing even in death. 
 Torches threw a fitful, red-colored 
 light over the scene. A minister 
 which accompanied the army stood 
 and preached at the coffin's bead, and 
 when he bad ended his sermon, sang 
 in a loud voice, in French verse, the 
 psalm which doth begin, 
 
 ' Du fond de ma pensee, 
 Dn fond de tous enuuis, 
 A toi s'est adresse 
 Ma clameur jour et nuit.' 
 
 When this singing began two soldiers 
 led up to tbe tomb a man witb bound 
 hands and ghastly pale face, and, when 
 tbe verse ended, shot him through the 
 bead. The corpse fell upon the 
 ground, and the singing began anew. 
 Twelve times this did happen, till my 
 head waxed giddy and I became faint. 
 I was led out of that vault with the 
 horrible singing pursuing me, as if I 
 should never cease to bear it." 
 
 " Oh, 'tis fearful," I exclaimed, 
 " that men can do such deeds, and the 
 while have God's name on their lips." 
 
 " The massacre of St. Bartholo- 
 mew," he answered, " hath driven those 
 of the Religion mad against the pa- 
 pists." 
 
 " But, sir," I asked, " is it not true 
 that six thousand Catholics in Langue- 
 doc had been murthered in cold blood, 
 
232 
 
 Constancy Sherwood. 
 
 and a store of them in other places, 
 before that massacre ?" 
 
 " May be so," he answered in a 
 careless tone. "The shedding of 
 blood, except in a battle or lawful 
 duel, I abhor ; but verilj I do hate 
 papists with as great a hate as any 
 Huguenot in France, and most of all 
 those in this country — a set of knav- 
 ish traitors, which would dethrone the 
 queen and sell the realm to the 
 Spaniards." 
 
 I could not but sigh at these words, 
 for in this young man's countenance a 
 quality of goodness did appear which 
 made me grieve that he should utter 
 these unkind words touching Catho- 
 lics. But I dared not for to utter my 
 thinking or disprove his accusations, 
 ibr, being ignorant of his name, I had 
 a reasonable fear of being ensnared 
 into some talk which should show me 
 to be a papist, and he should prove to 
 be a spy. But patience failed me 
 when, after speaking of the clear light 
 of the gospel which England enjoyed, 
 and to lament that in Ireland none 
 a?e found of the natives to have cast 
 off the Roman religion, he said : 
 
 '• I ween this doth not proceed from 
 their constancy in religion, but rather 
 from the lenity of Protestants, which 
 think that the conscience must not be 
 forced, and seek rather to touch and 
 persuade than to obhge by fire and 
 sword, like those of the south, who 
 persecute their own subjects differing 
 from them in religion." 
 
 " Sir," I exclaimed, " this is a 
 strange thing indeed, that Protestants 
 do lay a claim to so great mildness in 
 their dealings with recusants, and yet 
 such strenuous laws against such are 
 framed that they do live in fear of 
 their lives, and are daily fined and 
 tormented for their profession." 
 
 *• How so ?" he said, quickly. " No 
 papist hath been burnt in this coun- 
 try." 
 
 " No, sir," I answered ; " but a 
 store of them have been hanged and 
 cut to pieces whilst yet alive." 
 
 " Nay, nay," he cried, " not for their 
 religion, but for their many treasons." 
 
 " Sir," I answered, '• their ror.giori 
 is made treason by unjust laws, and 
 then punished with the penalties of 
 treason : and they die for no other 
 cause than their faith, by the same 
 token that each of those which have 
 perished .on the scaffold had his lite 
 offered to him if so he would turn 
 Protestant." 
 
 In the heat of this argument I had 
 forgot prudence ; and some unkindly 
 ears and eyes were attending to my 
 speech, which this young stranger 
 perceiving, he changed the subject of 
 discourse — I ween with a charitable 
 intent — and merrily exclaimed, " Now 
 I have this day transgressed a wise 
 resolve." 
 
 " What resolve ?" I said, glad also 
 to retreat from dangerous subjects. 
 
 "This," he answered: "that after 
 my return I would sparingly, and not 
 without entreaty, relate my journeys 
 and observations." 
 
 ''Then, sir," I rephed, "methinks 
 you have contrariwise observed it, for 
 yodir observations have been short and 
 pithy, and withal uttered at mine en 
 treaty." 
 
 "Nothing," he paid, "I so much fear 
 as to resemble men — and many such 
 I have myself known — v/ho have 
 scarce seen the lions of the Tower and 
 the bears of Parish Garden, but they 
 must engross all a table in talking of 
 their adventures, as if they had passed 
 the Pillars of Hercules. Nothing 
 could be asked which they could not 
 resolve of their own knowledge." 
 
 " Find you, sir," I said, " much va- 
 riety in the manners of French people 
 and those you see in this country ?" 
 
 He smiled, and answered, " We 
 must not be too nice observers of men 
 and manners, and too easily praise 
 foreign customs and despise our o^vn 
 — not so much that we may not offend 
 others, as that we may not be our- 
 selves offended by others. I will yield 
 you an example. A Frenchman, be- 
 ing a curious observer of ceremonious 
 compliments, when he hath saluted 
 one, and begun to entertain him with 
 fpccch, if Lc chance to espy another 
 
Constanse Sherwood, 
 
 233 
 
 man, with whom he hath very great 
 business, yet will he not leave the first 
 man without a solemn excuse. But 
 an Englishman discourshig with any 
 man — I mean in a house or chamber 
 of presence, not merely in the street — 
 if* he spy another man with whom he 
 hath occasion to speak, will suddenly, 
 without any excuse, turn from the first 
 man and go and converse with the 
 other, and with like negligence will 
 leave and take new men for discourse ; 
 which a Frenchman would take in ill 
 part, as an argument of disrespect. 
 This fashion, and many other like 
 niceties and curiosities in use in one 
 country, we must forget when we do 
 pass into another. For lack of this 
 prudence I have seen men on their re- 
 turn home tied to these foreign man- 
 ners themselves, and finding that oth- 
 ers obsene not the Hke toward them, 
 take everything for an injury, as if 
 they were disrespected, and so are 
 often enraged." 
 
 " What think you of the dress our 
 ladies do wear ?" I inquired of this 
 young traveller. 
 
 He smiled, and answered : 
 
 " I like our young gentlewomen's 
 gowns, and their aprons of fine linen, 
 and their little hats of beaver; but 
 why have they left wearing the French 
 sleeves, borne out with hoops of whale- 
 bone, and the French hood of velvet, 
 set with a border of gold buttons and 
 pearls ? Methinks English ladies are 
 too fond of jewels and diamond rings. 
 They scorn plain gold rings, I find, 
 and chains of gold." 
 
 " Yea," I said, " ladies of rank wear 
 only rich chains of pearl, and all their 
 jewels must needs be oriental and 
 precious. If any one doth choose to 
 use a simple chain or a plain-set 
 brooch, she is marked for wearing old- 
 fashioned gear." 
 
 " This remindeth me," he said, " of 
 a pleasant fable, that Jupiter sent a 
 shower, v/herein whosoever was wet 
 became a fool, and that all the people 
 were wet in this shower, excepting 
 one philosopher, who kept his study ; 
 but in the evening coming forth into 
 
 the market-place, and finding that all 
 the people marked liim as a fool, who 
 was only wise, he was forced to pray 
 for another shower, that he might be- 
 come a fool, and so live quietly among 
 fools rather than bear the envy of his 
 wisdom." 
 
 "With this pleasant story our con- 
 versation ended, for supper was over, 
 and the young gentleman soon went 
 away. I asked of many persons who 
 he should be, but none could tell me. 
 Polly, the next day, said he was a 
 youth lately returned from France 
 (which was only what I knew before), 
 and that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton 
 had written a letter to Lady Ingoldsby 
 concerning him, but his name she had 
 forgot. O what strange haps, more 
 strange than any m books, do at times 
 form the thread of a true history ! 
 what presentiments in some cases, 
 what ignorance in others, beset us 
 toucliing coming events ! 
 
 The next pages will show the ground 
 of these reflections. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 One day that Mrs. "Wells was some- 
 what disordered, and keeping her 
 room, and I was sitting with her, her 
 husband came to fetch me into the 
 parlor to an old acquaintance, he 
 said, who was very desirous for to see 
 me. "Who is it?" I asked; but he 
 would not tell me, only smiled; my 
 foolish thinking supposed for one in- 
 stant that it might be Basil he spoke 
 of, but the first glance showed me a 
 shght figure and pale countenance, 
 very different to his whom my witless 
 hopes had expected for to see, albeit 
 without the least shadow of reason. I 
 stood looking at this stranger in a 
 hesitating manner, who perceiving I 
 did not know him, held out his hand, 
 and said, 
 
 " Has Mistress Constance forgotten 
 her old playfellow ?" 
 
 " Edmund Genings !" I exclaimed, 
 suddenly guessing it to be him. 
 
=34 
 
 Constance Sherwood* 
 
 " Yea," he said, " your old friend 
 Edmund," 
 
 " Mr. Ironmonger is this reverend 
 jZentleman's name now-a-days," Mr. 
 W ells said ; and then we all three sat 
 down, and by degrees in Edmund's 
 present face I discerned the one I re- 
 membered in former years. The same 
 kind and reflective aspect, the pallid 
 Ime, the upward-raised eye, now with 
 less of searching in its gaze, but more, 
 I ween, of yearning for an unearthly 
 home. 
 
 " dear and reverend sir," I said, 
 '• strange it doth seem indeed thus to 
 address you, but God knoweth I thank 
 him ibr the honor he hath done my 
 old playmate in the calling of him un- 
 to his service in these perilous times." 
 
 " Yea," he answered, with emotion, 
 •' I do owe him much, which life itself 
 should not be sufficient to repay." 
 
 " My good father," I said, " some 
 time before his death gave me a token 
 in a letter that ycu were in England. 
 Wliere have you been all this time ?" 
 
 '• Tell us the manner of your landing," 
 quoth Mr. Wells ; " for this is the 
 great ordeal which, once overpassed, 
 lets you into the vineyard, for to work 
 for one hour only sometimes, or else 
 to bear many years the noontide heat 
 and nipping frosts which laborers like 
 unto yourself have to endure." 
 
 « Well," said Edmund, " ten months 
 ago we took shipping at Honfleur, and, 
 wind and weather being propitious, 
 sailed along the coast of England, 
 meaning to have landed in Essex; 
 but for our sakes the master of the 
 bark lingered, when we came in sight 
 of land, until two hours within night, 
 and being come near unto Scar- 
 borough, what should happen but 
 that a boat with pirates or rovers in 
 it comes out to surprise us, and shoots 
 at us divers times with muskets ! But 
 we came by no harm ; for the wind 
 being then contrary, the master turned 
 his ship and sailed back into the main 
 sea, where in very foul weather we re- 
 mained three days, and verily I 
 thought to have then died of sea-sick- 
 nc&s ; which ailment should teach a 
 
 man humility, if anything in this 
 world can do it, stripping him as it 
 does of all boastfulness of his own 
 courage and strength, so that he would 
 cry mercy if any should offer only to 
 move him." 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Wells, laughing, 
 " Topcliffe should bethhik himself of 
 this new torment for papists, for to 
 leave a man in this plight until he ac- 
 knowledged the queen's supremacy 
 should be an artful device of the 
 devil" 
 
 " At last," quoth Mr. Genings, " we 
 landed, with great peril to our lives, 
 on the side of a high cliff near Whitby, 
 in Yorkshire, and reached that town 
 in the evening. Going into an inn 
 to refresh ourselves, which I promise 
 you we sorely needed, who should we 
 meet with there but one Radcliff ?" 
 
 " Ah ! a noted pursuivant," cried 
 Mr. Wells, '• albeit not so topping a 
 one as his chief." 
 
 « Ah !" I cried, « good Mr. Wells, 
 that is but a poor pun, I promise you. 
 A better one you must frame before 
 night, or you will lose your reputa- 
 tion. The queen's last effort hath 
 more merit in it than yours, who, when 
 she was angry with her envoy to 
 Spain, said, ' If her royal brother had 
 sent her a goose-man,* she had sent 
 him in return a man-goose.' " 
 
 Mr. Genings smiled, and said: 
 
 " Well, this same Radcliff took an 
 exact sur^'cy of us all, questioned us 
 about our arrival in that place, whence 
 we came, and whither we were going. 
 We told him we were driven thither 
 by the tempest, and at last, by evasive 
 answers, satisfied him. Then we all 
 went to tlie house of a Catholic gentle- 
 man in the neighborhood, which was 
 within two or three miles of Whitby, 
 and by him were directed some to one 
 place, some to another, according to 
 our own desires. Mr. Plasden and I 
 kept together ; but, for fear of suspi- 
 cion, we determined at last to separate 
 also, and singly to commit ourselves 
 to the protection of God and his good 
 angels. Soon after we had tluis re- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 235 
 
 solved, we came to two fair beaten 
 ways, the one leading north-east, the 
 other south-east, and even then and 
 there, it being in the night, we stopped 
 and both fell down on our knees and 
 made a short prayer together that God 
 of his intinite mercy would vouchsafe 
 to direct us, and send us both a peace- 
 able passage into the thickest of liis 
 vineyard." 
 
 Here Mr. Genings paused, a little 
 moved by the remembrance of that 
 parting, but in a few minutes ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " I have not seen that dear friend 
 since, rising from our knees, we em- 
 braced each other with tears trickling 
 down our cheeks ; but the words he 
 said to me then T shall never, me- 
 thinks, forget. 'Seeing,' quoth he, 
 'we must now part through fear of 
 our enemies, and for greater security, 
 farewell, sweet brother in Christ and 
 most loving companion. God grant 
 that, as we have been friends in one 
 college and companions in one weari- 
 some and dangerous journey, so we 
 may have one merry meeting once 
 again in tliis world, to our great com- 
 fort, if it shall please him, even 
 amongst our greatest adversaries ; and 
 that as we undertake, for his love and 
 holy name's sake, this course of life 
 together, so he will of his infinite 
 goodness and clemency make us par- 
 takers of one hope, one sentence, one 
 death, and one reward. And also as 
 we began, so may we end together in 
 Christ Jesus.' So he ; and then not 
 being able to speak one word more 
 for grief and tears, we departed in mu- 
 tual silence ; he directing his journey 
 to London, where he was born, and I 
 northward." 
 
 "Then you have not been into Staf- 
 fordsliire ?" I said. 
 
 " Yea," he answered, " later I went 
 to Lichfield, in order to try if I should 
 peradventure find there any of mine 
 old iViends and kinsfolks." 
 
 " And did you succeed therein ?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 " The only friends I found," he an- 
 swered, with a melancholy smile, 
 
 " were the gray cloisters, the old ca- 
 thedral walls, the trees of the close; 
 the only famihar voices which did 
 greet me were the chimes of the tow- 
 er, the cawing of the rooks over mine 
 head as I sat in the shade of the tall 
 elms near unto the wall where our 
 garden once stood." 
 
 "Oh, doth that house and that gar 
 den no more exist ?" I cried. 
 
 " No, it hath been pulled down, and 
 the lawn thereof thrown into the 
 close." 
 
 " Then," I said, " the poor bees and 
 butterflies must needs fare badly. The 
 bold rooks, I ween, are too exalted to 
 suffer from these changes. Of Sher 
 wood Hall did you Lear aught, Mr. 
 Genings ?" 
 
 " Mr. Ironmonger," Mr. Wells said, 
 correcting me. 
 
 " Alas !" Edmund replied, " I dared 
 not so much as to approach unto it, al- 
 beit I passed along the high road not 
 very far from the gate thereof. But 
 the present inhabitants are famed for 
 their hatred unto recusants, and like 
 to deal rigorously with any which 
 should come in their way." 
 
 I sighed, and then asked him how 
 long he had been in London. 
 
 " About one month," he replied. 
 " As I have told you. Mistress Con- 
 stance, all my kinsfolk that I wot of 
 are now dead, except my young broth- 
 er John, whom I doubt not you yet do 
 bear in mind — that fair, winsome, mis- 
 chievous urchin, who was carried to 
 La Rochelle about one year before 
 your sweet mother died." 
 
 " Yea," I said, " I can see him yet 
 gallopping on a stick round the parlor 
 at Lichfield." 
 
 " 'Tis to look for him," Edmund 
 said, "I am come to London. Albeit 
 I fear much inquiry on my part touch- 
 ing this youth should breed suspicion, 
 I cannot refrain, brotherly love solic- 
 iting me thereunto, from seeking him 
 whom report saith careth but little for 
 his soul, and who hath no other rela- 
 tive in the world than myself. I 
 have warrant for to suppose he should 
 be in London ; but these four weeks. 
 
2^6 
 
 Constance Sherwood. ' 
 
 with useless diligence, I have made 
 search ibr him, leaving no place un- 
 sought where I could suspect him to 
 abide ; and as I see no hopes of suc- 
 cess, I am resolved to leave the city 
 for a season." 
 
 Then Mr. "Wells proposed to carry 
 Edmund to Kate's house, where some 
 friends were awaiting him; and for 
 some days I saw him not again. But 
 on the next Sunday evening he came 
 to our house, and I noticed a paleness 
 in him I had not before perceived. I 
 asked him if anything had disordered 
 him. 
 
 " Nothing," he answered ; " only 
 methinks my old shaking malady doth 
 again threaten me ; for this morning, 
 walking forth of mine inn to visit a 
 friend on the other side of the city, 
 and passing by St. Paul's church, 
 when I was on the east side thereof, I 
 felt suddenly a strange sensation in 
 my body, so much that my face glow- 
 ed, and it seemed to me as if mine 
 hair stood on end ; all my joints trem- 
 bled, and my whole body was bathed 
 in a cold sw*eat. I feared some evil 
 was threatening me, or danger of be- 
 ing taken up, and I looked back to 
 see if I could perceive any one lo 
 be pursuing me; but I saw nobody 
 near, only a youth in a brown-colored 
 cloak ; and so, concluding that some 
 aifection of my head or liver had seiz- 
 ed me, T thought no more on it, but 
 went forward to ray intended place to 
 say mass." 
 
 A strange thinking came into mine 
 head at that moment, and I doubted if 
 I should impart to him my sudden 
 fancy. 
 
 " Mr. Edmund," I said, unable to 
 
 refrain myself, " suppose that youth in 
 
 the brown cloak should have been 
 
 your brother !" 
 
 ■ Pie started, but shaking of his head 
 
 aid: 
 
 •' Nay, nay, why should it have been 
 .lim rather than a thousand others I 
 do see every day ?" 
 
 '• Might not that strange effect in 
 yourself betoken the presence of a 
 kinsman ?" 
 
 " Tut, tut, Mistress Constance," he 
 cried, half kindly, half reprovingly; 
 " this should be a wild fancy lacking 
 ground in reason." 
 
 Thus checked, T held my peace, but 
 could not wholly discard this thought. 
 Not long after — on the very morning 
 before Mr. Genings proposed to de- 
 part out of town — I chanced to be 
 walking homeward with him and some 
 others from a house whither we had 
 gone to hear his mass. As we were 
 returning along Ludgate Hill, what 
 should he feel but the same sensations 
 he had done before, and which were 
 indeed visible in him, for his limbs 
 trembled and his face turned as white 
 as ashes ! 
 
 " You are sick," I said, for I was 
 walking alongside of him. 
 
 " Only affected as that other day," 
 he answered, leaning against a post 
 for to recover himself. 
 
 I had hastily looked back, and, lo 
 and behold ! a youth in a brown cloak 
 was w^alking some paces behind us. 
 I whispered in Mr. Genings's ear : 
 
 " Look, Edmund ; is this the youth 
 you saw before ?" 
 
 " O my good Lord !" he cried, turn- 
 ing yet more pale, " this is strange in- 
 deed ! After all, it may be my broth- 
 er. Go on," he said quickly ; '•' 1 
 must get speech with him alone to dis- 
 cover if it should be so." 
 
 We all walked on, and he tarried 
 behind. Looking back, I saw him 
 accost the stranger in the brown cloak. 
 And in the afternoon he came to tell 
 us that this was verily John Genings, 
 as I had with so little show of reason 
 guessed. 
 
 " What passed between you ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 He said : 
 
 "I courteously saluted the young 
 man, and inquired what countryman 
 he was ; and hearing that he was a 
 Staffcrdshireraan, I began to conceive 
 hopes it should be my brother ; so I 
 civilly demanded his name. Methought 
 I should have betrayed myself at once 
 when he answered Genings ; but as 
 quietly as I could, I told him I was 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 237 
 
 his kinsman, and was called Iron- 
 mon;>er, and asked him what had be- 
 come of* his brother Edmund. He 
 then, not suspecting aught, told me he 
 had heard that he was gone to Rome 
 to the Pope, and was become a notable 
 papist and a traitor both to God and 
 his country, and that if he did return 
 he should infallibly be hanged. I 
 smiled, and told him I knew his bro- 
 ther, and that he was an honest man, 
 and loved both the queen and his 
 country, and God above all. ^But 
 tell me,' I added, ^ good cousin John, 
 should you not know him if you saw 
 liim?* He then looked hard at me, 
 and led the way into a tavern not far 
 off, and when we were seated at a 
 table, with no one nigh enough to 
 overhear us, he said : * I gi'eatly fear 
 I have a brother that is a priest, and 
 that you are the man,' and then began 
 to swear that if it was so, I should dis- 
 credit myself and all my friends, and 
 protested that in this he would never 
 follow me ; albeit in other matters he 
 might respect me. I promise you 
 hat whilst these harsh words passed 
 is lips I longed to throw my arms 
 round his neck. I saw my mother's 
 face in his, and his once childish love- 
 liness only changed into manly beauty. 
 His young years and mine rose before 
 me, and I could have wept over this 
 ]iew-found brother as Joseph over his 
 dear Benjamin. I could no longer 
 conceal myself, but told him truly I 
 was .his brother indeed, and for hia 
 love had taken great pains to seek 
 him, and begged of him to keep secret 
 the knowledge of my arrival ; to which 
 he answered : ' He would not for the 
 world disclose my return, but that he 
 desired me to come no more unto him, 
 for that he feared greatly the danger 
 of the law, and to incur the penalty of 
 the statute for concealing of it.' I saw 
 his was no place or time convenient 
 .0 talk of religion ; but we had much 
 conversation about divers tilings, by 
 which I perceived him to be far from 
 any good affection toward Catholic 
 religion, and persistent in Protestant- 
 ism, without any hope of a present re- 
 
 covery. Therefore I declared unto 
 him my intended departure out of 
 town, and took my leave, assuring him 
 that within a month or h'ttle more I 
 should return and see him again, and 
 confer with him more at large touching 
 some necessary affairs which concerned 
 him very much. I inquired of him 
 where a letter should find him. He 
 showed some reluctance for to give me 
 any address, but at last said if one was 
 left for him at Lady Ingoldsby's, in 
 Queen street, Holborn, he should bo 
 like to get it." 
 
 After Mr. Genings had left, I con- 
 sidered of this direction his brother 
 had given him, which showed him tc 
 be acquainted with Polly's mother-in- 
 law, and then remembering the young 
 gentleman I had met at her house, I 
 suspected him to be no other than 
 John Genings. And called back to 
 mind all his speeches for to compare, 
 them with this suspicion, wherem they 
 did all tally; and some days after- 
 ward, when I was walking on the Mall 
 with Sir Ralph and Polly, who should 
 accost them but this youth, which 
 they presently introduced to me, and 
 Polly added, she believed we had 
 played at hide-and-seek together when 
 we were young. He looked somewhat 
 surprised, and as if casting about for 
 to call to mind old recollections ; then 
 spoke of our meeting at Lady In- 
 goldsby's ; and she cried out, 
 
 " Oh, then, you do know one an- 
 other ?" 
 
 " By sight," I said, *' not by name." 
 
 Some other company joining us, he 
 came alongside of me, and began for 
 to pay me compliments in the French 
 manner. 
 
 " Mr. John Genings," I said, " do 
 you remember Lichfield and the close, 
 and a little girl, Constance Sherwood, 
 who used to play with you, before you 
 w^it to La Rochelle ?" 
 
 "Like in a dream," he answered, 
 his comely face lightingup with a smile. 
 
 " But your brother," I said, " was 
 my chiefest companion then ; for at 
 that age we do always aspire to the 
 notice of such as be older than conde- 
 
238 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 scend to such as be younger than our- 
 selves." 
 
 When I named his brother a cloud 
 darkened his face, and he abruptly 
 turned away. He talked to Polly 
 and some other ladies in a gay, jesting 
 manner, but I could see that ever and 
 anon he glanced toward me, as if to 
 scan my features, and, I ween, com- 
 pare them with what memory depicted ; 
 but he kept aloof from me, as if fear- 
 ing I should speak again of one he 
 would fain forget. 
 
 On the 7th of November, Edmund 
 returned to London, and came in the 
 evening to Kate's house. He had 
 been laboring in the country, exhort- 
 ing, instructing, and exercising his 
 priestly functions amongst Cathohcs 
 with all diligence. It so happened 
 that his friend, Mr. Plasden, a very 
 virtuous priest, which had landed with 
 him at Whitby, and parted with him 
 soon afterward, was there also ; and 
 several other persons likewise which 
 did usually meet at Mr. Wells's 
 house ; but, owing to that gentleman's 
 absence, who had gone into the coun- 
 try for some business, and his wife's 
 indisposition, had agreed for to spend 
 the evening at Mr. Lacy's. Before 
 the company there assembled parted, 
 the two priests treated with him where 
 they should say mass the following 
 day, which was the Octave of All Saints. 
 They agreed to say their matins to- 
 gether, and, by Bryan's advice, to cele- 
 brate it at tlie house of Mr. Wells, 
 notwithstanding his absence ; for that 
 Mistress Wells, who could not con- 
 veniently go abroad, would be exceed- 
 ing glad for to hear mass in her own 
 lodging. 1 told Edmund of my meet- 
 ing with his brother on the Mall, and 
 the long talk ministered between us 
 some weeks ago, when neither did 
 know the other's name. Methought 
 in his countenance and conversation 
 that night there appeared an unwonted 
 consolation, a sober joy, which filled 
 me almost with awe. When he wish- 
 ed me good-night, he added, " I pray 
 you, my dear child, to lift up your 
 soul to heaven ere you sleep and when 
 
 you wake, and recommend to heaven 
 our good purpose, and then come and 
 attend at the holy sacrifice with the 
 crowd of angels and saints which do 
 always assist thereat." When the 
 light faintly dawned in the dull sky, 
 Muriel and I stole from our beds, 
 quietly dressed ourselves, and slipping 
 out unseen, repaired as fast as we 
 could, for the ground was wet and 
 slippery, to Mr. Wells's house. We 
 found assembled in one room Mr, 
 Genings, Mr. Plasden, another priest, 
 Mr. White, Mr. Lacy, Mistress Wells, 
 Sydney Hodgson, Mr. Mason, and 
 many others. Edmund Genings pro- 
 ceeded to say mass. There was so 
 great a stillness in the room a pin 
 should have been heard to drop. Albeit 
 he said the prayers in a very low 
 voice, each word was audible. Mine 
 ears, which are very quick, were 
 stretched to the utmost. Each sound 
 in the street caused me an inward 
 flutter. Methought, when he was 
 reading the gospel, I discerned a 
 sound as of the hall-door opening, and 
 of steps. Then nothing more for a 
 little while ; but just at the moment 
 of the consecration there was a 
 loud rush up the stairs, and the 
 door of the chamber burst open. The 
 gentlemen present rose from their 
 knees. Mistress Wells and I contrari- 
 wise sunk on the ground. I dared not 
 for to look, or move, or breathe, but 
 kept inwardly calling on God, then 
 present, for to save us. I heard the 
 words behind me : " Topcliffe ! keep him 
 back !" " Hurl him down the stairs !" 
 and then a sound of scuffling, falling, 
 and rolling, followed by a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 The while the mass went forward, 
 ever and anon noises rose without ; 
 but the gentlemen held the door shut 
 by main force all the time. They kept 
 the foe at bay, these brave men, each 
 word uttered at the altar resounding, 
 I ween, in their breasts. O my God. 
 what a store of suffering was heaped 
 into a brief space of time ! AVTiat a 
 viaticum was that communion then re- 
 ceived by thy doomed priest ! " Domi- 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 239 
 
 ne, non sum dtgnvs" he thrice said, 
 and then his Lord rested in his soul. 
 " Deo gratias /" None could now 
 profane the sacred mysteries ; none 
 could snatch his Lord from him. " Ite 
 missa est." The mass was said, the 
 hour come, death at hand. All re- 
 sistance then ceased. I saw Topcliffe 
 hastening in with a broken head, and 
 threatening to raise the whole street. 
 Mr. Plasden told him that, now the 
 mass was ended, we would all yield 
 ourselves prisoners, which we did ; 
 upon which he took Mr. Genings as he 
 was, in his vestments, and all of us, 
 men and women, in coaches he called 
 for, to Newgate. Muriel and I kept 
 close together, and, with Mistress Wells, 
 were thrust into one cell. Methmks 
 we should all have borne with cour- 
 age this misfortune but for the think- 
 ing of those without — Muriel of her 
 aged and infirm father ; Mistress 
 Wells of her husband's return that 
 day to his sacked house, robbed of all 
 its church furniture, books, and her 
 the partner of his whole life. And I 
 thought of Basil, and what he should 
 feel if he knew of me in this fearful 
 Newgate, near to so many thieves and 
 ^vicked persons ; and a trembling 
 came over me lest I should be parted 
 from my companions. I had much to 
 do to recall the courageous spirit I 
 had heretofore nurtured in foreseeing 
 such a hap as this. If I had had to 
 die at once, I think I should have 
 been more brave; but terrible fore- 
 bodings of examinations — perchance 
 tortures, long solitary hours in a loath- 
 some place — caused me inward shud- 
 derings ; and albeit I said with my 
 lips over and over again, " Thy will 
 be done, my God," I passionately 
 prayed this chalice might pass from 
 me which often before in my presump- 
 tion — I cry mercy for it — I had al- 
 most desired to drink. Oh, often 
 have I thought since of what is said 
 in David's Psalms, " It is good for me 
 that thou hast humbled me." From 
 my young years a hot glowing feeling 
 had inflamed my breast at the men- 
 tion of suffering for conscience' sake, 
 
 and the words " to die" had been very 
 familiar ones to my lips ; " rather to 
 die," "gladly to die," "proudly to 
 die;" alas, Iiow often had I uttered 
 them! O my God, when the foul 
 smells, the faint light of that dreadful 
 place, struck on my senses, I waxed 
 very weak. The coarse looks of the 
 jailers, the disgusting food set before^ 
 us, the filthy pallets, awoke in me a 
 loathing I could not repress. And 
 then a fear also, which the sense of my 
 former presumption did awaken. 
 "Let he that thinketh he standeth 
 take heed lest he fall," kept nmning in 
 mine head. I had said, like St. Peter, 
 that I was ready for to go. to prison 
 and to death ; and now, peradventure, 
 I should betray my Lord if too great 
 pain overtook me. Muriel saw me 
 wringing mine hands ; and, sitting 
 down by my side on the rude mattress, 
 she tried for to comfort me. Then, in 
 that hour of bitter anguish, I learnt 
 that creature's full worth. Who 
 should have thought, who did not then 
 hear her, what stores of superhuman 
 strength, of heavenly knowledge, of 
 divine comfort, should have flowed 
 from her lips ? Then I perceived the 
 value of a wholly detached heart, sur- 
 rendered to God alone. Young as 
 she was, her soul was as calm in this 
 trial as that of the aged resigned 
 woman which shared it with us. Mine 
 was tempest-tossed for a while. I 
 could but lie mine head on Muriel's 
 knee and murmur, '* Basil, O Basil !" 
 or else, " If, after all, I should prove 
 an apostate, which hath so despised 
 others for it !" 
 
 " 'Tis good to fear," she whispered. 
 " but withal to trust. Is it not writ- 
 ten, mine own Constance, ' My strength 
 is sufficient for thee ?' and who saith 
 this but the Author of all strength — 
 he on whom the whole world doth 
 rest ? He permitteth this fear in thee 
 for humility's sake, which lesson thou 
 hast need to learn. When that of 
 courage is needed, be not affrighted ; 
 he will give it thee. He bestoweth 
 not graces before they be needed." 
 
 Then she minded me of little St. 
 
240 
 
 Constance Sherwood* 
 
 Agnes, and related passages of her 
 life ; but raostlj spoke of the cross 
 and the passion of Christ, in such 
 piercing and moving tones, as if visi- 
 bly beholding the scene on Calvary, 
 that the storm seemed to subside in 
 my breast as she went on. 
 
 '' Pray," she gently said, "that, if it 
 be God's will, the extremity of human 
 .suffering should fall on thee, so that thy 
 love for him should increase. Pray that 
 no human joy may visit thee again, so 
 that heaven may open its gates to thee 
 and thy loved ones. Pray for Hu- 
 bert, for the queen, for Topcliffe, for 
 every human soul which thou hast 
 ever been tempted to hate; and I 
 promise thee that a great peace shall 
 steal over thy soul, and a great strength 
 shall lift thee up." 
 
 I did what she desired, and her words 
 were prophetic. Peace came before 
 long, and joy too, of a strange unearth- 
 ly sort. A brief foretaste of heaven 
 was showed forth in the consolations 
 then jiourcd into mine heart. When 
 since I have desired for to rekindle fer- 
 vor and awaken devotion, I recall the 
 hours which followed that great anguish 
 J!^. the cell at Newgate. 
 
 Late in the evening an order came for 
 to release Muriel and me, but not Mrs. 
 Wells. When this dear friend under- 
 stood what had occurred, she raised her 
 1 lands in fervent gratitude to God, and 
 dismissed us with many blessings. 
 
 The events which followed I will 
 briefly relate. When we reached 
 home Mr. Congleton was very sick ; 
 and then began the illness which end- 
 (^d his life. Kate was almost wild with 
 grief at her husband's danger, and we 
 fetched her and her children to her 
 iather's house for to watch over them. 
 On the next day all the prisoners 
 v>hich had been taken at Mr. Wells's 
 house (we only having been released 
 l)y the dealings of friends with the 
 chief secretary) were examined by 
 Justice Young, and returned to prison 
 to take their trials the next session. 
 ISli. Wells, at his return finding his 
 house ransacked and his wife carried 
 away to prison, had been fortliwith to 
 
 Mr. Justice Young for to expostulate 
 with him, and to demand his wife and 
 the key of his lodgings ; but the justice 
 sent him to bear the rest company, 
 with a pair of iron bolts on his legs. 
 The next day he examined him in 
 Newgate; and upon Mr. Wells say- 
 ing he was not privy to the mass be- 
 ing said that day in his house, but wish- 
 ed he had been present, thinking his 
 name highly honored by having so 
 divine a sacrifice offered in it, the jus- 
 tice told him " that though he was not 
 at the feast, he should taste of the 
 same." 
 
 The evening I returned home from 
 the prison a great lassitude overcame 
 me, and for a few days increased so 
 much, joined with pains in the head 
 and in the limbs, that I could scarcely 
 think, or so much as stand. At last 
 it was discerned that I was sickening 
 with the small-pox, caught, methinks, 
 in the prison ; and this was no small 
 increase to Muriel's trouble, who had 
 to go to and fro from my chamber to 
 her father's, and was forced to send 
 Kate and her children to the country 
 to Sir Ralph Ingoldsby's house; but 
 methinks in the end this proved for 
 the best, for when Mr. Lacy was, 
 with the other prisoners, found guilty, 
 and condemned to death on the 4th of 
 December, some for having said, and 
 the others for having heard, mass at 
 Mr. Wells's house, Kate came to Lon- 
 don but for few hours, to take leave 
 of him, and Polly's care of her after- 
 Avard cheered the one sister in her 
 great but not very lasting afhiction, 
 and sobered the other's spirits in a 
 beneficial manner, for since she hath 
 been a stayer at home, and very care- 
 ful of her children and Kate's also, 
 and, albeit very secretly, doth I hear 
 practise her religion. Mr. Congleton 
 never heard of his son-in-law and his 
 friend Mr. Wells's danger, the palsy 
 which affected him having numbed 
 his senses so that he slowly sunk in 
 his grave without suffering of body or 
 mind. From Muriel I heard the 
 course of the trial. How many bitter 
 words and scoffs were used by the 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 241 
 
 judges and others' upon the bench, par- 
 ticularly to Edmund Gcniags, because 
 of his youth, and that he angered tliem 
 with his arguments ! The more to 
 make him a scoiF to the people, they 
 vested him in a ridiculous tboFs coat 
 which tliey had found in Mr. Wells's 
 house, and would have it to be a vest- 
 ment. It was appointed they should 
 all die at Tyburn, except Mr. Genings 
 and Mr. Wells, who were to bo exe- 
 cuted before Mr. Wells's own door in 
 Gray's Inn Fields, v/ithin three doors of 
 our own lodging. The judges, we 
 were told, after pronouncing sentence, 
 began to persuade them to conform to 
 the Protestent religion, assuring them 
 that by so doing they should obtain 
 mercy, but otherwise they must cer- 
 tainly expect to die. But they all an- 
 swered " that they would live and die 
 in the true Roman and Catholic faith, 
 which they and all antiquity had ever 
 professed, and that they would by no 
 means go to the Protestant churches, 
 or for one moment think that the 
 [ueen could be head of the Church in 
 pirituals." They dealt most urgently 
 with Edmund Genings in this matter 
 of conformity, giving him hopes not 
 only of his life, but also of a good liv- 
 ing, it he would renounce his faith ; 
 but he remained, God be praised, con- 
 stant and resolute ; upon which he 
 was thrust into a dark hole within the 
 prison, where he remained in prayer, 
 without food or sustenance, till the 
 hour of his death. Some letters we 
 received from him and Mr. Wells, 
 which have become revered treasures 
 and almost relics in our eyes. One 
 did write (this was Edmund) : " The 
 comforts which captivity bringeth are 
 so manifold that I have rather cause 
 to thank God highly for his fatherly 
 dealings with me than to complain of 
 any worldly misery whatsoever. Cus- 
 tom hath caused that it is no grief to 
 me to be debarred from company, de- 
 siring nothing more than solitude. 
 When I pray, I talk with God — when 
 I read, he talketh with me ; so that I 
 am never alone." And much more in 
 that strain. Mr. Wells ended his let- 
 
 ter thus: "I am bound with gyves, 
 yet I am unbound toward God, and 
 far better I account it to have the body 
 bound than the soul to be in bondage. 
 I am threatened hard with danger of- 
 death ; but if it be no worse, I will not 
 wisii it to be better. God send me 
 his grace, and then I weigh not what 
 flesh and blood can do unto me. I 
 have answered to many curious and 
 dangerous questions, but I trust witli 
 good advisements, not offending my 
 conscience. What will come of it 
 God only knoweth. Through prison 
 and chains to glory. Thine till 
 death." This letter was addressed 
 to Basil, with a desire expressed 
 we should read it before it was sent 
 to him. 
 
 On the day before the one of the 
 execution, Kate came to take leave of 
 her husband. She could not speak 
 for her tears ; but he, with his usual 
 composure, bade her be of good com- 
 fort, and that death was no more to 
 him than to drink off the caudle which 
 stood there ready on his table. And 
 methinks this indifferency was a joint 
 effect of nature and of grace, for none 
 had ever seen him hurried or agitated 
 in his life with any matter whatsoever. 
 And when he rolled Topcliffe down 
 the stairs and fell wiih him — for it 
 was he which did this desperate action 
 — ^liis face was as composed when he 
 rose up again, one of the servants 
 who had seen the scuffle said, as if he 
 had never so much as stirred from his 
 study ; and in his last speeches before 
 his death it was noticed that his utter- 
 ance was as slow and deliberate, and 
 his words as carefully picked, as at any 
 other time of his life. Ah me ! what 
 days were those when, hardly re- 
 covered from ray sickness, only 
 enough for to sit up in an armed-chair 
 and be carried from one chamber to 
 another, all the talk ministered about 
 me was of the danger and coming 
 death of these dear friends. I had a 
 trouble of mine own, which I be trul\ 
 ashamed to speak of; but in this nar- 
 rative I have resolved above all things ■ 
 to be truthful : and if I have ever had^ 
 
242 
 
 Constance Sherwood, 
 
 occasion, on the one hand, to relate 
 what should seem to be to mine own 
 credit, on the other also I desire to ac- 
 knowledge my weaknesses and imper- 
 leciions, of which what I am about to 
 relate is a notable instance. The 
 small-pox made me at that time the 
 most deformed person that could be 
 seen, even after I was recovered; 
 and the first time I beheld my face in 
 a glass, the horror which it gave me 
 was so great that I resolved Basil 
 should never be the husband of one 
 whom every person which saw her 
 must needs be affrighted to look on; 
 but, forecasting he would never give 
 me up for this reason, howsoever his 
 inclination should rebel against the 
 kindness of his heart and his true af- 
 I'ection for me, I hastily sent him a 
 . letter, in which I said I could give 
 him no cause for the change which 
 had happened in me, but that I w^as 
 resolved not to marry him, acting in 
 my old hasty manner, without thought 
 or prudence. No sooner had I done 
 so than I grew very uneasy thereat, 
 too late reflecting on what his suspi- 
 cions should be of my inconstancy, 
 , and ^Yhat should to him appear faith- 
 less breach of promise. 
 
 It grieved me, in the midst of such 
 grave events and noble sufferings, to 
 be so concerned for mine own trouble ; 
 and on the day before the execution I 
 was sitting musing painfully on the 
 tra""edy which was to be enacted at 
 our own doors as it were, weeping for 
 the dear friends which were to suffer, 
 and ever and anon chewing the cud of 
 my wilful undoing of mine own, and 
 it might prove of Basil's, future peace 
 by my rash letter to him, and yet 
 more rash concealment of my motives. 
 Whilst I was thus plunged in grief 
 , and uneasiness, the door of my cham- 
 I ber of a sudden opened, and the ser- 
 ■ vant announced Mr. Hubert Rook- 
 - wood. 1 hid my face hastily with a 
 veil, which I now did generally use, 
 except when alone with Muriel. He 
 came in, and methought a change had 
 happened in his appearaace. He 
 looked somewhat wild and disordered, 
 
 and his face flushed as one used to 
 drinking. 
 
 " Constance," he said abruptly, 
 " tidings have reached me which 
 would not suffer me to put off this 
 visit. A man coming from France 
 hath brought me a letter from Basil, 
 and one directed to you, which he 
 charged me to deliver into your hands. 
 If it tallies with that which he doth 
 write to me — and I doubt not it must 
 be so, for his dealings are always open 
 and honorable, albeit often rash — I 
 must needs hope for so much happi- 
 ness from it as I can scarce credit 
 to be possible after so much suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 I stretched out mine hand for Ba- 
 sil's letter. Oh, how the tears gushed 
 from mine eyes on the reading of it ! 
 He had received mine, and having 
 heard some time before from a friend 
 he did not name of his brother's pas- 
 sion for me, he never misdoubted but 
 that I had at last yielded to his solici- 
 tations, and given him the love which 
 I withvlrew from him. 
 
 Never was the nobleness of his na- 
 ture more evinced than in this letter ; 
 never grief more heartfelt, combined 
 with a more patient endurance of the 
 overthrow of his sole earthly happi- 
 ness ; never a greater or more forgiv- 
 ing kindness toward a faithless crea- 
 ture, as he deemed her, with a linger 
 ing care for her weal, whom he must 
 needs have thought so ill deserving of 
 his love. So much sorrow without re- 
 pining, such strict charges not to marry 
 Hubert if he was not a good Catholic 
 and truly reconciled to the Church. 
 But if he was indeed changed in this 
 respect, an assent given to this mar- 
 riage which had cost him, he said, 
 many tears and many prayers for to 
 write, more than if with his own 
 heart's blood he had traced the word^ ; 
 but which, nevertheless, he freely 
 gave, and prayed God to bless u-^ 
 both, if with a good conscience we 
 could be wedded ; and God forbid h? 
 should hinder it, if I had ceased for to 
 love him, and had given to Hubert — 
 who had already got his birthright — 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 243 
 
 also i\ more precious treasure, the 
 heart once his own. 
 
 *' What doth your brother write to 
 you ?" I coldly said ; and then Hubert 
 gave me his letter to read. 
 
 Methinks he imagined I concealed 
 my face from some sort of shame ; and 
 God knoweth, had I acted the part he 
 supposed, I might well have blushed 
 deeper than can be thought of. 
 
 This letter was like unto the other — 
 the most touching proof of love a 
 man could give for a woman. For- 
 getting himself, my dearest Basil's 
 only care was my happiness ; and firm 
 remonstrances were blended with 
 touching injunctions to his brother to 
 treasure every hair of the head of one 
 who was dearer to him than all the 
 world beside, and to do his duty to 
 God and to her, which if he observed, 
 he should, mindless of all else, for ever 
 bless him. 
 
 When I returned the missive to 
 him, Hubert said, in a faltering voice, 
 " Now you are free — free to be mine 
 — free before God and man." 
 
 " Yea," I answered ; " free as the 
 dead, for I am henceforward dead to 
 all earthly tilings." 
 
 '' What !" he cried, startled ; "your 
 thinking is not, God shield it, to be a 
 nun abroad ?" 
 
 " Nay," I answered ; and then, 
 laying my«hand on Basil's letter, I said, 
 " If I had thought to marry you, Hu- 
 bert ; if at this hour I should say I 
 could love you, I ween you yrould leave 
 the house affrighted, and never return 
 to it again." 
 
 " Is your brain turned ?" he impa- 
 tiently cried. 
 
 " No," I answered quietly, lifting my 
 veil, " my face only is changed." 
 
 I had a sort of bitter pleasure in 
 the sight of his surprise. He turned 
 as pale as any smock. 
 
 " Oh, fear not," I said, " my heart 
 hath not changed with my face. I 
 am not in so merry a mood, God 
 knoweth, as to torment you with any 
 sucli apprehensions. My love for Ba- 
 eil is the same; yea, rather at .this 
 hour, after these noble proofs of his 
 
 love, more great than ever. Now you 
 can discern why I should write to him 
 I would never marry him." 
 
 Hiding his face in his hands, Hu- 
 bert said, " Would I had not come here 
 to embitter your pain ?" 
 
 " You have not added to my sorrow," 
 I answered; "the chalice is indeed 
 full, but these letters have rather lights 
 ened than increased my sufferings." 
 
 Then concealing again my face, I 
 went on, '• O Hubert, will you come 
 here to-morrow morning ? Know you 
 the sight which from that window shall 
 be seen ? Hark to that noise ! Look 
 out, I pray you, and tell me what it is." 
 
 He did as I bade him, and I mark- 
 ed the shudder he gave. His face, 
 pale before, had now turned of an 
 ashy hue. 
 
 " Is it possible ?" he said ; " a scaf- 
 fold in front of that house where we 
 were wont to meet those old friends ! 
 O Constance, are they there to die ? 
 — that brave joyous old man, that kind 
 pious soul his wife ?" 
 
 " Yea,'.' I answered ; ^' and likewise 
 the friend of my young years, good 
 holy Edmund Genings, who never did 
 hurt a fly, much less a human crea- 
 ture. And at Tyburn, Bryan Lacy, 
 my cousin, once your friend, and Syd- 
 ney Hodgson, and good Mr. Mason, 
 are to suffer." 
 
 Hubert clenched his hands, ground 
 his teeth, and a terrible look shot 
 through his eyes. I felt affrighted at 
 the passion my words had awakened. 
 
 " Cursed," he cried, in a hoarse 
 voice, — " cursed be the bloody queen 
 which reigneth in this land ! Tlirice 
 accursed be the tyrants which hunt us 
 to death! Tenfold accursed such as 
 lure us to damnation by the foul baits 
 they do offer to tempt a man to lie to 
 God and to others, to ruin those he 
 loves, to become loathsome to himself 
 by his mean crimes ! But if one hath 
 been cheated of his soul, robbed of the 
 hope of heaven, debarred from his re- 
 ligion, thrust into the company of 
 devils, let them fear him, yea, let 
 them fear him, I say. Revenge is not 
 impossible. What shall stay the 
 
244 
 
 Constance Shervjood. 
 
 hand of such a man ? What shall 
 guard those impious tempters if 
 many such should one day league 
 for to sweep them from earth's 
 face ? If one be desperate of this 
 world's life, he becomes terrible. 
 How should he be to be dreaded 
 who hath despair of heaven !" 
 
 With these wild words he left 
 me. He was gone ere I could 
 speak. 
 
 CIIArTEK XXYI. 
 
 On the night before the 10th of 
 December, neither Muriel nor I re- 
 tired to rest. We sat together by the 
 rush-light, at one time saying pray- 
 ers, at another speaking together 
 in a low voice. Ever and anon she 
 Avent to listen at her father's door, 
 for to make sure he slept, and then 
 returned to me. The hours seemed 
 to pass slowly ; and yet we should 
 have wished to stay their course, 
 so much we dreaded the first rays 
 of light presaging the tragedy of 
 the coming day. Before the first 
 token of it did show, at about five 
 in the morning, the door-bell rung 
 in a gentle manner. 
 
 *' Who can be ringing ? " 1 said 
 to Muriel. 
 
 " I will go and see," she answer- 
 ed. 
 
 But I restrained her, and went to 
 call one of the servants, who w^ere 
 beginning to bestir themselves. 
 The man went down, and returned, 
 bringing me a paper, on which these 
 words were written : 
 
 "My Dear Constance: My 
 lord and myself have secretly come 
 to join our prayers with yours, 
 and, if it should be possible, to re- 
 ceive the blessing of the holy priest 
 who is about to die, as he j)asses 
 by your house, toward which, I 
 doubt not, his eyes will of a surety 
 
 turn. I pray you, therefore, admit 
 us." 
 
 I hurried down the stairs, and 
 found Lord and Lady Arundel 
 standing in the hall ; she in a 
 cloak and hood, and he with a 
 slouching hat hiding his face. 
 Leading them both into the parlor, 
 which looketh on the street, I had 
 a fire hastily kindled, and for a 
 space her ladyship and myself 
 could only sit holding each other's 
 hands, our hearts being too full to 
 speak. After a while I asked her 
 when she had come to London. She 
 said she had done so very secretly, 
 not to increase the queen's dis- 
 pleasure against her husband ; her 
 majesty's misliking of herself con- 
 tinuing as great as ever. 
 
 " When she visited my lord last 
 year, before his arrest," quoth she, 
 " on a pane of glass in the dining- 
 room her grace perceived a dis- 
 tich, writ by me in bygone days 
 with a diamond, and which express- 
 ed hopes of better fortunes." 
 
 " I mind it well," I replied. ^' Did 
 it not run thus ? 
 
 ■ Not seldom doth the sun sink down in bright- 
 est light 
 
 Which rose at early dawn disfigured quite out- 
 right T 
 
 So shall my fgrtunes, wrapt so long in darkest 
 night, 
 
 Kevive, and show ere long an aspect clear and 
 bright.' " 
 
 " Yea," she answered. " And 
 now listen to what her majesty, 
 callinoj for a like instrument, wrote 
 beneath : 
 
 'Not seldom do vain hopes deceive a silly 
 heart ; 
 
 Let all such witless dreams now vanish and de- 
 part; 
 
 For fortune shall ne'er shine, I promise thee, on 
 one 
 
 Whose folly hath for aye all hopes thereof un- 
 done." 
 
 We live," she added, "with a sword 
 
Constance Sherwood, 
 
 24: 
 
 hanging over our heads ; and it is 
 meet we should come here this day to 
 learn a lesson how to die when a like 
 fate shall overtake us. But thou hast 
 been hke to die by another means, my 
 good Constance," her ladyship said, 
 looking with kindness but no astonish- 
 ment on my swollen and disfigured 
 face, which I had not remembered to 
 conceal ; grave thoughts, then upper- 
 most, having caused me to forget it. 
 
 " My life," I answered, " God hath 
 mercifully spared ; but I have lost the 
 semblance of my former self." 
 
 " Tut, tut !" she replied, " only for a 
 time." 
 
 And then we both drev/ near unto 
 the fire, for we were shivering with 
 cold. Lord Arundel leant against the 
 chimney, and watched the timepiece. 
 
 " Mistress Wells," he said, " is like, 
 I hear, to be reprieved at the last mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " Alas !" I cried, " nature therein 
 finds relief; yet I know not how much 
 to rejoice or yet to grieve thereat. 
 For surely she will desire to die with 
 her husband. And of what good will 
 life be to her if, like some others, she 
 doth linger for years in prison ?" 
 
 " Of much good, if God wills her 
 there to spend those years," Muriel 
 gently said ; wiiich words, I ween, were 
 called to mind long afterward by one 
 who then heard them. 
 
 As the hour appointed for the exe- 
 cution approached, w^e became silent 
 again, and kneehng down betook our- 
 selves to prayer. At eight o'clock a 
 croAvd began to assemble in the street; 
 and the sound of their feet as they 
 passed under the windov*^, hurrying to- 
 ward the scaffold, which was hung 
 with black cloth, became audible. 
 About an hour afterward notice was 
 given to us by one of the servants that 
 the sledge which carried the -prisoners 
 was in sight. We rose from our 
 knees and went to the window. Mr. 
 Wells's stout form and Mr. Genings's 
 slight figure were then discernible, as 
 they sat bound, with their hands tied 
 behind their backs. I observed that 
 Mr. Wells smiled and nodded to some 
 
 one who was standing amidst the 
 crowd. This person, who was a friend 
 of his, hath since told me that as he 
 passed he saluted him with these 
 words : " Farewell, dear companion ! 
 farewell, all hunting and hawking and 
 old pastimes ! I am now going a better 
 way." Mistress Wells not being witli 
 them, we perceived that to be true 
 which Lord Arundel had heard. At 
 that moment I turned round, and miss- 
 ed Muriel, who had been standing 
 close behind me.* I supposed she 
 could not endure this sight ; but, lo 
 and behold, looking again into the 
 street, I saw her threading her way 
 amongst the crowd as swiftly, lame 
 though she was, as if an angel had 
 guided her. When she reached the 
 foot of the scaffold, and took her stand 
 there, her aspect was so composed, se- 
 rene, and resolved, that she seemed 
 like an inhabitant of another world 
 suddenly descended amidst, the coarse 
 and brutal mob. She was resolved, I 
 afterward found, to take note of every 
 act, gesture, and word there spoken ; 
 and by her means I can here set down 
 what mine ov/n ears heard not, but 
 much of which mine own eyes 
 beheld. As the sledge passed 
 our door, Mr. Genings, as Lady 
 Arundel had foreseen, turned liis 
 head toward us ; and seeing me at 
 the window, gave us, I doubt not, his 
 blessing ; for, albeit he could not raise 
 his chained hand, we saw his fingers 
 and his lips move. On reaching the 
 gibbet Muriel heard him cry out with 
 holy Andrew, " O good gibbet, long 
 desired and now prepared forme, much 
 hath my heart desired thee ; and now", 
 joyful and secure, I come to thee. Re- 
 ceive me, I. beseech thee, as the disci 
 pie of him that suffered on the cross !" 
 Being put upon the ladder, many ques- 
 tions were asked him by some standers- 
 by, to which he made clear and dis- 
 tinct answers. Then Mr. Topcliffe 
 cried out with a loud voice, 
 
 '• Genings, Genings, confess thy 
 fault, thy papist treason ; and the 
 queen, no doubt, will grant thee par- 
 don !" 
 
246 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 To which he mildly answered, " I 
 know not, Mr. Topcliffe, in what I have 
 offended my dear anointed princess; 
 if I have offended her or any other per- 
 son in anything, I would willingly ask 
 her and all the world forgiveness. If 
 she be offended with me without a 
 cause, for 2:>rofessing my faith and re- 
 ligion, or because I am a priest, or be- 
 cause I will not turn minister against 
 my conscience, I shall be, I trust, ex- 
 cused and innocent before God. ' We 
 must obey God,' ' saith St. Peter, 
 ' rather than men ;' and I must not in 
 this case acknowledge a fault where 
 there is none. If to return to England 
 a priest, or to say mass, is popish 
 treason, I here do confess I am a trai- 
 tor. But I think not so ; and there- 
 fore I acknowledge myself guilty of 
 these things not with repentance and 
 sorrow of heart, but with an open pro- 
 testation of inward joy that I have 
 done so good deeds, which, if tliey 
 were to do again, I would, by the per- 
 mission and assistance of God, accom- 
 plish the same, though with the hazard 
 of a thousand lives." 
 
 Mr. Topcliffe was very angry at 
 this speech, and hardly gave him time 
 to say an " Our Father" before he or- 
 dered the hangman to turn the ladder. 
 From that moment I could not so much 
 as once again look toward the scaffold. 
 Lady Arundel and I drew back into 
 the room, and clasping each other's 
 hands, kept repeating, " Lord, help 
 him ! Lord, assist him ! Have mercy 
 on him, O Lord !" and the like 
 prayers. 
 
 We heard Lord Arundel exclaim, 
 " Good God ! the wretch doth order 
 the rope to be cut !" Then avoiding 
 the sight, he also drew back and silent- 
 ly prayed. What follow etli I learnt 
 from Muriel, who never losther senses, 
 though she endured, methinks, at that 
 scaffold's foot as much as any sufferer 
 upon it. Scarcely or not at all 
 stunned, Mr. Genings stood on his 
 feet with his eyes raised to heaven, 
 till the hangman threw him down on 
 the block where he was to be quarter- 
 ed. After he was dismembered, she 
 
 heard him utter with a loud voice, 
 " Oh, it smarts !" and Mr. Wells ex- 
 claim, " Alas ! sweet soul, thy pain is 
 great indeed, but almost past. Pray 
 for me now that mine may come." 
 Then when his heart was being pluck- 
 ed out, a faint dying whisper reached 
 her ear, " Sancte Gregori, ora pro 
 me !" and then the voice of the hang- 
 man crying, " See, his heart is in mine 
 hand, and yet Gregory in his mouth ! 
 O egregious papist !" 
 
 I marvel how she lived through it ; 
 but she assured us she was never even 
 near unto fainting, but stood immova- 
 ble, hearing every sound, listening to 
 each word and groan, printing them 
 on the tablet of her heart, wherein 
 they have ever remained as sacred 
 memories. 
 
 Mr. Wells, so far from being terri- 
 fied by the sight of his friend's death, 
 expressed a desire to have his own 
 hastened ; and, like unto Sir Thomas 
 More, was merry to the last ; for he 
 cried, " Despatch, despatch, Mr. Top- 
 cliffe ! Be you not ashamed to suffer 
 an old man to stand here so long in 
 his shirt in the cold ? I pray God 
 make you of a Saul a Paul, of a per- 
 secutor a Catholic." A murmur, 
 hoarse and loud, from the crowd ap- 
 prised us when all was over. 
 
 " Where is Muriel ?" I cried, going 
 to the window. Thence I beheld a sight 
 which jny pen refuseth to describe — 
 the sledge which was carrying away 
 the mangled remains of those dear 
 friends which so short a time before 
 we had looked upon alive ! Like in 
 a dream I saw this spectacle ; for the 
 moment afterward I fainted. Many 
 persons were running after the cart, 
 and Muriel keeping pace with what 
 to others would have been a sight full 
 of horror, but to her were only relics 
 of the saintly dead. She followed, 
 heedless of the mob, unmindful of their 
 jeers, intent on one aim — to procure 
 some portion of those sacred remains, 
 whicli she at last achieved in an in- 
 credible manner; one finger of Ed- 
 mund Genings's hand, which she laid 
 hold of, remaining in hers. This se- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 'A7 
 
 cured, she hastened home, bearing 
 away this her treasure. 
 
 When I recovered from a long 
 swoon, she was standing on one side 
 of me and Lady Arundel on the other. 
 Their faces were very pale, but peace- 
 ful ; and when remembrance returned, 
 I also felt a great and quiet joy 
 diffused in mine heart, such as none, 
 I ween, could believe in who have 
 not known the like. For a while 
 all earthly cares left me ; I seemed to 
 soar above this world. Even Basil I 
 could think of with a singular detach- 
 ment. It seemed as if angels were 
 haunting the house, whispering heav- 
 enly secrets. I could not so much as 
 think on those blessed departed souls 
 without an increase of this joy sensibly 
 inflaming my heart. 
 
 After Lady Arundel had left us, 
 which she did with many loving words 
 and tender caresses, Muriel and I 
 conversed long touching the future. 
 She told me that when her duty to her 
 feither should end with his life, she in- 
 tended to fulfil the vow she long ago 
 had made to consecrate herself wholly 
 to God in holy religion, and go beyond 
 the seas, to become a nun of the order 
 of St. Augustine. 
 
 " May I not leave this world ?" I 
 cried ; " may I not also, forgetting all 
 things else, live for God alone ?" 
 
 A sweet sober smile illumined Mu- 
 riel's face as she answered, " Yea, by 
 all means serve God, but not as a nun, 
 good Constance. Thine I take to be 
 the mere shadow of a vocation, if even 
 so much as that. A cloud hath for a 
 while obscured the sunshine of thy 
 hopes and called up this shadow ; but 
 let this thin vapor dissolve, and no 
 trace shall remain of it. Nay, nay, 
 sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet, ex- 
 cept m rare instances, riven hearts 
 which God doth call to this special 
 consecration — rather whole ones, noth- 
 ing or scantily touched by the griefs 
 and joys which this world can afford. 
 But I warrant thee — nay, I may not 
 warrant," she added, checking herself, 
 " for who can of a surety forecast w^hat 
 God's designs should be? But I 
 
 think thou wilt be, before many years 
 have past, a careful matron, witli many 
 children about thy apron-strings to 
 try thy patience." 
 
 "O Muriel," I answered, "how 
 should this be ? I have made my bed, 
 and I must lie on it. Like a ibolish 
 creature, unwittingly, or rather rashly, 
 I have deceived Basil into thinking I 
 do not love him ; and if my face 
 should yet recover its old fairness, he 
 shall still think mine heart estranged." 
 
 Muriel shook her head, and said 
 more entangled skeins than this one 
 had been unravelled. The next day 
 she resumed her w^onted labors in the 
 prisons and amongst the poor. Hav- 
 ing procured means of access to Mis- 
 tress Wells, she carried to her the 
 only comfort she could now taste — the 
 knowledge of her husband's holy, cour- 
 ageous end, and the reports of the last 
 words he did utter. Then having re- 
 ceived a charge thereunto from Mr. 
 Genings, she discovered John Gen- 
 ings's place of residence, and v/cnt to 
 tell liim that the cause or* his broihcr'3 
 coming to London was specially his 
 love for him ; that his only regret in 
 dying had been that he was executed 
 before he could see him again, or com- 
 mend him to any friend of his own, so 
 hastened was his death. 
 
 But this much-loved brother receiv- 
 ed her with a notable coldness ; and • 
 far from bewailing the untimely and 
 bloody end of his nearest kinsman, ho 
 betrayed some kind of contentment at 
 the thought that he was now rid of all 
 the persuasions which he suspected he 
 should otherwise have received from 
 Itim touching religion. 
 
 About a fortnight afterward Mr. 
 Congleton expired. Alas ! so trouble- 
 some were the times, that to see one, 
 howsoever loved, sink peacefully into 
 the grave, had not the same sadness 
 w^hich usually belongs to the like 
 haps. 
 
 Muriel had procured a priest for to 
 give him extreme unction — one Mr. 
 Adams, a friend of Mr. Wells, who 
 had sometimes said mass in his house. 
 He also secretly came for to j^crforiri 
 
!48 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 the funeral rites before his burial -in 
 (he cemetery of St. Martin's church. 
 
 When we returned home that day 
 (^rtcr the funeral, this reverend gentle- 
 man asked us if we had heard any re- 
 port toucliing the brother of Mr. Gen- 
 ings ; and on our denial, he said, 
 " Talk "is ministered amongst Catho- 
 lics of his sudden conversion." 
 
 "Sudden, indeed, it should be," 
 quoth Muriel ; " for a more indifferent 
 listener to an afflicting message could 
 not be met with than he proved him- 
 self when I carried to him Mr. Gen- 
 ings's dying words." 
 
 " Not more sudden," quoth Mr. 
 Adams, "than St. Paul's was, and 
 therefore not incredible." 
 
 Whilst we were yet speaking, a 
 servant came in, and said a young 
 jrentleman Avas at the door, and very 
 urgent for to see Muriel. 
 
 " Tell him," she said, raising her 
 eyes, swollen w^ith tears, " that I have 
 one hour ago buried my father, and 
 am in no condition to see strangers." 
 
 Tlie man returned with a paper, on 
 \vhich these words v/ere v/ritten : 
 
 " A penitent and a wanderer craveth 
 to speak with you. If you shed tears, 
 his do incessantly flow. If you weep 
 for a father, he grieveth for one better 
 to him than ten fathers. If your 
 plight is sad, his should be desperate, 
 J3ut for God's great mercy and a broth- 
 er's prayers yet pleading for him in 
 heaven as once upon, earth. 
 
 "John Genings." 
 
 " Heavens !" Muriel cried, "it is 
 this changed man, this Saul become a 
 Paul, which stands at the door and 
 knocks. Bring him in swiftly ; the 
 best comfort 1 can know this day is to 
 see one who awhile was lost and is 
 now found." 
 
 When John Genings beheld her 
 and me, he awhile hid his face in 
 his hands, and seemed unable 
 to speak. To break this silence Mr. 
 Adams said, " Courage, Mr. Genings ; 
 your holy brother rejoiceth in heaven 
 over your changed mind, and further 
 
 blessings still, I doubt not, he shall yet 
 obtain for you." 
 
 Then this same John raised his 
 head, and with as great and touching 
 sorrow as can be expressed, after 
 thanking this unknown speaker for his 
 comfortable words, he begged of Mu- 
 riel to relate to him each action and 
 speech in the dying scene she had wit- 
 nessed ; and w4ien she had ended this 
 recital, with the like urgency he 
 moved me to tell him all I could re- 
 member of his brother's young years, 
 all my father had written of his life 
 and virtues at college, all wdiich we 
 had heard of his labors since he had 
 come into the country, and lastly, in a 
 manner most simple and affecting, we 
 all entreating him thereunto, he made 
 this narrative, addressing himself 
 chiefly to Muriel : 
 
 " You, madam, are acquainted with 
 what was the hardness of mine heart 
 and cruel indifference to my brother's 
 fate ; with what disdain I listened to 
 you, with wdiat pride I received his 
 last advice. But about ten days after 
 his execution, toward night, having 
 spent all that day in sports and jollity, 
 being weary with play, I resorted 
 honfe to repose myself. I went into a 
 secret chamber, and w^as no sooner 
 there sat down, but forthwith my heart 
 began to be heavy, and I Aveighed how 
 idly I had spent that day. Amidst 
 these thoughts there w^as presently 
 represented to me an imagination and 
 apprehension of the death of my broth- 
 er, and, amongst other things, how he 
 had not long before forsaken all 
 worldly pleasure, and for the sake of 
 his religion alone endured dreadful 
 torments. Then within myself I made 
 long discourses concerning his manner 
 of living and mine own ; and finding 
 the one to embrace pain and mortifica- 
 tion, and the other to seek pleasure — 
 the one to live strictly, and the other 
 licentiously — ^I was struck with ex- 
 ceeding terror and remorse. I wept 
 bitterly, desiring God to illuminate 
 mine understanding, that I might see 
 and perceive the truth. Oh, what 
 great joy and consolation did I feel at 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 249 
 
 that instant ! What reverence on tlie 
 sudden did I begin to bear to the 
 Blessed Virgin and to the Saints of 
 God, which before I had never scarce- 
 ly so much as heard of ! What strange 
 emotions, as it were inspirations, with 
 exceeding readiness of will to change 
 my religion, took possession of my 
 soul! and what heavenly conception 
 had I then of my brother's fehcity ! I 
 imagined I saw him — I thought I 
 heard him. In this ecstasy of mind I 
 made a vow upon the spot, as I lay 
 prostrate on the ground, to forsake 
 kindred and country, to find out the 
 tiTJic knowledge of Edmund's faith. 
 Oh, sir," he ended by saying, turning 
 to Mr. Adams, which he guessed to be 
 a priest, " think you not my brother 
 obtained for me in heaven what on 
 earth he had not obtained ? for here I 
 am become a Catholic in faith without 
 persuasion or conference with any one 
 man in the world ?" 
 
 " Ay, my good friend,'* Mr. Adams 
 replied; ''the blood of martyrs will 
 ever prove the seed of the Church. 
 Let us then, in our private prayers, 
 implore the suffrages of those who in 
 this country do lose their lives for the 
 faith, and take unto ourselves the 
 words of Jeremiah : ' O Lord, remem- 
 ber what has happened unto us. Be- 
 hold and see our great reproach ; our 
 inheritance is gone to strangers, our 
 houses to aliens. We are become as 
 children without a father, our mothers 
 are made as it were widows.' " 
 
 These last words of Holy Writ 
 brought to mine own mind private sor- 
 rows, and caused me to shed tears. 
 Soon after John Genings departed 
 from England without giving notice to 
 us or any of his friends, and went be- 
 yond seas to execute his promise. I 
 have heard that he has entered the 
 holy order of St. Francis, and is seek- 
 ing to procure a convent of that re- 
 ligion at Douay, in hopes of restoring 
 the English Franciscan province, of 
 which it is supposed he will be first 
 provincial. Eeport doth state him to 
 be an exceeding strict and holy relig- 
 ious, and like to prove an instrument 
 
 in furnishing the English mission with 
 many zealous and apostolical laborers. 
 
 Muriel and I were solitary in that 
 great city where so many misfortunes 
 had beset us ; she with her anchor cast 
 where her hopes could not be deceived ; 
 I by mine own folly like unto a ship 
 at sea without a chart. Womanly re- 
 serve, mixed, I ween, with somewhat 
 of pride, restraining mo from writing 
 to Basil, though, as my face improved 
 each day, I deplored my hasty folly, 
 and desired nothing so much as to sec 
 him again, when, if his love should 
 prove unchar»ged (shame on that word 
 if! which my heart disavowed), we 
 should be as heretofore, and the suffer- 
 ing I had caused him and endured my- 
 self would end. But how this might 
 happen I foresaw not ; and life was 
 sad and weary while so much suspense 
 lasted. 
 
 Muriel would not forsake me while 
 in this plight ; but although none could 
 have judged it from her cheerful and 
 amiable behavior, I well knew that 
 she sighed for the haven of a religious 
 home, and grieved to keep her from it. 
 After some weeks spent in this fashion, 
 with very little comfort, I was sitting 
 one morning dismally forecasting the 
 future, writing letter after letter to Ba- 
 sil, which still I tore up rather than 
 send them — ^for I warrant you it was 
 no easy matter for to express in 
 wivting what I longed to say. To tell 
 him the cause of my breaking our con- 
 tract was so much as to compel him 
 to the performance of it ; and albeit I 
 was no longer so ill-favored as at the 
 first, yet the good looks I had before my 
 sickness had by no means wholly re- 
 turned. Sometimes I wrote : " Your 
 thinking, dear Basil, that I do affection 
 any but yourself is so false and injuri- 
 ous an imagination, that I cannot suf- ' 
 fer you to entertain it. Be sure I never 
 can and never shall love any but you ; 
 yet, for all that, I cannot marry you." 
 Then effacing this last sentence, which 
 verily behed my true desire, I would 
 write another : " Methinks if you should 
 see me now, yourself would not wish 
 otherwise than to dissolve a contract 
 
50 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 wherein your contentment should be 
 leas than it hath been." And then think- 
 ing this should be too obscure, changed 
 it to — " In sooth, dear Basil, my ap- 
 pearance is so altered that you would 
 yourself, I ween, not desire for to wed 
 one so different from the Constance 
 you have seen and loved." But pride 
 whispered to restrain this open men- 
 tion of my suspicious fears of his lik- 
 ing me less for my changed face ; yet 
 withal, conscience reproved this mis- 
 doubt of one whose affection had ever 
 shown itself to be of the nobler sort, 
 which looketh rather to the qualities 
 of the heart and mind than to the ex- 
 terior charms of a fair visage. 
 
 Alas ! what a torment doth perplex- 
 ity occasion. I had let go my pen, 
 and my tears were falling on the pa- 
 per, when Muriel opened the door of 
 the parlor. 
 
 " What is it ?" I cried, hiding my 
 face with mine hand, that she should 
 not see me weeping. 
 
 " A letter from Lady Arundel," she 
 answered. 
 
 I eagerly took it from her ; and on the 
 reading of it found it contained an ur- 
 gent request from her ladyship, couched 
 in most affectionate terms, and mask- 
 ing the kindness of its intent under a 
 show of entreating, as a favor to her- 
 self, that I would come and reside with 
 her at Arundel Castle, where she great- 
 ly needed the solace of a friend's com- 
 pany, during her lord's necessary ab- 
 sences. " Mine own dear, good Con- 
 stance," she wrote, " come to me quick- 
 ly. In a letter I cannot well express all 
 the good you will thus do to me. For 
 mme own part, I would fain say come 
 to me until death shall part us. But 
 so selfish I would not be ; yet prithee 
 come until such time as the clouds 
 which have obscured the fair sky of 
 thy future prospects have passed away, 
 and thy Basil's fortunes are mended ; 
 for I will not cease to call him thine, 
 for all that thou hast thyself thrust a 
 spoke in a wheel which otherwise should 
 liave run smoothly, for the which thou 
 art now doing penance : but be of good 
 cheer; time will bring thee shrift. 
 
 Some kind of comfort I can promise 
 thee in this house, greater than I dare 
 for to commit to paper. Lose no timo 
 then. From thy last letter methinks 
 the gentle turtle-dove at whose side thou 
 dost nov/ nestle hath found herself a 
 nest whereunto she longeth to fly.. Let 
 her spread her wings thither, and do 
 thou hasten to the shelter of these old 
 walls and the loving faithful heart of 
 thy poor friend, 
 " Anne Arundel and Sukkey." 
 
 Before a fortnight was overpast 
 Muriel and I had parted ; she for her 
 religious home beyond seas, I for the 
 castle of my Lord Arundel, whither 1 
 travelled in two days, resting on my 
 way at the pleasant village of Horsham. 
 During the latter part of the journey 
 the road lay through a very wild ex- 
 panse of down ; but as soon as I caught 
 sight of the sea my heart bounded with 
 joy; for to gaze on its blue expanse 
 seemed to carry me beyond the limits 
 of this isle to the land where Basil 
 dwelt. When I reached the castle, 
 the sight of the noble gateway and 
 keep filled me with admiration: and 
 riding into the court thereof, I" looked 
 with wonder on the military defences 
 bristling on every side. But what a 
 sweet picture smiled from one of the 
 narrow windows over above the en- 
 trance-door ! — mine own loved friend, 
 yet fairer in her matronly and mother- 
 ly beauty than even in her girlhood's 
 loveliness, holding in her arms the 
 pretty bud which had blossomed on a 
 noble tree in the time of adversity. 
 Her countenance beamed on me like 
 the morning sun's ; and my heart ex- 
 panded with joy when, half-way up the 
 stairs which led to her chamber, I 
 found myself inclosed in her arms. 
 She led me to a settle near a cheerful 
 fire, and herself removed my riding- 
 cloak, my hat and veil, stroked my 
 cheek with two of her delicate white 
 fingers, and said with a smile, 
 
 " In sooth, my dear Constance, ihou 
 art an arrant cheat." 
 
 " How so, most dear lady ?" I said, 
 likewise smiling. 
 
Constance SJienvood. 
 
 " Why, Ihou firt ci3 comclj cs ever I 
 saw tliee ; wliich, nfier all the torments 
 inflicted on poor Master Hook wood by 
 thy prophetical visioii of an everlast- 
 ing deformity, carefully concealed from 
 iiim under the garb of a sudden fit of 
 inconstancy, is a very nefarious injus- 
 tice. Go to, go to ; if he should see 
 Ifiec now, he never would believe but 
 that that management of thine was a 
 cunning device for to break faith with 
 him." 
 
 " Nay, nay," I cried ; " if I should 
 be ever so happy, which I deserve not, 
 for to see him again, there could never 
 be for one moment a mistrust on his 
 part of a love which is too strong 
 and too fond for concealment. If the 
 feebleness of sickness had not bred 
 unreasonable fears, methinks I should 
 not have been guilty of so great a 
 folly as to think he would prize less 
 what he was always wont most to 
 treasure far above their merits — -the 
 heart and mind of his poor Constance 
 — because the casket which held them 
 had waxed unseemly. But when the 
 day shall come in which Basil and I 
 may meet, God only knoweth. Hu- 
 man foresight cannot attain to this pre- 
 vision." 
 
 Lady Arur.deFs eyes had a smiling 
 expression then Vv'hich surprised me. 
 For mine own heart was full when I 
 thus spoke, and I was wont to meet in 
 her with a more quick return of the 
 like feelings I expressed than at that 
 time appeared. Slight inward re- 
 sentments, painfully, albeit not angri- 
 ly, entertained, I was by nature 
 prone to ; and in this case the effect 
 of this impression suddenly checked 
 the joy which at my first arrival I 
 had experienced. O, how much se- 
 cret discipline should be needed for to 
 rule that little unruly kingdom with- 
 in us, which many look not into till 
 serious rebellions do arise, which need 
 fire and sword to quell them for lack 
 of timely repression ! Her ladyship 
 set before me some food, and con- 
 strained me to eat, which I did mere- 
 ly for to content her. She appear- 
 ed to me somewhat restless : beocin- 
 
 ning a sentence, and then breaking 
 off suddenly in the midst thereof; 
 going io and out of the chamber; 
 hiughing at one time, and then seem- 
 ing as if about to weep. When I 
 had finished eating, and a servant 
 had removed the dishes, she sat 
 down by my side and took my hand 
 in hers. Then the tears truly began 
 to roll down her cheeks. 
 
 " O, for God's sake, what aileth you, 
 dearest lady ?" I said, uneasily gazing 
 on her agitated countenance. 
 
 " Nothing ails me," she answered ; 
 " only I fear to frighten thee, albeit 
 in a joyful manner." 
 
 " Frightened with joy I" I sadly an- 
 swered. " O, that should be a rare 
 fright, and an unwonted one to me of 
 late." 
 
 " Therefore," she said, smiling 
 through her tears, " peradventure the 
 more to be feared." 
 
 "What joy do you speak of? I 
 pray you, sweet lady, keep me not in 
 suspense." 
 
 "If, for instance," she said in a 
 low voice, pressing my hands very 
 hard, — ^" if I was to tell thee Con- 
 stance, that thy Basil was here, 
 shouldst thou not be affrighted ?" 
 
 Methinks I must have turned very 
 white ; leastways, I began to trem- 
 ble. 
 
 "Is he here?" I said, almost be- 
 side myself with the fearful hope her 
 words awoke. 
 
 " Yea," she said. " Since three 
 days he is here." 
 
 For a moment I neither spoke nor 
 moved. 
 
 " How comes it about ? how doth 
 it happen ?" I began to say ; but a 
 passion of tears choked my utterance. 
 I fell into her arms, sobbing on her 
 breast ; for verily I had no power to 
 restrain myseff. I heard her say, 
 " Master Rookwood, come in." Then, 
 after those sad long weary years, I 
 again heard his cheerful voice ; then 
 I saw his kind eyes speaking what 
 words could never have uttered, or 
 one-haif so well expressed. Then I 
 felt the happiness which is most like, 
 
252 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 I ween, of any on earth to that of 
 heaven : after long parting, to meet 
 again one intensely loved — each heart 
 overflowing vrith an unspoken joy 
 and with an unbounded thankfulness 
 to God. Amazement did so fill me 
 at this unlooked-for good, that I 
 seemed content for a while to think 
 of it as of a dream, and only feared 
 to be awoke. But oh, with how many 
 sweet tears of gratitude — with what 
 bursts of wonder and admiration — I 
 soon learnt how Lady Arundel had 
 formed this kind plot, to which Muriel 
 had been privy, for to bring together 
 parted lovers, and procure to others 
 the happiness she so often lacked 
 herself — the company of the most 
 loved person in the world. She had 
 herself written to Basil, and related 
 the cause of my apparent change ; a 
 cause, she said, at no time sufficient 
 ibr to warrant a desperate action, and 
 even then passing away. But that 
 had it for ever endured, she was of 
 opinion his was a love would survive 
 any such accident as touched only the 
 exterior, when all else was unimpair- 
 ed. She added, that when Mr. Con- 
 gleton, who was then at the point of 
 death, should have expired, and Mu- 
 riel gone beyond seas to fulfil her re- 
 ligious intent, she would use all the 
 persuasion rn her power to bring me 
 to reside with her, which was the 
 thing she most desired in the world ; 
 and that if he should think it possible 
 under another name for to cross the 
 seas and land at some port in Sussex, 
 he should be the welcomest guest im- 
 aginable at Arundel Castle, if even, 
 like St. Alexis, he should hide his no- 
 bility under the garb of rags, and 
 come thither begging on foot ; but yet 
 she hoped, for his sake, it should not 
 so happen, albeit nothing could be 
 more honorable if the cause was a 
 good one. It needed no more induce- 
 ment than what this letter contained 
 for to move Basil to attempt this se- 
 cret return. He took the name of 
 Martingale, and procured a passage 
 in a small trading craft, which landed 
 liim at the port of a small town named 
 
 Littleharapcon, about three or four 
 miles from Arundel. Thence he 
 walked to the castle, where the coun- 
 tess feigned him to be a leech sent by 
 my lord to prescribe remedies for a 
 pain in her head, which she was oft- 
 entimes afilicted with, and as such 
 entertained him in the eyes of stran- 
 gers as long as he continued there, 
 which did often move us to great mer- 
 riment; for some of the neighbors 
 which she was forced to see, would 
 sometimes ask for to consult the coun- 
 tess's physician ; and to avoid mis- 
 doubts, Basil once or twice made up 
 some innocent compounds, which an 
 old gentleman and a maiden lady in 
 the town vowed had cured them, the 
 one of a fit of the gout, and the other 
 of a very sharp disorder in her stom- 
 ach. But to return to the bhssful 
 first day of our meeting, one of the 
 happiest I had yet known ; for a par- 
 amount affection doth so engross the 
 heart, -that other sorrows vanish in 
 its presence like dewdrops in the sun- 
 shine. I can never forget the small- 
 est particle of its many joys. The 
 long talk between Basil and me, first 
 in Lady Arundel's chamber, and then 
 in the gallery of the castle, walking uj) 
 and down, and v/hen I was tired, I 
 sitting and he standing by the win- 
 dow which looked on the fair valley 
 and silvery river Arun, running to- 
 ward the sea, through pleasant pas- 
 tures, with woody slopes on botli 
 sides, a fair and a peaceful scene; 
 fair and peaceful as the prospect. 
 Basil unfolded to me that day, if we 
 could but once in safety cross the 
 seas ; for his debtors had remitted to 
 him in France the moneys which they 
 owed him, and he had purchased a 
 cottage in a very commodious village 
 near the town of Boulogne-sur-Mer, 
 with an apple-orchard and a garden 
 stored with gay flowers and beehives, 
 and a meadow with two large walnut- 
 trees in it. " And then bethink thee," 
 he added, " mine own dear love, that 
 right in front of this fine mansion doth 
 stand the parish church, where God Is 
 worshipped in a Catholic manner in 
 
Constance Sherwood* 
 
 ^03 
 
 pence nnd freedom ; and nothing 
 greater or more weighty need, me- 
 thinks, to be said in its praise." 
 
 I said I thought so too, and that 
 the picture he drew of it liked me 
 well. 
 
 '"But," quoth Basil suddenly, "I 
 must tell thee, sweetheart, I liked not 
 well thy behavior touching thine alter- 
 ed face, and the misleading letter thou 
 didst send me at that time. No 1" he 
 exclaimed with great vehemency, " it 
 mislikes me sorely that thou shouldst 
 have doubted my love and faith, and 
 dealt with me so injuriously. If I was 
 now by some accident disfigured, I 
 must by that same token expect 
 thine affection for me should de- 
 cay." 
 
 " O Basil !" I cried, " that would be 
 an impossible thing !*' 
 
 " Wherefore impossible ?" ho repli- 
 ed ; " you thought such a change pos- 
 sible in me ?" 
 
 " Because," I said, smiling, " women 
 are the most constant creatures in the 
 world, and not fickle like unto men, or 
 so careful of a good complexion in 
 others, or a fine set of features." 
 
 " Tut, tut !" he cried, " I do admire 
 that thou shouldst dare to utter so 
 great a . . . ." then he stopped, and , 
 laughing, added, " the last half of 
 lialeigh's name, as the queen's bad 
 riddle doth make it."* 
 
 Well, much talk of this sort was 
 ministered between us ; but albeit I 
 find pleasure in the recalling of it, 
 metliinks the reading thereof should 
 easily weary others ; so I must check 
 my pen, which, like unto a garrulous 
 old gossip, doth run on, overstepping 
 the limits of discretion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Before I arrived, Lady Arundel 
 had made Basil privy to a great se- 
 cret, W' ith warrant to impart it to me. 
 In a remote portion of the castle's 
 
 * " The bane of the Btomach, and the word of 
 disgrace. 
 Is the name of the gentleman with the bold 
 face." 
 
 buildings was concealed at that time 
 Father Southwell, a man who had not 
 his like for piety and good parts ; a 
 sweet poet also, whose pieces of verse, 
 chiefly written in that obscure cham- 
 ber in Arundel Castle, have been 
 since done into print, and do win 
 great praise from all sorts of people. 
 Adjoining to his room, which only 
 one servant in the house, who carried 
 his meals to him, had knowledge of, 
 and from which he could not so much 
 as once look out of the window for 
 fear of being seen, was a small orato- 
 ry where he said mass every day, and 
 by a secret passage Lady Arundel 
 went from her apartments for to hear 
 it. That same evening after supper 
 she led me thither for to get this good 
 priest's blessing, and also his counsel 
 touching my marriage ; for both her 
 ladyship and Basil w^ere urgent for it 
 to take place in a private manner at 
 the castle before we left England. 
 For, they argued, if there should be 
 danger in this departure, it were best 
 encountered together ; and except we 
 were married it should be an impossi- 
 ble thing for me to travel in his com- 
 pany and land with him in France. 
 Catholics could be married hi a secret 
 manner now that the needs of the 
 times, and the great perils many were 
 exposed to, gave warrant for it. After 
 some talk with Father Southwell and 
 Lady Arundel, I consented to their 
 wishes with more gladness of heart, 
 I ween, than was seemly to exhibit ; 
 for verily I was better contented than 
 can be thought of to think I should 
 be at last married to my dear Basil, 
 and never more to part from him, if it 
 so pleased God that we should land 
 safely m France, which did seem to 
 me then the land of promise. 
 
 The next days were spent in fore- 
 casting means for a safe departure, as 
 soon as these secret nuptials "should 
 have taken place ; but none had been 
 yet resolved on, when one morning I 
 was called to Lady Arundel's cham- 
 ber, whom I found in tears and great- 
 ly disturbed, for that she had heard 
 from Lady Margaret Sackville, who 
 
■54 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 was then in London, that Lord Arun- 
 del was once more resolved to leave 
 the realm, albeit Father Edmunds did 
 dissuade him from that course; but 
 some other friend's persuasions were 
 more availing, and he had determined 
 to go to France, where he might live 
 in safety and serve God quietly. 
 
 My lady's agitation at this news 
 was very great. She said nothing 
 should content her but to go with him, 
 albeit she was then with child ; and 
 she should write to tell him so ; but 
 before she could send a letter Lord 
 Arundel came to the castle, and held 
 converse for many hours with her and 
 Father Southwell. When I met her 
 afterward in the gallery, her eyes 
 were red with weeping. She said my 
 lord desired to see Basil and me in 
 her chamber at nine of the clock. He 
 wished to speak with us of his resolve 
 to cross the seas, and she prayed God 
 some good should arise out of it. Then 
 she added, " I am now going to the 
 chapel, and if thou hast nothing of 
 any weight to detain thee, then come 
 thither also, for to join thy prayers 
 with mine for the favorable issue of a 
 very doubtful matter." 
 
 When we repaired to her ladyship's 
 chamber at the time appointed, my 
 lord greeted us in an exceeding kind 
 manner ; and after some talk touching 
 Basil's secret return to England, our 
 marriage, and then as speedy as pos- 
 sible going abroad, his lordship said : 
 " I also am compelled to take a like 
 course, for my evil-willers are resolv- 
 ed to work my ruin and overthrow, 
 and will succeed therein by means of 
 my religion. Many actions which at 
 the outset may seem rash and unad- 
 vised, after sufficient consideration do 
 appear to be just and necessary ; and, 
 raethinks, my dearest wife and Father 
 Southwell are now minded to recom- 
 mend what at first they mlsliked, and 
 to see that in this my present intent I 
 take the course which, triough it im- 
 perils my fortunes, will tend to my 
 soul's safety and that of my children. 
 Since I have conceived this intent, I 
 thank God I have found a great deal 
 
 more quietness in my mind; and" in 
 this respect I have just occasion to es- 
 teem my past troubles as my greatest 
 felicity, for they have been the means 
 of leading me to that course which 
 ever brings perfect quietness, and only 
 procures eternal happiness. I am re- 
 solved, as my dear Nan well knoweth, 
 to endure any punishment rather than 
 willingly to decline from what I have 
 begun. I have bent myself as nearly 
 as I could to continue in the same, 
 and to do no act repugnant to my 
 faith and profession. And by means 
 hereof I am often compelled to do 
 many things which may procure peril 
 to myself, and be an occasion of mis- 
 like to her majesty. For, look you, 
 on the first day of this parliament, 
 when the queen was hearing of a ser- 
 mon in the cathedral church of 
 Westminster, above in the chancel, I 
 was driven to walk by myself below 
 in one of the aisles ; and another day 
 this last Lent, when she was hearing 
 another sermon in the chapel at 
 Greenwich, I was forced to stay all 
 the while in the presence-chamber. 
 Then also when on any Sunday or 
 holyday her grace goes to her great 
 closet, I am forced either to stay in the 
 privy chamber, and not to wait upon 
 her at- all, or else presently to depart 
 as soon as I have brought her to the 
 chapel. These things, and many 
 more,, I can by no means escape, but 
 only by an open plain discovery of my- 
 self, in the eye and opinion of all men, 
 as to the true cause of my refusal ; 
 neither can it now be long hidden, al- 
 though for a while it may not have 
 been generally noted and observed." 
 Lady Arundel sighed and said : 
 *' I must needs confess that of ne- 
 cessity it must shortly be discover- 
 ed ; and when I remember what a 
 watchful and jealous eye is carried 
 over all such as are known to be re- 
 cusants, and also how their lodgings 
 are continually searched, and to how 
 great danger they are subject if a 
 Jesuit or seminary priest be found 
 within their house, I begin to see that 
 either vou cannot serve God in such 
 
CoTi stance Sherwood. 
 
 Goi't a3 yon have professed, or else 
 you must incur the hazard of greater 
 sufferings than I am wilUng you 
 should endure." 
 
 "For my part," Basil said, "I 
 would ask, my lord, those that hate 
 you most, whether being of the relig- 
 ion which you do profess, they would 
 not take that coursa for safety of their 
 souls and discharge of their con- 
 sciences which, you do now meditate ? 
 And either they must directly tell you 
 that they would have done the same, 
 or acknowledge themselves to be mere 
 atheists ; which, howsoever they be 
 affected in their hearts, I think they 
 would be loth to confess v/ith their 
 mouths." 
 
 " What sayest thou, Constance, of 
 my lord's intent?" Lady Arundel 
 said, when Basil left off speaking. 
 
 " I am ashamed to utter my think- 
 ing in his presence, and in yours, 
 dearest lady," I replied ; " but if you 
 command me to it, methinks that hav- 
 ing had his house so fatally and suc- 
 cessfully touched, and finding himself 
 to be of that religion which is account- 
 ed dangerous and odious to the pres- 
 ent state, which her majesty doth de- 
 test, and of which she is most jealous 
 and doubtful, and seeing he might now 
 be drawn for his conscience into a 
 great and continual danger, not being 
 able to do any act or duty whereunto 
 his religion doth bind him without in- 
 curring the danger of felony, he must 
 needs run upon his death headlong, 
 which is repugnant to the law of God 
 and flatly against conscience, or else 
 he must resolve to escape these perils 
 by the means he doth propose." 
 
 " Yea," exclaimed his lordship, with 
 so much emotion that his voice shook 
 in the utterance of the words, " long 
 have I debated with myself on the 
 course to take. I do see it to be the 
 safest way to depart out of the realm, 
 and abide in some other place where I 
 may live without danger of my con- 
 science, without offence to the queen, 
 without daily peril of my life ; but 
 yet I was drawn by such forcible per- 
 suasions to be of another opinion, as 
 
 I could not easily resolve on which 
 side to settle my determination. For 
 on the one hand my native, and oh 
 how dearly loved country, my ov/n 
 early friends, my kinsfolk, my home, 
 and, more than all, my wife, which I 
 must for a while part with if I go, do 
 invite me to stay. Poverty awaits 
 me abroad; but in what have state 
 and riches benefited us, Nan ? Shall 
 not ease of heart and freedom from 
 haunting fears compensate for vain 
 Avealth ? When, with the sweet bur- 
 then in thine arms which for a while 
 doth detain thee here, thou shalt kneel 
 before God's altar in a Catholic land, 
 methinks thou wilt have but scanty 
 regrets for the trappings of fortune." 
 
 " God is my witness," the sweet 
 lady replied, " that should be the hap- 
 piest day of my life. But I fear — 
 yea, much I do fear — the chasm of 
 parting which doth once more open 
 betwixt thee and me. Prithee, Phil, 
 let me go Avith thee," she tearfully 
 added. 
 
 " Nay, sweet Nan," he answered ; 
 " thou knowest the physicians forbid 
 thy journeying at the present time so 
 much as hence to London. How 
 should it then behoove thee to run the 
 perils of the sea, and nightly voyage, 
 and it may be rough usage ? Nay, 
 let me behold thee again, some months 
 hence, with a fair boy in thine arms, 
 which if I can but once behold, my 
 joy shall be full, if I should have to 
 labor with mine hands for to support 
 him and thee." 
 
 She bowed her head on the hand 
 outstretched to her ; but I could see 
 the anguish with which she yielded 
 her assent to this separation. Me- 
 thinks there was some sort of presen- 
 timent of the future heightening her 
 present grief ; she seemed so loth her 
 lord should go, albeit reason and ex- 
 pediency forced from her an unwilling 
 consent. 
 
 Before the conversation in Lady 
 Arundel's chamber ended, the earl 
 pi'oposed that Basil and I should ac- 
 company him abroad, and cross the 
 sea in the craft he should privately 
 
256 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 hire, which would Eciil from Little- 
 hamptoii, and carrj us to some port 
 of France, whence along the coast we 
 could travel to Boulogne. This liked 
 her ladyship well. Her eyes entreat- 
 ed our consent thereunto, as if it 
 should have been a favor she asked, 
 which indeed was rather a benefit 
 conferred on us ; for nothing would 
 serve my lord but that he should be 
 at the entire charge of the voyage, 
 who smiling said, for such good com 
 pany as he should thus enjoy he should 
 be willing to be taxed twice as much, 
 and yet consider himself to be the 
 obliged party in this contract. 
 
 " But we must be married first," 
 Basil bluntly said. 
 
 Lady Arundel replied that Father 
 Southwell could perform the ceremony 
 v.dien we pleased — yea, on the mor- 
 row, if it should be convenient ; and 
 that my lord should be present there- 
 at. 
 
 I said this should be very short no- 
 tice, I thought, for to be married the 
 next day ; upon which Basil exclaim- 
 ed 
 
 "These be not times, sweetheart, 
 for ceremonies, fashions, and nice de-. 
 lays. Methinks since our betrothal 
 there hath been sufficient waiting for 
 to serve the turn of the nicest lady in 
 the world in the matter of reserves 
 and yeas and nays." 
 
 Which is the sharpest thing, I 
 think, Basil hath uttered to me either 
 before or since we have been married. 
 vSo, to appease him, I said not another 
 word against this sudden wedding ; 
 and the next day but one, at nine of 
 the clock, was then fixed for the time 
 thereof. 
 
 On the following morning Lord 
 Arundel and Basil (the earl had con- 
 ceived a very great esteem and good 
 disposition toward him ; as great, and 
 greater he told me, as for some he 
 had known for as many years as him 
 hours) went out together, under pre- 
 tence o*' 'ihooting in the woods on the 
 opposite side of the river about Leo- 
 minster, but verily to proceed to Lit- 
 tlehamptoiij where the carl had ap- 
 
 pointed to meet the captain cf lI:o 
 vessel — a Cathohc man, the son cf 
 an old retainer of his family-^ — with 
 whom he had dealt for the hiring of :\ 
 vessel for to sail to France as soon 
 as the wind should prove favorable. 
 Whilst they were gone upon this busi- 
 ness. Lady Arundel and I sat in the 
 chamber which looked into the court, 
 making such simple preparations as 
 would escape notice for our wedding, 
 and the departure which should speed- 
 ily afterward ensue. 
 
 " I will not yield thee," her lady- 
 ship said, " to be married except in 
 a white dress and veil, which I shall 
 hide jn a chamber nigh unto the ora- 
 tory, where I myself will attire thee, 
 dear love ; and see, this morning 
 early I went out alone into the garden 
 and gathered this store of rosemar}", 
 for to make thee a nosegay to wear in 
 thy bosom. Father Southwell saith 
 it is used at weddings for an emblem 
 of fidelity. If so, who should have 
 so good a right to it as my Constance 
 and her Basil ? But I will lay it up 
 in a casket, which shall conceal it the 
 while, and aid to retain the scent 
 thereof." 
 
 " dear lady," I cried, seizing her 
 hands, "do you remember the day 
 when you plucked rosemary in our 
 old garden at Sherwood, and smiling, 
 said to me, ' This meaneth remem- 
 brance?' Since it signifieth fidelity 
 also, well should you affection it ; for 
 where shall be found one so faithful 
 in love and friendship as you ?" 
 
 " Weep not," she said, pressing her 
 fingers on her eyelids to stay her own 
 tears. " We must needs thank God 
 and be joyful on the eve of thy wed- 
 ding-day ; and I am resolved to meet 
 my lord also Avith a cheerful counte- 
 nance, so that not in gloom but in 
 hope he shall leave his native land." 
 
 1\\ converse such as this the hours 
 went swiftly by. Sometimes we talk- 
 ed of the past, its many strange haps 
 and changes ; sometimes of the future, 
 forecasting the manner of our lives 
 abroad, where in safety, albeit in pov- 
 erty, we hoped to spend our days. In 
 
Constance SJicrwood. 
 
 257 
 
 {lie fiftcrncon lliere arrLvedat llio cac^ 
 tic my Lord Wiiliam Howard and his 
 wife and Lady Margaret Sackvillc, 
 who, having notice of Iheir brother's 
 intent to go beyond season the next 
 (lay, if it should be possible, had come 
 ibr to bid him farewell. 
 
 Leaving Lady Arundel in their 
 company, I went to the terrace vmder- 
 rx'ath the walls of the castle, and 
 there paced up and down, chewing 
 the cud of both sw^eet and sad memo- 
 ries. I looked at the soft blue sky 
 and fleecy clouds, urged along by a 
 westerly breeze imj)regnated with a 
 salt savor ; on the emerald green of 
 the fields, the graceful forms of the 
 leafless trees on the opposite hills, on 
 the cattle peacefully resting by the 
 river-side. I listed to the rustling of 
 llic wind amongst the bare branches 
 over mine head, and the bells of a 
 ('Imrch ringing far off in the valley. 
 '' O England, mine ow^n England, 
 my fair native land — am I to leave 
 ihee, never to return?" I cried, speak- 
 i:ig aloud, as if to ease my oppressed 
 lieart. Then mine eyes rested on the 
 ruined hospital of the town, the shut- 
 uj) churches, the profaned sanctuaries, 
 ;i:id thought flying beyond the seas 
 to a Catholic land, I exclaimed, " The 
 ,;[)arrow shall find herself a house, 
 ' cind the turtle-dove a nest for herself 
 — the altars of the Lord of hosts, my 
 king and my God." 
 
 When Basil returned, he told me 
 (hat the vessel which was to take us 
 to France was lying out at sea near 
 the coast. Lord Arundel and himself 
 had gone in a boat to speak with the 
 captain, who did seem a particular 
 honest man and zealous Catholic ; 
 and the earl had bespoken some need- 
 ful accommodation for Mistress Mar- 
 tingale, he said, smiling; not very 
 commodious, indeed, but as good as on 
 board the like craft could be expected. 
 If the wind remained in the same 
 quarter in the afternoon of the mor- 
 vo\Y, we should then sail ; if it should 
 change, so as to be most unfavorable, 
 I he captain should send private no- 
 tice of it to the castle. 
 
 The whole of that evening the carl 
 spent in writing a letter to her majes- 
 ty. He feared that his enemies, after 
 his departure, would, by their slander- 
 ous reports, endeavor to disgrace him 
 with the people, and cause the queen 
 to have sinister surmises of him. He 
 confided this letter to the Lady Mar- 
 garet, his sister, to be delivered unto 
 her after his arrival in France ; by 
 which it might appear, both to her 
 and all others, what were the true 
 causes wdiich had moved him to under- 
 take that resolution. 
 
 I do often think of that evening in 
 the great chamber of the castle — the 
 young earl in the vigorous strength 
 and beauty of manhood, his comely 
 and fair face now bending over his 
 writing, now raised w^th a noble and 
 manly grief, as he read aloud portions 
 of it, which, methinks, would have 
 touched any hearts to hear them ; and 
 how much the more that loving wife, 
 that affectionate sister, that faithful 
 brother, those devoted friends which 
 seemed to be in some sort witnesses of 
 his last will before a final parting! 
 I mind me of the sorrowful, dove-hkc 
 sweetness of Lady Arundel's counte- 
 nance; the flashing eyes of Lady 
 Margaret; the loving expression, 
 veiled by a studied hardness, of Lord 
 William's face ; of his wife ray Lady 
 Bess's reddening cheek and tearful 
 eyes, which she did conceal behind 
 the coif of her childish namesake sit- 
 ting on her knees. When he had 
 finished his letter, with a somewhat 
 moved voice the carl read the last 
 passages thereof: " If my protesta- 
 tion, who never told your majesty any 
 untruth, may carry credit in your 
 opinion, I here call God and his an- 
 gels to witness that I would not have 
 taken this course if I might- have 
 stayed in England without danger of 
 my soul or peril of my life. I am 
 enforced to forsake my country, to 
 forget my friends, to leave my wife, 
 to lose the hope of all worldly pleas- 
 ures and earthly commodities. All: 
 this is so grievous to flesh and blood,, 
 that I could not desire to live if L 
 
258 
 
 Constance Sliericood. 
 
 were r.ot comCoricd willi the remem- 
 brance of his mercy for t\hom 1 en- 
 dure all this, who endured ten tliou- 
 sand times more for me. Therefore 
 I remain in assured hope that myself 
 and my cause shall receive that favor, 
 conceit, and rightful construction at 
 your majesty's hands which I may 
 .justly challenge. I do humbly crave 
 pardon for my long and tedious letter, 
 which the v/cightiness of the matter 
 enforced mo unto ; and I beseech 
 God from the bottom of my heart to 
 send your majesty as great happiness 
 as I wish to mine own soul.'' 
 
 A time of silence followed the read- 
 ing of these sentences, and then the 
 earl said in a cheerful manner : 
 
 " So, good Meg, I commit this pro- 
 testation to thy good keeping. When 
 thou hearcst of my safe arrival in 
 France, then straightway see to have 
 it placed in the queen's hands." 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent 
 in affectionate converse by these near 
 kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the 
 while by the secret passage to Father 
 Southwell's chamber, where we were 
 in turn shriven, and afterward re- 
 ceived fi'oni him such good counsel 
 and rules of conduct as he deemed 
 fitting for married persons to observe. 
 Before I left him, this good father 
 gave me, w^rit in his own hand, some 
 sweet verses which he had that day 
 composed for us, and wdiich I do here 
 transcribe. He, smiling, said he had 
 made mention of fishes in his poem, 
 for to pleasure so famous an angler as 
 Basil ; and of birds, for that he knew 
 me to be a great lover of these soaring 
 creatures : 
 
 ■The lopped tree in tiino may growai:ain. 
 Most naked plants renew both fruit and 
 
 llower ; 
 The Horent wiplit may find release of pain, 
 tIic driest soil Bu'ck in Bomc moisteninLj 
 
 Hli'ov/er ; 
 Times jro hy turn, and chances change l)y 
 
 conr»»e. 
 From fonl to f.ilr, from better hap to -worse. 
 
 The pca of fortune dofh not over flow, 
 She draws licr favors to the lowest ebb ; 
 ITer time hath equal times to come and po, 
 llcr loom doth weave the fine and coarsest 
 
 web ; 
 No joy 3o prcnt but runneth to nn end, 
 No hap so hard but may in Cue amend. 
 
 A chance may win that by mischance was lost. 
 'J'he well that holds no great, takes little ilsh ; 
 In some things all, iu all things none are 
 
 crossed, 
 Few all they need, but none have all they 
 
 wish; 
 Unmeddled joys here to no man befal. 
 Who least have some, who moat have never 
 
 all. 
 
 Not alwaj's fall of leaf, nor ever spring ; 
 No endless night, yet not eternal day ; 
 The saddest birds a season find to sing ; 
 The roughest storm a calm may soon allay ; 
 Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth 
 
 all. 
 That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall." 
 
 The common sheet of paper which 
 doth contain this his writing hath a 
 greater value in mine eyes than the 
 most rich gift that can be thought of. 
 
 On the next morning, Lady Arun- 
 del conducted me from mine own 
 chamber, first into a room where with 
 her own hands she arrayed me in my 
 bridal dress, and with many tender 
 kisses and caresses, such as a sister or 
 a mother would bestow, testified her 
 affection for her poor friend ; and 
 thence to the oratory, where the altar 
 was prepared, and by herself in se- 
 cret decked with early primroses, 
 which had begun to show in the woods 
 and neath the hedges. A small but 
 noble company w^ere gathered round 
 us that day. From pure and holy 
 lips the Church's benison came to us. 
 The vows we exchanged have been 
 faithftdly observed, and long years 
 have set a seal on the promises then 
 made. 
 
 Basil's wife ! Oh, what a whole 
 compass of happiness did lie in those 
 two words ! Yea, the waves of the 
 sea might now rage and i\\Q winds 
 blow. The haven might be distant 
 and the way thither insecure. Man's en- 
 mity or accident might yet rob us each 
 of the other's visible presence. But 
 naught could now sever the cord, 
 ctrong like unto a cable chain, whicli 
 bound our soul^ in one. Anchored in 
 that -vveddcd unity, which is one of 
 God's fc'.acraments, till death, ay, and 
 beyond death also, this tic should las-. 
 
 \Yq. have been young, and now arc 
 old. We have lost country, home, 
 and almost every friend known and 
 affectloncd in our young years; but 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 2';9 
 
 that deepest, holiest love, the type of 
 Christ's union with his Church, still 
 doth shed its light over the evening 
 of life. My dear Basil, I am assured, 
 thinks me as fair as when we did sit 
 together fishing on the banks of the 
 Ouse ; and his hoary head and with- 
 ered cheeks are more lovely in mine 
 eyes than ever were his auburn locks 
 and ruddy complexion. One of us 
 must needs die before the other, un- 
 less we should be so happy that that 
 good should befal us as to end our 
 days as two aged married persons I 
 have heard of. It was the husband's 
 custom, as soon as ever he unclosed 
 his eyes, to ask his wife how she did ; 
 but one night, he being in a deep 
 sleep, she quietly departed toward the 
 morning. He was that day to have 
 gone out a-hunting, and it was his cus- 
 tom to have his chaplain pray with 
 him before he went out. The women, 
 fearful to. surprise him with the ill 
 news, had stolen out and acquainted the 
 chaplain, desiring him to inform him 
 of it. But the gentleman waking did 
 not on that day, as was his custom, 
 ask for his wife, but called his chap- 
 lain to prayers, and, joining with him, 
 in the midst of the prayer expired, 
 and both were buried in the same 
 grave. Methinks this should be a 
 very desirable end, only, if it pleased 
 God, I would wish to have the last 
 sacraments, and then to die just before 
 Basil, when his time cometh. But 
 God knoweth best ; and any ways we 
 are so old and so near of an age, one 
 cannot tarry very long behind when 
 the other is gone. 
 
 Being at rest after our marriage 
 touching what concerned ourselves, 
 compassion for Lady Arundel filled our 
 hearts. Alas ! how bravely and how 
 sweetly she bore this parting grief. 
 Her intense love for her lord, and 
 sorrow at their approaching separa- 
 tion, struggled v;ith her resolve not to 
 sadden their last hours, which were 
 prolonged beyond expectancy. For 
 3ncn c:i that day, and twice on that 
 v/liich foilovt'cd, v/lieii rJl was made 
 ready rci" cTopr.i-jr.rc, n iricssago came 
 
 from the captain for to say the wind, 
 and another time the tide, would not 
 serve ; and albeit each time, like a re- 
 prieved person. Lady Arundel wel- 
 comed the delay, methinks these re- 
 tardments served to increase her suf- 
 ferings. Little Bess hung fondly on 
 her father's neck the last time he re- 
 turned from Littlehampton with the 
 tidings the vessel would not sail fcr 
 some hours, kissing his face and play- 
 ing with his beard. 
 
 " Ah, dearest Phil !" her mother 
 cried, " the poor babe rejoiceth in the 
 sight of thee, all unwitting in her in- 
 nocent glee of the shortness of this 
 joy. Ilowsoever, methinks five or 
 six hours of it is a boon for to thank 
 God for ;" and so putting her arm in 
 his, she led him away to a solitar}' 
 part of the garden, where they walk- 
 ed to and fro, she, as she hath since 
 written to me, starting each time the 
 clock did strike, like one doomed to 
 execution. Methinks there was this 
 diiference betv/een them, that he was 
 full of hope and bright forecastings of 
 a speedy reunion ; but on her soul lay 
 a dead, mournful despondency, which 
 she hid by an apparent calmness. 
 When, late in the evening, a third 
 message came for to say the ship 
 could not depart that night, I begun 
 to think it would never go at all. I 
 saw Basil looked at the weathercock 
 and shrugged his shoulders, as if the 
 same thought was in his mind. But 
 Avlien I spake of it, he said seafaring 
 folks had a knowledge in these mat- 
 ters which others did not possess, and 
 we must needs be patient under 
 these delays. Howsoever, at thrce 
 o'clock in the morning the shipman 
 signified that the wind was fit and all 
 in readiness. So \yc rose in haste 
 and prepared for to depart. The 
 countess put her arms about my neck, 
 and this was the last embrace I ever 
 had of her. My lord's brother and 
 sisters hung about him awhile in great 
 grief. Then his wife put out her 
 hands to him, and, with a sorrow too 
 deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his 
 visasre. 
 
26o 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 " Cheer up, sweetest wife," I heard 
 liim saj. "Albeit nature suffers in 
 this severance from my native land, 
 my true home shall be wherever it 
 shall please God to bring thee and me 
 and our children together. God de- 
 fend the loss of this world's good 
 .^.liould make us sad, if we be but 
 once so blessed as to meet again 
 where we may freely serve him." 
 
 Then, after a long and tender clasp- 
 ing of her to his breast, he tore him- 
 self away and getting on a horse rode 
 to the coast. Basil and I, with Mr. 
 William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove 
 in a coach to the port. It was yet 
 dark, and a heavy mist hung on the 
 valley. Folks were yet abed, and 
 the shutters of the houses closed, as 
 we went down the hill through the 
 town. After crossing the bridge over 
 the Arun the air felt cold and chill. 
 At the steep ascent near Leominster 
 I put my head out of the window for 
 t'j look once more at the castle, but 
 the fog was too thick. At the port 
 the coach stopped, and a boat was 
 found waiting for us. Lord Arundel 
 was seated in it, with his face muffled 
 i:i a cloak. The savor of the sea air 
 revived my spirits ; and when the 
 l)oat moved off, and I felt the waves 
 lifting it briskly, and with my hand 
 in Basil's I looked on the land we 
 were leading, and then on the watery 
 world before us, a singular emotion 
 filled my soul, as if it was some sort 
 of death was happening to me — a dy- 
 ing to the past, a gliding on to an un- 
 known future on a pathless ocean, 
 rocked peacefully in the arms of his 
 sheltering love, even as this little bark 
 which carried us along was lifted up 
 and caressed by the waves of the 
 deep sea. 
 
 When we reached the vessel the 
 day was dawning. The sun soon 
 emerged from a bank of clouds, and 
 threw its first light on the rippling 
 waters. A favoring wind filled our 
 cails, and like a bird on the wing the 
 ship bouirled on its way till the flat 
 shore at Littlehampton and the far- 
 oST wliite cliffs to the eastward were 
 
 well-nigh lost sight of. Lord Arundel 
 stood with Basil on the narrow deck, 
 gazing at the receding coast. 
 
 " How sweet the air doth blow 
 from England !" he said ; " how blue 
 the sky doth appear to-day ! and those 
 saucy seagulls how free and happy 
 they do look !" Then he noticed 
 some fishing-boats, and with a tele- 
 scope he had in his hand discerned va- 
 rious ships very far off. Afterw^ard 
 he came and sat down by my side, 
 and spoke in a cheerful manner of 
 his wife and the simple home he de- 
 signed for her abroad. " Some years 
 ago, Mistress Constance," he said — 
 and then smiling, added, " My tongue 
 is not yet used to call you Mistress 
 Rookwood — when my sweet Nan, al- 
 beit a wife, was yet a simple child, 
 she was wont to say, ' Phil, would we 
 were farmers ! You would plougli 
 the fields and cut wood in the forest, 
 and I should milk the cows and feed 
 the poultry.' Well^ methinks her 
 wish may yet come to pass. In Brit- 
 tany or Normandy some little home- 
 stead should shelter us, where Bess 
 shall roll on the grass and gather the 
 fallen apples, and on Sundays put on 
 her bravest clothes for to go to mass. 
 What tliink yo:i thereof, Mistress 
 Constance ? and who knoweth but 
 you and your good husband may also 
 dwell in the same village, and some 
 ciirhteen or twenty years hence a gay 
 wedding for to take place betwixt one 
 Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann 
 or Margaret Howard, or my Loi'd 
 Maltravers with one Mistress Con- 
 stance or Muriel Rookwood? And 
 on the green on such a day. Nan and 
 Basil and you and I should lead the 
 brawls." 
 
 " Methinks, my lord," I answered, 
 smiling, " you do forecast too great a 
 condescension on your part, and too 
 much ambition on our side, in the 
 planning of such a union." 
 
 "Well, well," he said; "if your 
 good husband carrieth not beyond 
 seas with him the best earl's title in 
 England, I'll warrant you in God's 
 si":ht he wcareth a higher one far 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 26 1 
 
 away — the merit of an unstained life 
 and constant nobility of action ; and I 
 ■ promise you, beside, he will be the 
 better farmer of the twain ; so that in 
 the matter of tocher. Mistress Rook- 
 wood should exceed my Lady Bess or 
 Ann Howard." 
 
 With such-like talk as this time 
 was whiled away; and whilst we 
 were yet conversing I noticed that 
 Basil spoke often to the captain and 
 looked for to be watching a ship yet 
 at some distance, but which seemed to 
 be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, per- 
 ceiving it, then also joined them, and 
 inquired what sort of craft it should 
 be. The captain professed to be igno- 
 rant thereof; and when Basil said it 
 looked like a small ship-of-war, and as 
 there were many dangerous pirates 
 about the Channel it should be well 
 to guard against it, he assented there- 
 to, and said he was prepared for de- 
 fence. 
 
 " With such unequal means," Basil 
 replied, " as it is like we should bring 
 to a contest, speed should serve us 
 better than defence." 
 
 " But," quoth Lord Arundel, " she 
 is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than this 
 one we are in. God's will be done, 
 but 'tis a heavy misfortune if a pirate 
 at this time do attack us, and so few 
 moneys with us for to spare !" 
 
 Now none of our eyes could detach 
 themselves from, this pursuing vessel. 
 The captain eluded further talk, on 
 pretence for to give orders and move 
 some guns he had aboard on deck ; 
 but it was vain for to think of a hand- 
 ful of men untrained to sea-warfare 
 encountering a superior force, such as 
 this ship must possess, if its designs 
 should be hostile. As it moved nigh- 
 er to us, we could perceive it to be 
 well manned and armed. And the 
 captain then exclaimed : 
 
 " 'Tis Keloway's ship !" 
 
 This man was of a notorious, infa- 
 mous life, well known for his sea-rob- 
 beries and depredations in the Chan- 
 nel. 
 
 " God yield," murmured the earl, 
 " he shall content himself with the 
 
 small sum we can deliver to him and 
 not stay us any further." 
 
 A moment afterward we were 
 boarded by this man, who, with his 
 crew, thrice as numerous as ours and 
 armed to the teeth, comes on our deck 
 and takes possession of the ship. 
 Straightway he walks to the earl and 
 tells him he doth know him, and had 
 watched his embarkation, being re- 
 solved to follow him and exact a 
 good ransom at his hands, which if he 
 would pay without contention, he 
 should himself, without further stop 
 or stay, pass liim and his two gentle- 
 men into France, adding, he should 
 take no less from him than one hund- 
 red pounds. 
 
 " I have not so much, or near unto 
 it, with me," Lord Arundel said. 
 
 " But you can write a word or two 
 to any friend of yours from whom I 
 may receive it," quoth Keloway. 
 
 "Well," said the earl, " seeing I 
 have pressing occasion for to go to 
 France, and would not be willingly 
 delayed, I must needs consent to your 
 terms, no choice therein being allowed 
 me. Get me some paper," he said to 
 Mr. William Bray. 
 
 " Should this be prudent, my lord ?" 
 Basil whispered in his ear. 
 
 "There is no help for it, Master 
 Rookwood," the earl replied. " Be- 
 side, there is honor even amongst 
 thieves. Once secure of his money, 
 this man hath no interest in detaining 
 us, but rather the contrary." 
 
 And without further stopping, he 
 hastily wrote a few lines to his sister 
 the Lady Margaret Sackville, in Lon- 
 don, that she should speak to Mr. 
 Bridges, alias Grately, a priest, to 
 give one hundred pounds to the bear- 
 er thereof, by the token that was be- 
 tween them, that Hack is tohite, and 
 withal assured her that he now cer- 
 tainly hoped to have speedy passage 
 without impediment. As soon as this 
 paper was put into Kelloway's hand, 
 he read it, and immediately called 0.1 
 his men for to arrest the Earl cf 
 Arundel, producing an order fro.i 
 the queen's council for to prove I13 
 
262 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 was appointed to v/atcli there for him, 
 and carry him back again to land 
 where her majesty's officers did await 
 him. 
 
 An indescribable anguish seized 
 my heart; an overwhelming grief, 
 such as methinks no other event, 
 howsoever sad or tragical, or yet more 
 nearly touching me, had ever wrought 
 in my soul, which I ascribe to a pre- 
 sentiment that this should be the first 
 link of that long chain of woes which 
 was to follow. 
 
 " O, my lord !" I exclaimed, almost 
 falling at his feet, " God help you to 
 bear this too heavy blow !" 
 
 He took me by the hand ; and 
 never till I die shall I lose the mem- 
 ory of the sweet serenity and noble 
 steadfastness of his visage in this try- 
 ing hour. 
 
 " God willeth it," he gently said ; 
 '• his holy will be done ! He will work 
 good oat of what seemeth evil to us." 
 And then gaily added, " We had 
 thought to travel the same v/ay ; now 
 we must needs journey apart. Never 
 fear, good friends, but both roads shall 
 ioad to heaven, if we do but tread 
 them piously. My chief sorrov.^ is for 
 Isan ;" but her virtue is so great, that 
 affliction will never rob her of such 
 peace as God only giveth." 
 
 Then this angelic man, forecasting 
 for his friends in the midst of this ter- 
 rible mishap, passed into Basil's hands 
 his pocket-book, and said, "This shall 
 pay your voyage, good friend ; and if 
 aught doth remain afterward, let the 
 poor have their share of it, for a 
 thank-offering, when you reach the 
 shore in safety." 
 
 Basil, I saw, could not speak ; his 
 heart was too full. O, what a parting 
 ensued on that sad ocean whose waves 
 had seemed to dance so joyously a 
 short space before ! With what ach- 
 ing hearts we pressed the young earl'a 
 hand, and watched him pass into tiic 
 other ship, accompanied by his tv/o 
 giHilemcn, which were with him ar- 
 ie?teJ ! No heed was taken of us ; 
 ;:n 1 Kelloway, having secured his 
 prey, abandoned our vessel, the cap- 
 
 tain of which seemed uneasy and ill- 
 disposed to speak with us. We did 
 then suspect, which doubt hath been- 
 since confirmed, that this seeming 
 honest Catholic man had acted a trai- 
 tor's part, and that those many delays 
 had been used for the very purpose of 
 staying Lord Arundel until such time 
 as all was prepared for his capture. 
 The wind, which was in our favor, 
 bore us swiftly tov»^ard the French 
 coast ; and we soon lost sight of the 
 vessel which carried the earl back to 
 the shores of England. Fancy, you 
 who read, what pictures we needs 
 must then have formed of that return ; 
 of the dismal news reaching the af- 
 flicted wife, the sad sister, the mourn- 
 ful brother, and friends now scattered 
 apart, so lately clustered round him ! 
 Alas ! when we landed in France, at 
 the port of Calais, the sense of our 
 own safety was robbed of half its joy 
 by fears and sorrowing for the dear 
 friends whose fortunes have proved 
 so dissimilar to our own. 
 
 CHAPTEIl XXVIII. 
 
 The deep clear azure of the French 
 sky, the lightsome pure air, the quaint 
 houses, and outlandish dresses of the 
 people in Calais ; the sound of a for- 
 eign tongue understood, but not fami- 
 liar, for a brief time distracted my 
 mind from painful themes. Basil led 
 ir.e to the church for to give thanks to 
 God for his mercies to us, and mostly 
 did it seem strange to me to enter an 
 edifice in which he is worshipped in 
 a Catholic manner, which yet hath the 
 form and appearance of a church, and 
 resembles not the concealed chambers 
 in our country wherein mass is said ; 
 an open visible house for the King of 
 kings, not a hiding-place, as in Eng- 
 land, After we had prayed there 0. 
 short time, Basil put into a box at the 
 entrance the money which Lord 
 Ainindel had designed for tlie poor. 
 A pale thin man stood at the door, 
 vrliich, v.-beii v/c passed, said, " God 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 263 
 
 bless you !" Basil looked earnestly 
 at him, and then exclaimed, "As I 
 live, Mr. Watson 1" " Yea," the good 
 man answered, " the same, or rather 
 the shadow of the same, risen at the 
 last from the bed of sickness. O Mr. 
 liookwood, I am glad to see you !" 
 " And so am I to meet with you, Mr. 
 Watson," Basil answered ; and then 
 told this dear friend who I was, and 
 the sad hap of Lord Arundel, which 
 moved in him a great concern for that 
 young nobleman and his excellent 
 lady. Many tokens of regard and in- 
 terchange of information passed be- 
 tween ug. He showed us where he 
 lived, in a small cottage near unto the 
 ramparts ; and nothing would serve 
 him but to gather for me in the gar- 
 den a nosegay of early flowerets which 
 just had raised their heads above tlie 
 sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent 
 him money in his sickness, and an 
 English lady married to a French 
 l>entleman provided for his wants. 
 " Ah ! that was the good madame I 
 told you of," Basil cried, turning to 
 me ; " who would have harbored . 
 
 " Then he stopped short ; 
 
 but Mr. Watson had caught his mean- 
 ing, and with tears in his eyes said : 
 " Fear not to speak of her whose 
 death bought my life, and it may be 
 also my soul's safety. For, God 
 knoweth, the thought of her doth 
 never forsake me so much as for one 
 hour ;" and thereupon we parted with 
 much kindness on both sides. That 
 night we lay at a small hostelry in the 
 town ; and the next morning hired a 
 cart with one horse, which carried us 
 to Boulogne in one day, and thence to 
 this village, where we have lived since 
 for many years in great peace, I 
 thank God, and very much content- 
 ment of mind, and no regrets save 
 such as do arise in the hearts of exiles 
 without hope of return to a beloved 
 native country. 
 
 The awaiting of tidings from Eng- 
 land, which were long delayed, was at 
 tiie first a very sore trial, and those 
 which reached us at last yet more 
 grievous than that suspense. Lord 
 
 Arundel committed to the Tower ; his 
 brother the Lord William and his sis- 
 ter the Lady Margaret not long after 
 arrested, which was more grief to 
 him, his lady wrote to me, than all 
 his own troubles and imprisonment. 
 But, O my God ! how well did that 
 beginning match with what was to fol" 
 low! Those ten years which were 
 spent amidst so many suflerings of all 
 sorts by tliese two noble persons, that 
 the recital of them would move to pity 
 the most strong heart. 
 
 Mine own sorrows, leastways all 
 sharp ones, ended with ray passage 
 into France. If Basil showed himself 
 a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet 
 better husband. His nature doth so 
 delight in doing good that it wins him 
 the love of all our neighbors. His 
 life is a constant exercise of charity. 
 He is most indulgent to his wife and 
 kind to his children, of which it hath 
 pleased God to give him three — one 
 boy and two girls, of as comely vis- 
 ages and commendable dispositions as 
 can reas-onably be desired. He hath 
 a most singular affection for all such 
 as do suffer for their religion, and 
 cherishes them with an extraordinary 
 bounty to the limits of his abihty ; his 
 house being a common resort for all 
 banished Catholics which land at Bou- 
 logne, from whence he doili direct 
 them to such persons as can assist 
 them in their need. His love toward 
 my unworthy self hath never decreas- 
 ed. Methinks it rather doih increase 
 as we advance in years. We have 
 ever been actuated as by one soul; 
 and never have any two wills agreed 
 so well as Basil's and mine in all 
 aims in this world and hopes for the 
 next. If any, in the reading of this 
 history, have only cared for mine own 
 haps, I pray them to end their peru- 
 sal of it here; but if, even as my 
 heart hath been linked from early 
 years with Lady Arundel's, there be 
 any in which my poor writing hath 
 awakened somewhat of that esteem for 
 her virtues and resentment of her 
 sorrows whicn hath grown in me from 
 long experience of her singular worth; 
 
264 
 
 Constance Slier-wood. 
 
 if the noble atonement for youthful 
 oifences and follies already shown in 
 her lord's return to his duty to her, 
 ard altered behavior in respect to 
 God, hath also moved them to desire 
 a further knowledge of the manner in 
 which these two exalted souls were 
 advanced by long affliction to a high 
 point of perfection — then to such the 
 following pages shall not be wholly 
 devoid of that interest which the true 
 recital of great misfortune doth habit- 
 ually carry with it. If none other 
 had written the life of that noble lady, 
 methinks I must have essayed to do it ; 
 but having heard that a good clergyman 
 hath taken this task in hand, secretly 
 preparing materials whilst she jet lives 
 wherewith to build her a memorial at 
 a future time, I have restrained my- 
 self to setting down what, by means 
 of her own writing or the reports of 
 others, hath reached my knowledge 
 concerning the ten years which fol- 
 lowed my last parting with her. 
 This was the first letter I received 
 from this afflicted lady after her lord's 
 arrest : 
 
 " O Jir DEAR Fhisnd — What days 
 these have proved ! Believe me, I nev- 
 er looked for a favorable issue of this 
 enterprise. When I first had notice 
 thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, 
 which never Avarmed again wdth hope. 
 When I began to pray after hearing 
 of it, I had what methinks the holy 
 Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we 
 did once visit together, as I doubt not 
 thou dost remember) would have call- 
 ed a foreshowing, or, as others do ex- 
 press it, a presentiment of coming 
 evil. But how soon the effect fol- 
 lowed ! I had retired to rest at nine of 
 the clock ; and before I was undress- 
 ed Bertha came m with a most down- 
 cast countenance. ' What news is 
 there?' I quickly asked, misdoubting 
 some misfortune had happened. Then 
 she began to weep. ' Is my lord 
 taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen 
 him ?' * He is taken,' she answered, 
 * and is now being carried to London 
 for to be committed to the Tower. 
 
 Master Ealph, the port-master, hath 
 brought the news. A man, an hour 
 ago, had reported as much in the 
 town; but Mr. Fawcett would not 
 suffer yoiu* ladyship to be told of it 
 before a greater certainty thereof 
 should appear. O woe be the day my 
 lord ever embarked !' Then I heard 
 sounds of wailing and weeping in the 
 gallery; and opening the door, found 
 Bessy's nurse and some other of the 
 servants lamenting in an uncontrolled 
 fashion. I could not shed one tear, 
 but gave orders they should fetch un- 
 to me the man which had brought 
 the tidings. From liim I heard more 
 fully what had happened ; and then, 
 in the same composed manner, de- 
 sired my coach and horses for to be 
 made ready to take me to London the 
 next day at daybreak, and dismissed 
 everybody, not suffering so much as 
 one woman to sit up with me. When 
 all had retired, I put on my cloak and 
 hood ; and listing first if all was quiet, 
 w^ent by the secret passage to the 
 chapel-room. When I got there. Fa- 
 ther Southwell was in it, saying his 
 office. When he saw me enter at that 
 unusual hour, methinks the truth was 
 made known to him at once ; for he 
 only took me by the hand, and said : 
 ' My child, this would be too hard to 
 bear if it were not God's sweet will ; 
 but being . so, what remameth but to 
 lie still under a Father's merciful in- 
 fliction?'- and then he took out the 
 crucifix, which for safety was locked 
 up, and set it on the altar. 'Thai 
 shall speak to you better than I can/ 
 ho said ; and verily it did ; for at the 
 sight of my dying Saviour I wept. 
 The whole night was spent in devout 
 exercises. At dawn of day Father 
 Southwell said mass, and I received. 
 Then, before any one was astir,. I re- 
 turned to mine own chamber, and, ly- 
 ing down for a few moments, aftcr- 
 v/ard rung the bell, and ordered 
 horses to be procured for to travel to 
 London, whence I write these lines. 
 I have here heard this report of my 
 dear lord's journey from one which 
 conversed with Sir Geoi'ga Carey, 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 265 
 
 who commanded the guard which con- 
 ducted him, that he was nothing at all 
 daunted with so unexpected a misfor- 
 tune, and not only did endure it with 
 great patience and courage, but, more- 
 over, carried it with a joyful and mer- 
 ry countenance. One night in the 
 way he lodged at Guildford, where 
 Gceing the master of the inn (who 
 sometime was our servant, and who 
 hath written it to one of my women, his 
 sister), and some others Avho wished 
 well unto him, weeping and sorrowing 
 for his misfortunes, he comforted them 
 all, and willed them to be of good 
 cheer, because it was not for any 
 crime — treason or the like — he was 
 apprehended, but only for attempting 
 to leave the kingdom, the which he 
 had done only for his own safety. 
 He is soon to be examined by some 
 of the council sent to the Tower for 
 this special purpose by the queen. I 
 have sought to obtain access to him, 
 but been flatly refused, and a hint 
 ministered to me that albeit my resi- 
 dence at Arundel House is tolerated 
 at the present, if the queen should 
 come to stay at Somerset House, which 
 she is soon like to do, my departure 
 hence shall be enforced; but while I 
 remain I would fain do some good to 
 persons afflicted as myself. I pray 
 you, my good Constance, when you 
 find some means to despatch me a 
 letter, therewith to send the names 
 and addresses of some of the poor 
 folks Muriel was wont to visit ; for I 
 am of opinion grief should not make 
 us selfish, but rather move us to re- 
 lieve in others the pains of which we 
 feel the sharp edge ourselves. I have 
 already met by accident with many 
 necessitous persons, and they do be- 
 gin in great numbers to resort to this 
 house. God knoweth if the means to 
 relieve them will not be soon lacking. 
 But to make hay whilst the sun shines 
 is a wise saying, and in some instances 
 a precept. Alas ! the sunshine of joy 
 is already obscured for me. Except 
 for these poor pensioners, that of for- 
 tune causeth me small concern. — Thy 
 
 lovins: friend, 
 
 A. A. AND S." 
 
 " Will and Meg arc at present in 
 separate prisons. It is impossible but 
 that she shall be presently released ; 
 for against her nothing can be alleged, 
 so much as to give a pretence for an 
 accusation. My lord and Will's joint 
 letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydg- 
 es — who, out of confidence, mentioned 
 it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, 
 who lives at Paris, and is now discov- 
 ered to be a spy — is the ground of tlie 
 charges against them. How utterly 
 unfounded thou well knowest ; but so 
 much as to write to Dr. Allen is now 
 a crime, howsoever innocent the matter 
 of such a correspondence should be. 
 I do fear that in one of his letters — 
 but I wot not if of this they have pos- 
 session — ^my lord, who had just heard 
 that the Earl of Leicester had openly 
 vowed to make the name of Catholic 
 as, odious in England as the name of 
 Turk, did say, in manner of a jest, that 
 if some lawful means might be found 
 to take away this earl, it would be a 
 great good for Catholics in England ; 
 which careless sentence may be twisted 
 by his enemies to his disadvantage." 
 
 Some time afterward, a person pass- 
 ing from London to Rheims, brought 
 me this second letter from her lady- 
 ship, written at E-umford, in Essex: 
 
 " What I have been warned of ver- 
 ily hath happened. Upon the queen's 
 coming to London last month, it was 
 signified to me I should leave it. Now 
 that Father Southwell hath been re- 
 moved from Arundel Castle, and no 
 priest at this time can live in it, I did 
 not choose to be delivered there, with- 
 out the benefit of spiritual assistance 
 in case of danger of death, and so 
 hired a house in this town, at a short 
 distance of which a recusant gentle- 
 man doth keep one in his house. I 
 came from London without obtaining 
 leave so much as once to see my dear 
 husband, or to send him a letter or 
 message, or receive one from him. 
 But this I have learnt, that he cannot 
 speak with any person whatsoever but 
 in the presence and hearing of his 
 
266 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 keeper or tlie lieutenant of the Tower, 
 and that the room in which he is locked 
 up has no sight of the sun for the great- 
 est part of the year ; so that if not 
 changed before the winter cometh it 
 shall prove verj unwholesome ; and 
 moreover the noisomeness thereof 
 caused bj a vault that is under it is so 
 great that the keeper can scarce en- 
 dure to enter into it, much less to stay 
 there any time. Alas! what ravages 
 shall this treatment cause on a frame 
 of great niceness and delicate habits, I 
 leave you to judge. By this time he 
 hath been examined twice ; and albeit 
 forged letters w^ere produced, the fals- 
 ity of which the council were forced to 
 admit, and he was charged with noth- 
 ing which could be substantiated, ex- 
 cept leaving the realm witliout license 
 of the queen, and being reconciled to 
 the Church of Rome, his sentence. is 
 yet deferred, and his imprisonment as 
 strict as ever. I pray God it may 
 not be deferred till his health is 
 utterly destroyed, which, I doubt not, 
 is what liis enemies would most de- 
 sire. 
 
 " Last evening I had the exceeding 
 great comfort of the coming hither of 
 mine own dear good Meg, who hath been 
 : ome time released from prison, with 
 many vexatious restraints, howsoever, 
 still laid upon her. Albeit very much 
 advanced in her pregnancy, nothing 
 would serve her when she had leave 
 to quit London but to do me this good. 
 This is the first taste of joy I have 
 had since ray lord's commitment. Li 
 her face I behold his ; when she speaks 
 I hear him. No talk is ministered be- 
 tween us but of that beloved husband 
 and brother ; our common prayers are 
 put up for him. She hath spied his 
 spies for to discover all which relates 
 to him, and hath found means to con- 
 vey to him — I thank God for it — some 
 books of devotion, which he greatly 
 needed. She is yet a-bed this moan- 
 ing, for we sat up late y ester-eve, so 
 sweet, albeit sad, was the converse we 
 lield after so many common sufferings. 
 But methinks I grudge her these hours 
 of sleep, longing for to hear again those 
 
 loved accents which mind me of my 
 dear Phil. 
 
 " My pen had hardly traced those last 
 words, when a messenger arrived from 
 the council with an express command 
 to Margaret from her majesty not to 
 stay with me another night, but forth- 
 with to return to London. The sur- 
 prise and fear which this message oc- 
 casioned hastened the event which 
 should have yet been delayed some 
 weeks. A few hours after (I thank 
 God, in safety) a fair son was born; 
 but in the mother's heart and mine ap- 
 prehension dispelled joy, lest enforced 
 disobedience should produce fresh 
 troubles. Howsoever, she recovered 
 quickly ; and as soon as she could be 
 removed I lost her sweet company. 
 Thine affectionate friend to command^ 
 " A. A. AND S." 
 
 Some time afterward, one Mr. Dix- 
 on, a gentleman I had met once or 
 twice in London, tarried a night at our 
 house, and brought me the news that 
 God had given the Countess of Arun- 
 del a son, w^hich she had earnestly de- 
 sired her husband should be informed 
 of, but he heard it had been refused. 
 Howsoever, when he was urgent with 
 his keepers to let him know if she had 
 been safely delivered, they gave him 
 to understand that she had another 
 daughter ; his enemies not being will- 
 ing he should have so much content- 
 ment as~ the birth of a oon should have 
 yiolded him. 
 
 " Doth the queen," I asked of this 
 gentleman, " then not mitigate her aii-" 
 ger against these noble persons ?" 
 
 " So far from it," he answered, "that 
 when, at the beginning of this trou])le, 
 Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis 
 Knowles for to seek by his means to 
 obtain an audience from her majesty, 
 in order to sue for her husband, he told 
 her she would sooner release him a'^ 
 once — which, howsoever, she had no 
 mind to do — than only once allow her 
 to enter her presence. He then, her 
 ladyship told rae, rated her exceeding- 
 ly, asking if she and her husband wer«'^ 
 rot ashamed to make themsslves pa- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 267 
 
 pists, only out of spleen and peevish 
 humor to cross and vex the queen ? 
 She ansvv^ered him in the same man- 
 ner as her lord did on?, of his keepers, 
 who told him* very many in the king- 
 dom wore of opinion that he made 
 show to be Catholie only out of policy; 
 to whom he said, with great mildness, 
 that God dotb know the secrets of all 
 hearts, but that he thought there was 
 small policy ibr a man to lose his lib- 
 erty, hazard his estate and life, and 
 live in that manner in a prison as he 
 then did." 
 
 A brief letter from Lady Tregony 
 mfbrmed me soon after this that, after 
 a tliird examination, the court had fined 
 Lord Arundel in £10,000 unto the 
 queen and adjudged him to imprison- 
 ment during her pleasure. What that 
 pleasure proved^ ten years of unmiti- 
 gated suffering and slow torture evinc- 
 ed ; one of the most grievous of wiiicli 
 was that his lady could never obtain 
 for to see him, albeit other prisoners' 
 wives had easy access to them. This 
 toucliing letter I had from her three 
 years after he v/as imprisoned: 
 
 ''Mine ov/n good Friend — Life 
 doth wear 0:1, and relief of one sort 
 leastv/ays comes not ; but God forbid 
 I should repine. For such instances I 
 see in the letters of my dear lord — 
 vt'hich Avhen some of his servants do 
 leave the Tower, v>diich, worn out as 
 they soon become by sickness, they 
 must needs do to preserve their lives — 
 he findeth means to write to me or to 
 Father Southwell, that I am ashamed 
 to grieve overmuch at anything which 
 doth befal us — when his willingness 
 and contentment to suffer are so great. 
 As when he saith to that good father, 
 '- For all crosses touching worldly mat- 
 ters, I thank God they trouble me not 
 much, and much the less for your sin- 
 gular good counsel, which I beseech 
 our Lord I may often remember;' and 
 to me this dear husband writes thus : 
 'I beseech you, for the love of God, 
 to comfort yourself whatsoever shall 
 happen, and to be best pleased with that 
 which shall please God best, and be 
 
 his will to send. I find tliat there ia 
 some intent to do me no good, but in- 
 deed to do me the most good of all ; 
 but I am — and, thank God, doubt not 
 but I shall be by his grace — ready to 
 endure the worst which flesh and blood 
 can do unto rac.' O Constance, flesh 
 and blood doth sometimes rebel against 
 the keen edge of suffering; but I pray 
 you, my friend, how can I complain 
 when I hear of this much, long dearly 
 cherished husband, ascending by steps 
 the ladder of perfection, advancing 
 from virtue to virtue as the psalm, 
 saith, never uttering one unsubmissive 
 word toward God, or one resentful one 
 toward liis worst enemies ; making, in 
 the most sublime manner, of necessity 
 virtue, and turning his loathsome pris- 
 on into a religious cell, wherein every 
 exercise of devotion is duly practised, 
 and his soul trained for heaven ? 
 
 " Tlie small pittance the queen al- 
 lowcth for his maintenance he so spar- 
 ingly useth, that, most of it doth pass 
 into the hands of the poor or other more 
 destitute prisoners than himself. But 
 sickness and disease prey on his frame. 
 And the picture of him my memory 
 draweth is gradually more effaced in 
 the living man, albeit vivid in mine 
 own portraying of it. 
 
 There is now a priest imprisoned in 
 the Tower, not very far from the cham- 
 ber wherein my lord is confined ; one 
 of the name of Bennet. My lord de- 
 sired much to meet him, and speak 
 with him for the comfort of his soul, 
 and 1 have found means to bring it to 
 effect by mediation of the lieutenant's 
 daughter, to whom I have given thirty 
 pounds for her endeavors in procuring 
 it. And moreover she hath assisted 
 in conveying into his chamber church- 
 stuff and ail things requisite for the 
 saying of mass, whereunto she teib 
 me, to my indescribable comfort, he 
 himself doth serve with great humility, 
 and therein receives the blessed sacra- 
 ment frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, 
 she saitli, and Mr. Shelly, which are 
 likewise prisoner3 at this time, she in- 
 troduces secretly into his lodgings for 
 to hear ma33,anJ have speech with 
 
>6S 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 him. Alas ! what should be a comfort 
 to him, and so the greatest of joys tome, 
 the exceeding peril of these times 
 causeth me to look upon with appre- 
 hension; for these gentlemen, albeit 
 well disposed, are not famed for so 
 mucli wisdom and prudence as him- 
 self, in not saying or doing anything 
 which might be an occasion of danger 
 to him ; and the least lack of wariness, 
 v/hen there is so much discourse about 
 the great Spanish fleet which is now 
 in preparation, should prove like to 
 be fatal. God send no worse hap be- 
 fal us soon. 
 
 "In addition to these other troubles 
 and fears, I am much molested by a 
 melancholy vapor, which ascends to 
 ray head, and greatly troubles me since 
 I was told upon a sudden of the unex- 
 pected death of Margaret Sackville, 
 whom, for her many great virtues and 
 constant affection toward myself, 1 did 
 60 highly esteem and affection." 
 
 From that time for a long while I 
 had no direct news of Lady Arundel; 
 but report brought us woful tidings 
 concerning her lord, who, after many 
 private examinations, had been brought 
 from the Tower to the King's Bench 
 Court, in the hall of Westminster, 
 and there publicly arraigned on the 
 charge of high treason, the grounds of 
 which accusation being that he had 
 prayed and procured others to make 
 simultaneous prayer for twenty-four 
 hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to say 
 a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the suc- 
 cess of the Spanish fleet. Whereas 
 the whole truth of this matter consisted 
 in this, that when a report became cur- 
 rent among the Catholics about Lon- 
 don that a sudden massacre of them 
 all was intended upon the first landing 
 of the Spaniards, this coming to the 
 earl's ear, he judged it necessary that 
 all Catholics should betake themselves 
 to prayer, either for the avoiding of 
 the danger or for the better preparing 
 themselves thereunto, and so persuad- 
 ed those in the Tower to make prayer 
 together for that end, and also sent to 
 some others for the same purpose, 
 
 whereof one of greater prudence and 
 experience than the rest signified imto 
 him that perhaps it might be otlierwise 
 interpreted by their enemies than he 
 intended, wishing him to desist, as pres- 
 ently thereupon he did ; but it was then 
 too Idte. Some which he had trusted, 
 cither out of fear or fair promises, 
 testified falsely against him — of which 
 ]Mr. Bennet was one, wlio afterward 
 retracted with bitter anguish his testi- 
 mony, in a letter to his lordship, which 
 contained these words : " With a 
 fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tor- 
 mented conscience, only for saving 
 of my life and liberty, I said you 
 moved me to say a mass for the good 
 success of the Spanish fleet. For 
 which unjust confession, or rather ac- 
 cusation, I do again and again, and to 
 my life's end, most instantly crave 
 God's pardon and yours ; and for my 
 better satisfaction of this, my unjust 
 admission, I will, if need require, 
 offer up both life and limbs in averring 
 my accusation to be, as it is indeed, 
 and as I shall answer before God, an- 
 gels, and men, most unjust, and only 
 done out of fear of the Tower, tor- 
 ments, and death." Notwithstanding 
 the earl's very stout and constant denial 
 of the charge, and pleading the above 
 letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting his 
 false statement, he was condemned of 
 high treason, and had sentence pro- 
 nounced^ against him. But the exe- 
 cution was deferred, and finally the 
 queen resolved to spare his life, but 
 yet by no means to release him. His 
 estates, and likewise his lady's, were 
 forfeited to the crown, and he at that 
 time dealt with most unkindly, as the 
 following letter will show : 
 
 "Dear Constance — At last I 
 have found the means of sending a 
 packet by a safe hand, which in these 
 days, when men do so easily turn trai- 
 tors—notable instances of which, t:^ 
 our exceeding pain and trouble, hav3 
 lately occurred — is no easy matter. I 
 doubt not but thy fond affectionate 
 heart hath followed with a sympa- 
 thetic grief the anguish of mine dui- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 260 
 
 ing tho time past, wherein my liaa- 
 bai)d's life liatli been in dailj peril ; 
 and albeit lie is now respited, jet, 
 alas ! as he saith himself, and useth 
 the knowledge to the best purpose, he 
 is but a doomed man ; reprieved, not 
 pardoned; spared, not released. Mine 
 own troubles beside have been greater 
 than can be thought of; hy virtue of 
 the forfeiture of my lord's estates and 
 mine, my home hath been searched 
 by justices, and no room, no corner, 
 no trunk or coffer, left unopened and 
 unransacked. I have often been 
 brought before the council and most 
 severely examined. The queen's 
 officers and others in authority — to 
 whom I am sometimes forced to sue 
 for favor, or some mitigation of mine 
 own or my lord's sufferings — do use 
 me often very harshly, and reject my 
 petitions with scorn and opprobrious 
 language. All our goods arc seized 
 for the queen. They have left me 
 nothing but two or three beds, and 
 these, they do say, but for a time. 
 When business requires, I am forced 
 to go on foct, and slenderly attended ; 
 my coach being taken from me. I 
 have retained but two of my servants 
 — my children's nurse being one. I 
 have as yet no allowance, as is usual 
 in such cases, for the maintenance of 
 my family ; so I am forced to pay 
 them and buy victuals with the money 
 made by the sale of mine own jewels ; 
 and I am sometimes forced to borrow 
 and make hard shifts to procure neces- 
 sary provisions and clothes for the 
 children ; but if I get eight pounds 
 a week, wliich the queen hath been 
 moved to allow me, then me thinks I 
 shall think myself no poorer than a 
 Christian woman should be content to 
 be; and I have promised Almighty 
 God, if that good shall befal us, to 
 bestow one hundred marks out of it 
 yearly on the poor. I am often sent 
 out of London by her majesty's com- 
 mands, albeit some infirmities I do 
 now suffer from force me to consult 
 physicians there. Methinks when I 
 am at Arundel House I am not Avholly 
 Darted from my lord, albeit my hum- 
 
 ble petition, by means of frieiids, to Sfc*! 
 him is always denied. When 1 hear 
 he is sick, mine anguish increases. 
 The like favor is often granted to 
 Lady Latimore and others whose hus- 
 bands are at tli»s time i:)risoners in the 
 Tower, but I can never obtain it. Tho 
 lieutenant's daughter, whom I do 
 sometimes sec, when she is in a con- 
 versible mood doth inform me of my 
 dear husband's condition, and relates 
 instances of his goodness and patience 
 which wring and yet comfort mine 
 heart. What think you of his never 
 having been heard so much as once to 
 complain of the loss of his goods or 
 the incommodities of his prison; of 
 his gentleness and humility where he 
 is himself concerned ; of his boldness 
 in defending his religion and her min- 
 isters, Avhich was alike shown, as well 
 as his natural cheerfulness, in a con- 
 versation she told me had passed be- 
 tween her father, the lieutenant, and 
 him, a few days ago? You have 
 heard, I ween, that good Father 
 Southwell was arrested some time 
 back at Mr. Bellamy's house; it is 
 reported by means of the poor un- 
 happy soul his daughter, whom I met 
 one day at the door of the prison, at- 
 tired in a gaudy manner and carry- 
 ing herself in a bold fashion ; but 
 when she met mine eye hers fell. 
 Alas ! poor soul, God help her and 
 bring her to repentance. Well, now 
 Father Southwell is in the Tower, my 
 lord, by Miss Hopton's means, hath 
 had once or twice speech with him, 
 and doth often inquire of the lieuten- 
 ant about him, which when he did so 
 the other day he used the word's 
 'blessed father' in speaking of him. 
 The lieutenant (she said) seemed to 
 take exception thereat, saying, * Term 
 you him blessed father, being as he is 
 an enemy to his country ?' My lord 
 answered : * How can that be, seeing 
 yourself hath told me heretofore that 
 no fault could be laid unto him but 
 his religion?' Then the lieutenant 
 said : * The last time I was in his cell 
 your dog, my lord, came in and licked 
 his hand.' Then quoth my lord, pat- 
 
270 
 
 CoQistancc Slier wood. 
 
 ting hk dog fondly : ^ I love him the 
 better for it.' 'Perhaps/ quoth the 
 lieutenant in a scoffing manner, ' it 
 might be he came thither to have his 
 blessing.' To v.^hich my lord replied, 
 * It is no new thing for animals to seek 
 a blessing at the hands of holy men, 
 St. Jerome writing how the lions which 
 had digged St. Paul the hermit's 
 grave stood waiting with their eyes 
 upon St. Anthony expecting his bless- 
 ing.' 
 
 " Is it not a strange trial, mine own 
 Constance, and one which hath not 
 befallen many women, to have a 
 fondly loved husband yet alive, and 
 to be sometimes so near unto him that 
 it should take but a few moments to 
 cross the space which doth divide us,- 
 and yet never behold him ; year after 
 year passing away, and the heart 
 waxing sick with delays? Howso- 
 ever, one sad firm hope I hold, which 
 keepeth me somewhat careful of my 
 health, lest I should be disabled when 
 that time comelli — one on which I fix 
 my mind with apprehension and de- 
 sire to defer the approach thereof, yet 
 pray one day to see it — yea, to live 
 long enough for this and then to die, 
 if it shall please God. When mine 
 own Philip is on his*death-bed, when 
 the slow consumptive disease which 
 devoureth his vitals obtaineth its end, 
 then, I ween, no woman upon earth, 
 none that I ever lieard of or could 
 think of, can deny me to approach 
 Iiim and receive his last embrace. Oh 
 that this should be my best comfort, 
 mine only hope I" 
 
 I pass over many intervening let- 
 ters from this afflicted lady which at 
 distant intervals I received, in one of 
 which she expressed her sorrow at the 
 execution at Tyburn of her constant 
 friend and guide, Father Southwell, 
 and likewise informed me of Mistress 
 Wells's death in Newgate, and tran- 
 scribe this one, written about six 
 months afterward, in which she relates 
 the closing scene of her husband's life : 
 
 " Mine own dear Constance — 
 All is over now, and my overcharged 
 
 heart casteth about for some allevia- 
 tion in its excessive grief, which may 
 be I shall find in imparting to one 
 well acquainted with his virtues and 
 my love for him what I have learjit 
 touching the closing scenes of my dear 
 lord's mortal life. For think not I 
 have been so happy as to behold him 
 again, or that he should die in my 
 arms. No; that which was denied 
 me for ten long years neither could 
 his dying prayers obtain. For many 
 months notice had been given unto 
 me by his servants and others that his 
 health was very fast declining. One 
 gentleman particularly told me li;' 
 himself believed his end to be near. 
 His devout exercises were yet increas- 
 ed — the bent of his mind more and 
 more directed solely toward God and 
 heaven. In those times v/liich were 
 allotted to walking or other recrea- 
 tion, his discourse and conversation 
 either with iiis keeper or the lieuten- 
 ant or his own servant, was either 
 tending to piety or some kind of profit- 
 able discourse, most often of the happi- 
 ness of those that suffer anything for 
 our Saviour's sake ; to which purpose 
 he had writ with his own hand upon the 
 wall of his chamber this Latin sen- 
 tence, ' Quanto plus afflictionis pro 
 Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus 
 glorias cum Christo in future ;' the 
 which he used to show to his servants, 
 inviting^ them, as well as himself, to 
 suffer all with patience and alacrity. 
 
 " In the month of August tidings 
 were brought unto me that, sitting ai 
 dinner, he had fallen so very ill imme- 
 diately upon the eating of a roasted 
 teal, that some did suspect him to be 
 poisoned. I sent him some antidotes, 
 and all the remedies I could procure ; 
 but all in vain. The disease had so 
 possessed him that it could not be re- 
 moved, but by little and little consum- 
 ed his body, so that he became like an 
 anatomy, having nothing left but skiu 
 and bone. Much talk hath been min- 
 istered anent his being poisoned. 
 Alas ! my thinking is, and ever shall 
 bo, the slow poison he died of ^vas 
 lack of air, of sunshine, of kindness, 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 271 
 
 oF loving aid, of careful sympathy. 
 When 1 heard his case was consider- 
 ed desperate, the old long hopes, sus- 
 tained for ten years, that out of the 
 extremity of grief one hour of com- 
 fort should arise, woke up ; but now I 
 was advised not to stir in this matter 
 myself, for it should only incense the 
 queen, who had alw^ays hated me ; 
 whereas my lord she once had liked, 
 and it might be, when she heard he 
 was dying, she should relent. She 
 hnd made a kind of promise to some 
 of his friends that before his death 
 his wife and children should come 
 unto him ; whereupon, conceiving that 
 now his time in the world could not 
 be long, he writ a humble letter to 
 her petitioning the performance of her 
 promise. The lieutenant of the 
 Tower carried tliis letter, and deliver- 
 ed it wdth his own hands to the queen, 
 and brought him her answer by word 
 of mouth. What think you, mine 
 own Constance, was the answ^er she 
 sent that dying man? God forgive 
 her! Philip did; yea, and so do I 
 — not fully at the time, now most 
 fully. His crown should have been 
 less glorious but for the heart-martyr- 
 dom she invented. 
 
 *' This was her message : ' That if 
 he would but once go to the Protest- 
 ant church his request should not only 
 be granted, but he should moreover 
 be restored to his honor and estate 
 with as much favor as she could 
 show.' Oh, what were estates and 
 nonors to that dying saint ! what her 
 favor to that departing soul! One 
 offering, one sacrifice, one final with- 
 drawing of affection's thirsty and 
 parched lips from the chalice of a 
 supreme earthly consolation, and all 
 was accomplished ; the bitterness of 
 death overpast. He gave thanks to 
 the lieutenant for his pains ; he said 
 he could not accept her majesty's 
 offers upon that condition, and added 
 withal that he was sorry he had but 
 one life to lose in that cause. A very 
 worthy gentleman wlio was present at 
 tills passage related it to me ; and 
 Loi'd Mountairue I have also had it 
 
 frcm, which' heard the same from his 
 father-in-law, my Lord Dorset. Con- 
 stance, for a brief while a terrible tu- 
 mult raged in my souL Think what 
 it was to know one so long, so 
 passionately loved, dying nigh unto 
 and yet apart from me, dying unaided 
 by any priest — for though he had a 
 great desire to be assisted by Father 
 Edmund, by whose means he had beer, 
 reconciled, it was by no means permit- 
 ted that either he or any other pries: 
 should come to him — dying without a 
 Idndred face to smile on him, witliout 
 a kinsman for to speak with him and 
 list to his last wishes. He desired to 
 see his brother William or his miclc 
 Lord Henry ; at least to take his last 
 leave of them before his death; but 
 neither was that small request granted 
 — no, not so much as to see his broth- 
 er Thomas, though both then and ever 
 he had been a Psotestant. And all 
 this misery was the fruit of one stern, 
 cruel, unbending hatred — of one 
 proud human wdll ; a will which was 
 sundering what God had joined to- 
 gether. Like a bird against the bars 
 of an iron cage, my poor heart dasli 
 ed itself with wild throbbings against 
 these human obstacles. But not for 
 very long, I thank God; brief was 
 the storm which convulsed my soul. 
 I soon discerned his hand in this great 
 trial — his will above all human will ; 
 and while w^rithing under a Father's 
 merciful scourge, I could yet bless 
 hhn who held it. I pray you, Con- 
 stance, how should a woman have en- 
 dured so great an anguish which had 
 not been helped by him? Methinks 
 what must have sustained me was 
 that before-mentioned gentleman's re- 
 port of my dear lord's great piety and 
 virtue, wdiich made me ashamed of 
 not striving to resemble him in howso- 
 ever small a degree. Oh, w^hat a 
 v/ork God wrought in that chosen 
 soul! What meekness, what humil- 
 ity, what nobleness of heart! He 
 grew so faint and weak by degi-ecs 
 that he was not able to leave his bed. 
 His physicians coming to visit him 
 some days before his death, he desired 
 
2 72 
 
 C(yiistanc€ Saorwood. 
 
 them not to trouble themselves nov/ 
 any more, his case being beyond their 
 skill. They thereupon departing, Sir 
 Miehael Blount, then lieutenant of the 
 Tower, Avho had been ever very hard 
 and harsh unto him, took occasion to 
 come and visit him, and, kneeling down 
 by his bedside, in humble manner de- 
 sired my dear Phil to forgive him. 
 Whereto mine own beloved husband 
 answered in this manner, ' Do you 
 ask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? 
 Why, then, I forgive you in the same 
 sort as I desire myself to be forgiven at 
 the hands of God ;' and then kissed his 
 liand, and offered it in most kind 
 and charitable manner to him, and 
 holding his fast in his own said, 'I 
 pray you also to forgive me whatever 
 I have said or done in anything offen- 
 sive to you,' and he melting into tears 
 and answering 'that he forgave him 
 \nt\\ all his heart;' my lord raised 
 liimself a little upon his pillow, and 
 made a brief, grave speech unto the 
 lieutenant in this manner : ' Mr. Lieu- 
 tenant, you have showed both me and 
 ray men very hard measure.' ' Where- 
 in, my lord?' quoth ho. ' Nay,' said 
 my lord, ' I will not make a recapitu- 
 lation of anything, for it is all freely 
 ibrgiven. Only I am to say unto you 
 a few words of my last will, which be- 
 ing observed, may, by the grace of 
 God, turn much to your benefit and 
 reputation. I speak not for myself; 
 ibr God of his goodness hath taken or- 
 der that I shall be delivered very 
 shortly out of your charge ; only for 
 others I speak who may be committed 
 to this place. You must think, Mr. Lieu- 
 tenant, that wdien a prisoner comes 
 hither to this Tower that he bringeth 
 sorrow with him. Oh, then do not 
 add affliction to affliction ; there is no 
 man whatsoever that thinketh himself 
 to stand surest but may fall. It is a 
 very inhuman part to tread on him 
 whom misfortune hath cast down. 
 The man that is void of mercy God 
 hath in great detestation. Your com- 
 mission is only to keep in safety, not 
 to kill with severity. Remember, 
 good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who 
 
 Aviih his finger turneth the unstable 
 wheel of this variable world, can in 
 the revolution of a few days bring 
 you to be a prisoner also, and to be 
 kept in the same place where now yon 
 keep others. There is no calamity 
 that men are subject unto but you 
 may also taste as vrell as any other 
 man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant ; for 
 the time of my short abode come to 
 me whenever you please, and you 
 shall be heartily welcome as my 
 friend.' My dear lord, when he utter- 
 ed these words, should seem to have 
 had some kind of prophetic foresight 
 touching this poor man's fate; for I 
 have just heard this day, seven weeks 
 only after my husband's death, that 
 Sir Michael Blount hath iallen into 
 great disgrace, lost his office, and is 
 indeed committed close prisoner in 
 that same Tower where he so long 
 kept others. 
 
 " And now my faltering pen must 
 needs transcribe the last letter I receiv- 
 ed from my beloved husband, ibr your 
 heart, dear friend, is one wdth mine. 
 You have known its sufferings through 
 the many years evil influences robbed 
 it of that love which, for brief inter- 
 vals of happiness afterward and this 
 long separation since, hath, by its 
 steady and constant return, made so 
 rich amends for the past. In these 
 final words you shall find proofs of his 
 excellent^humility and notable affec- 
 tion for my unworthy self, which I 
 doubt not, my dear Constance, shall 
 draw water from your eyes. Mine 
 yield no moisture now. Methinks 
 these last griefs have exhausted in 
 them the fountain of tears. 
 
 '• ' Mine own good wife, I must now 
 in this world take my last farewell of 
 you ; and as I know no person living 
 whom I have so much offended as 
 •yourself, so do I account this opportu- 
 nity of asking your .forgiveness as a 
 singular benefit of Almighty God. And 
 I most humbly and heartily beseech 
 you, even for his sake . and of your 
 charity, to forgive me all whereinso- 
 ever I have offended you ; and the as- 
 surance I have of this your forgive- 
 
Constance Sherwood. 
 
 273 
 
 ness is my greatest contentment at this 
 present, and will be a greater, I doubt 
 not, wlien my soul is ready to depart 
 out of my body. I call God to wit- 
 ness it is no small grief unto me triat I 
 cannot make you recompense in this 
 world for the wrongs I have done you. 
 Affliction gives understanding. God, 
 who knows my heart, and has seen 
 my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I 
 hope, of his infinite mercy, remitted 
 all, I doubt not, as you have done in 
 your singular charity, to mine infinite 
 comfort.' 
 
 " Now what remaineth but in a few 
 brief sentences to relate how this loved 
 husband spent his last hours, and the 
 manner of his death? Those were for the 
 most part spent in prayer ; sometimes 
 saying his beads, sometimes such 
 psalms and prayers as he knew by 
 heart. Seeing his servants (one of 
 which hath been the narrator to me of 
 these his final moments) stand by his 
 bedside in the morning weeping in a 
 mournful manner, he asked them 
 ' what o'clock it was ?' they answering 
 that it was eight or thereabout, * Why, 
 then,' said he, ' I have almost run out 
 my course, and come to the end of this 
 miserable mortal life,' desiring them 
 not to weep for him, since he did not 
 doubt, by the grace of God, but all 
 would go well with him ; which being 
 said he returned to his prayers upon 
 his beads again, though then with a 
 very slow, hollow, and fainting voice ; 
 and so continued as long as he was 
 able to draw so much breath as was 
 sufficient to sound out the names of 
 Jesus and Mary, which were the last 
 words he was ever heard to speak. 
 The last minute of his last hour being 
 come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly 
 fixed toward heaven, his long, lean, 
 consumed arms out of the bed, his 
 hands upon his breast, laid in cross 
 one upon the other, about twelve 
 o'clock at noon, in a most sweet man- 
 ner, without any sign of grief or 
 groan, only turning his head a little 
 aside as one falling into a pleasing 
 sleep, he surrendered his soul into the 
 hands of God who to his OAvn glory 
 
 had created it. And she who writeth 
 this letter, she. who loved him since 
 her most early years — who when he 
 was estranged from her waited his re- 
 turn — who gloried in his virtues, 
 doated on his perfections, endured his 
 afflictions, and now lamenteth his 
 death, hath nothing left but to live a 
 widow ; indeed with no other glory 
 than that which she doth borrow from 
 his merits, until such time as it ghall 
 please God to take her from this earth 
 to a world where he hath found, she 
 doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul." 
 
 The Countess of Arundel is now 
 aged. The virtues which have crown- 
 ed her mature years are such as her 
 youth did foreshadow. My pen would 
 run on too fast if it took up that 
 theme. This only will I add, and so 
 conclude this too long piece of writ- 
 ing — she hath kept her constant re- 
 solve to live and die a widow. I have 
 seen many times letters from both 
 Protestants and Catholics which made 
 unfeigned protestations that they were 
 never so edified by any as by her. 
 As the Holy Scriptures do say of that 
 noble widoAv Judith, "Not one spoke 
 an ill word of her," albeit these times 
 are extremely malicious. For mine 
 own part I never read those words of 
 Holy Writ, " Who shall find a valiant 
 woman ?" and what doth follow, but I 
 must needs think of Ann Dacre, the 
 wife of Philip Howard, earl of Arun- 
 del and Surrey. 
 
 After the lapse of some years, it 
 hath been my hap to have a sight of 
 this manuscript, the reading of which, 
 even as the writing of it in former 
 days, doth cause me to live over again 
 my past life. This lapse of time hath 
 added nothing notable except the 
 dreadful death of Hubert, my dear 
 Basil's only brother, who suffered last 
 year for the share he had, or leastways 
 was judged to have, in the Gunpowder 
 Plot and treason. Alas ! he which 
 once, to improve his fortunes, denied 
 his faith, when fortune turned her back 
 
274 
 
 Constance Sherwood. 
 
 upon him grew Into a virulent hatred 
 of* those in power, once his friends and 
 tempters, and consorted with despe- 
 rate men; whether he was privy to 
 their counsels, or only familiar with 
 them previous to their crimes, and so 
 fell into suspicion of their guilt, God 
 knoweth. It doth appear from some 
 good reports that he died a true pen- 
 itent. There is a better hope me- 
 thinks for such as meet in this world 
 with open shame and suffering than 
 for secret sinners who go to their 
 pompous graves unchastised and un- 
 absolved. 
 
 By his brother's death Basil re- 
 covered his lands ; for his present 
 majesty hath some time smce recalled 
 the sentence of his banishment. And 
 many of his friends have moved him 
 to return to England; but for more 
 reasons than one he refused so much 
 as to think of it, and has compounded 
 his estate for £700, 8s. 6d. 
 
 Our children have now grown unto 
 ripe years. Muriel (who would have 
 been a nun if she had followed her 
 godmother's example) is now married, 
 to her own liking and our no small 
 contentment, to a very commendable 
 
 young gentleman, the son of Mi 
 Yates, and hath gone to reside with 
 him at his seat in Worcestershire ; 
 and Ann, Lady Arundel's god-daugh- 
 ter, nothing will serve but to be a 
 " holy Mary," as the French people 
 do style those dames which that great 
 and good prelate, M. de Geneve, hath 
 assembled in a small hive at Annecy, 
 like bees to gather honey of devotion 
 in the garden of religion. This should 
 seem a strange fancy, this order being 
 so new in the Church, and the place 
 so distant ; but time will show if this 
 should be God's will ; and if so, then 
 it must needs be ours also. 
 
 What liketh me most is that my son 
 Roger doth prove the very image of 
 his father, and the counterpart of him 
 in his goodness. I am of opinion that 
 nothing better can be desired for him 
 than that he never lose so good a 
 likeness. 
 
 And now farewell, pen and ink, 
 mine old companions, for a brief mo- 
 ment resumed, but with a less steady 
 hand than heretofore ; now not to be 
 again used except for such ordinary 
 purposes as housewifery and friend- 
 ship shall require. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1. Chaucer has described the Feast of May in 
 the following verses : 
 
 " — Forth goth all the court, both most and lest. 
 To fetch the floures fresh, and braunch and 
 
 blome; 
 And, namely, hawthorne brought both page and 
 
 grome, 
 And then rejoysen in their great delite. 
 Eke at each other threw the floures bright, 
 The primerose. the violete, and the gold. 
 With fresh garlands, party blew aiia white." 
 
 Court of Love. 
 
 Philip Stubbs, the Puritan, denounces the May 
 Day Festival in no measured language. 
 
 "Against May Day every parish, town, or vil- 
 lage, assemble themselves, both men, women, 
 and children, and go, some to the woods and 
 groves, some to hills and mountains, some to one 
 place, some to another, where they spend all the 
 night in pleasant pastimes, and in the morning 
 they return, bringing with them birchen boughs 
 and branches of trees to deck their assemblies 
 withal. But the chiefest jewel they bring from 
 thence is the may-pole, their idol rather, which 
 they bring home with great veneration, and cover 
 it with flowers and herbs, bound round with 
 string from the top to the bottom, and sometimes 
 it is painted with variable colours, and hundreds 
 of men, women, and children follow it with great 
 devotion. And thus equipped it was reared with 
 flags streaming on the top ; they strewe the 
 ground round about it, they bind green boughs 
 about it, they set up summer halls, bowers, and 
 arbours hard byit. and then fall they to banqueting 
 and feasting, to leaping and dancing about it, as 
 the heathen people did at the dedication of their 
 idol."—*' Anatomy of Abuses." 
 
 2. A custom prevailed in England during the 
 eixteenth century of presenting children \?ith 
 eggs stained with various colors in boiling, term- 
 ed paste, or properly pasche, eggs. This obser- 
 vance appears to have arisen from the idea that 
 eggs were an emblem of the resurrection. In the 
 ritual of Pope Paul the Fifth, composed for the 
 use of England, Scotland, and Ireland, there is a 
 prayer for the consecration of eggs, in which the 
 faithful servants of the Lord are directed to eat 
 his creature of eggs in remembrance of the Resur- 
 rection. On this custom Mr. Brand has observed 
 that, "If the resurrection of the body had been a 
 tenet of the faith of the ancient Egyptians, they 
 would have thought an egg no inappropriate 
 bieroglyphical representation of it. The exclusion 
 of a living creature by incubation after the vital 
 princlpe has lain a long while dormant or ex- 
 tinct is a process so truly marvellous, that, if it 
 could be disbelieved, would bo thought by sonfte 
 a thing as incredible, as that the Author of life 
 should be able to reanimate the dead." So pre- 
 valent was the custom of egg-giving at Easter, 
 that it forms the basis of an old English proverb, 
 "ru warrant yon for an egg at Easter." — " Shake- 
 speare and his Times." 
 
 3. Lady Mounteagle.— This lady was daughter 
 of one Mr. Preston, a gentleman of note in Lan- 
 cashire, and was married first to Sir James La- 
 bourn, by whom she had two daughters, the 
 i-econd of which married, first, Thomas, Lord 
 Dacre of the North, and afterwards Thomas 
 Uoward. Duke of Norfolk. Her daughters per- 
 ceiving the great prudence and care she had used 
 
 in the education of themselves, prevailed with 
 her to undertake also the education of the'r 
 daughters, which she performed with such dili- 
 
 fence and discretion, that though they Avero 
 ut young when she died, yet they received so 
 much good from that short education, that they 
 enjoyed great advantages by it all their lifetime. 
 — "The Life of the Lady Anne, Countess of 
 Arundel and Surrey," published by the late Duke 
 of Norfolk, from a manuscript at Norfolk House. 
 
 4. Mr. James Labourn.— This gentleman was a 
 son of Sir James Labourn and of the above-men- 
 tioned Lady Mounteagle. In the year 1583 ho 
 was hanged, drawn, and quartered at Lancaster, 
 for denying the Queen's supremacy. "And 
 touching the said Labourn, we have given order 
 to her Majesty's Council to consider now far the 
 law will reach unto him for his lewd and sediti- 
 ous speeches uttered against her Majesty and the 
 state of Government, The insolence and dis- 
 obedience of him and others in those parts doih 
 seem much to increase, which requireth a dili- 
 gent care to be had of their doings." — The Lords 
 and others of the Council to Lord Derby, etc. 
 
 5. The Duke of Norfolk.— Thomas Howard, 
 fourth Luke of Norfolk, born March 19, 1536, 
 succeeded his grandfather in the dukedom in 
 1554, was arraigned on charge of treason January 
 16, 1572, and beheaded on Tower Hill the second 
 of June following. 
 
 6. "Nurse told me I was to marry my Lord 
 William, and Madge my Lord Thomas, and tht-e. 
 Nan, my Lord Surrey, and brother, pretty Meg 
 Howard." 
 
 " She (the third Duchess of Norfolk, widow of 
 the Lord Dacre of the North) having one son and 
 three daughters, the duke intended to have mar- 
 ried his daughter, the Lady Margaret, to the 
 young Lord Dacre, and his three sons to her three 
 daughters, but Lord Dacre was accidentally 
 killed by the fall of a vaulting-horse at Thetford, 
 and his sister Mary died in her childhood. The 
 two other marriages took place,' — " Life of the 
 Earl of Arundel and Surrey," 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1. Sir Thomas More. — Some of his sayings de- 
 scriptive of his mode of lile.— From "The Life 
 and Death of the Most Illustrious Sir Thomss 
 More, Lord High Chancellor of England." By 
 Thomas Roper, Esq., p. 82, 
 
 2. The fashion in which Christmas was kept 
 in a Catholic houstSiold in the sixteenth century. 
 — From "The Life of Mrs. Dorothy Lawson," 
 published by her descendant, Sir William Law- 
 son, Bart, 
 
 3. Death of the Duchess of Norfolk (widow of 
 Lord Dacre of the Norih).— ' Life of the Countess 
 of Arundel." 
 
 4. Mr. Martin. — "Life of Lord Arundel," p. ',;. 
 
 5. Mrs, Fawcett.— Ditto, p. 8. 
 
 G. The King of Spain, Lord Arundel's godfa- 
 ther.— "He was baptized a few days after his 
 birth in the chapel of the Queen's palace at, 
 Whitehall, the King, Queen, and all the principal 
 persons of the Court being there present. His 
 godfathers were the King Philip himself, of whom 
 he received his riame; and his grandfather, the 
 Earl of Arundel."— Ditto, p. 5. 
 
 "It happened that the Earl in his discourses 
 did sometimes manifest much aflfection to the 
 King of .Spain, not only in regard of the obliga- 
 tion and duty he bore unto him as being his god- 
 
2'j6 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 father, but also because in these times he was a 
 chief maintainer aud defender of the Catholic re- 
 ligion."' — "Life of Lord Arundel," p. 81. 
 
 I. Marriage; o--, Public Betrothal of Lord Sur- 
 rey. — " As soon as he (Lord Surrey) came to the 
 age of twelve years complete, he was, by the ap- 
 pointment of his father and his own free consent, 
 publicly married or betrothed to Mrs. Ann Dacre, 
 eldest daughter and heir of the Lord Dacre of the 
 North."— Ditto, p. 10. 
 
 8. Lord Surrey's good memory. — Ditto, p. 127. 
 
 9. Henry Jjitzallau, last Karl of Arundel of that 
 name.—"' He feared God, did good to many, and 
 Avas not the harmer of any. ... He was in 
 mind of the noblest sort, rather to be wished for 
 in a king than to be found in almost any subject ; 
 aud yet ordered in such manner as both his 
 humour in that regard was bountifully supplied, 
 and such as he left for heirs nobly remembered." 
 — "Manuscript Life of Henry*, Earl of Arundel, 
 written by his Chaplain." In the British Museum. 
 
 10. Mary, Duchess of Norfolk.— Her virtues 
 and accomplishments. — " Life of the Earl of 
 Arundel," p. 2. 
 
 II. According to Bishop Goodqjati, Leicester 
 never forgot the box on the ear which Norfolk 
 had once bestowed on him. — "Life of Queen 
 Elizabeth," by Miss A. Strickland, p. 292. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1. Mrs. Marga:«;t Clithero.— " On the 25th of 
 March of this or the foregoing year (1586), Mrs. 
 Margaret Clithero, whose maiden name was 
 Middleton, a gentlev^oman of good family in 
 Yorkshire, was pressed to death at York. She 
 was prosecuted under the violent persecution 
 raised at that time by the Earl of Huntingdon, 
 Lord President of the North. The offence she 
 was charged with was relieving and harbouring 
 jiriests. She refused to plead, that she might not 
 bring others into danger by her conviction, or be 
 accessary to the jurymen's sins in condemning 
 I he innocent. Aud therefore, as the law ap- 
 points in fcuch cases, she was pressed to death. 
 She bore this cruel torment with invincible 
 patience, often repeating on the way to execu- 
 tion that ' thi^ way to heaven was as short as any 
 t»ther.' Her husband was forced into banish- 
 ment. Her little children, who wept and la- 
 mented for their mother, were taken up, and 
 being questioned touching their religion, and 
 answering as they had been taught by her, were 
 severely whipped, and the eldest, who was but 
 twelve years old, was cast into prison. Mrs. 
 Clithero's life was written by the reverend and 
 learned Mr. John Mush, her director, who, alter 
 many years labouring in the English Mission 
 with great fruit, after having suffered prisons 
 and chains, and even received the sentence of hia 
 death for his faith, was reprieved, and died in 
 his bed, in a good old age, in 1617."— "Memoirs 
 of Missionary Priests," by the Right Rev. Rich- 
 ard Challoner. 
 
 2. Queen Elizabeth's Warning to the Duke of 
 Norfolk.—" Before her Highness came to Thorn- 
 ham, she commanded me to sit down, most un- 
 worthy, at her Highness's board, where, at the 
 end of dinner, her Majesty gave me a nip, saying, 
 ' that she would wish me to take good heed to 
 my pillow.'" — "The Duke of Norfolk's Con- 
 fession, State Papers, MSS." 
 
 3. Lines by Queen Elizabeth.— Tradition affirms 
 that Queen Elizabeth wrote these linep, when a 
 prisoner in her Bister's lifetime, on a shutter, 
 with a piece of charcoal. This piece of poetry 
 ends with the not very Christian wish, " So God 
 tend to my foes all they have brought." 
 
 4. Palamon and Arcites— Play acted before 
 Queen Elizabeth at Oxford.— The author of this 
 play was Richard Edward3,ma8ter of the children 
 v.f her Majesty's Chapel Royal. 
 
 5. Henry Lord Arundel's Dislike to Foreign 
 Languages.- "Tell the prince that I like to speak 
 in that language in which I can best utter my 
 mind and not mistake."-" Munuscript Life ol 
 Henry, Earl of Arundel, at Norfolk House." 
 
 6. The Queen's Visit to Oxford — " There boys 
 in very truth are ready to leap out of the win- 
 dows."— Anthony a Wood, " Aih. Ox." 
 
 7. The Queen's Impatience at Dr. Westpha- 
 ling's Oration.— Harrington's " Nugie Antiqme." 
 
 8. Torture ordered to be used bj' Queen Eliza- 
 beth.— "If they shall not seem to confess to you 
 plainly their knowledge, then we warrant you to 
 cause them both, or either of them, to be brought 
 to the rack, and first to move them, with lear 
 thereof, to deal plainly in their answers; and if 
 that shall not move them, to give them the taste 
 thereof until they shall deal more plainly, or 
 until you shall think meet." The comment on 
 this royal order is contained in a letter from Sir 
 Thomas Smith to Lord Burleigh: "I suppose 
 we have gotten so much at this lime as is likely 
 to be had, yet to-morrow we do intend to bring 
 a couple of them to the rack, not in any hope to 
 get anything worth that pain and fear, but be- 
 cause it is so earnestly commanded to us."— 
 "Letter of Warrant addressed to Sir Thomas 
 Smith and Dr. Wilson," MS. Cotton. Calig. c. 
 iii. fol. 229. 
 
 9. Since I be titled Countess of Surrey, Bess 
 must needs be styled My Lady William Howard. 
 —•'Lord William Howard and Mistress Eliza- 
 beth Dacre were nearly of the same age, were 
 brought up together, and destined for each other 
 from early life. Their mutual affection appears 
 to have been most sincere and persevering, and 
 they died within one year of each other, he at 
 the age of seventy-seven, she in her seventy-fifth 
 year. They were married when about fourteen. 
 During the long period of their lives his atten- 
 tion to her seems not ever to have varied or 
 abated. In his accounts there are a number of 
 presents to her, even to decorate her person at an 
 advanced age, and he had her picture taken when 
 she was seventy- three years of age, by the best 
 painter then known. To judge from her por- 
 traits, though she was not so regular a beauty as 
 her sister, the Countess of Arundel, she may yet 
 be deented handsome, and her countenance is 
 sprightly and intelligent." — " Memorials of the 
 Howards." 
 
 10. Lady Westmoreland.—" Jane, Countess of 
 Westmoreland, the eldest daughter of Henry, 
 Earl of Surrey, a lady of great virtue and acquire- 
 ments, accompanied with such gentle feminine 
 manners, sense, and aftectionate love of her 
 family and her duties, that had her father lavished 
 on her all the praise of the imaginary Geraldine, 
 he could scarce have made her more interesting 
 than what has been written of her by Robert 
 Constable, the vile betrayer of the Earl of West- 
 moreland. - He, availing himself of the earl's con- 
 fidence, obtained his signet as an introduction to 
 his lady with an intent to make her unwittingly 
 an assistant in the snare he had laid for the ruin 
 and death of her husband. When the insurrec- 
 tion in which the Earls of Northumberland and 
 Westmoreland and many other noblemen had en- 
 gaged came to an untimely end, and a meeting 
 of those concerned in it brake up, and each man 
 departed, providing for himself, my Lady 
 Westmoreland, hearing that conclusion, wept 
 bitterly, and said, 'We and our country are 
 shamed for ever, that now in the end we should 
 seek holes to creep into.' "— " Memorials of the 
 Howards." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Treatment of recusants with regard to the 
 searching of their houses. 
 
 "In the year 1575, in the month of %ine, Ihc 
 Bishop of Exeter being in his visitation to Truro, 
 was requested by Mr. Greenfield, the slifrift' of 
 the county, and other busy men, to aid and assist 
 them to search Mr. Tregian's house, where Mr. 
 Maine did lie. Alter some deliberation, it was 
 concluded that the shcrift'and tlio bishop's chan- 
 cellor, with divers gentlemen and their servants, 
 should take the matter in hand. As soon as 
 they came to Mr. Tregian's house, the sheriff 
 first spoke to him, saying that he and his com- 
 
Appendix, 
 
 277 
 
 pany were come to search for one Mr. Bourne, 
 who had committed a fault in London, and so 
 fled into Cornwall, and was in his house, as he 
 was informed. Mr. Tregian answering that lie 
 was not there, and further telling him that to 
 have his house searched he thought it great dis- 
 courtesy, for that he was a gentleman, and that 
 they had no commission from the Queen ; the 
 sheriff ewore by all the oaths he could devise 
 that he would search his house, or else that he 
 would kill or be killed, holding his hand upon 
 his dagger. This violence being used, he had 
 leave to search the house. The first place they 
 went to was Mr. Maine's chamber,, which being 
 fast shut, they bounced and beat at the door. 
 Mr. Maine came and opened it (being before in 
 the garden, where he might have gone from them). 
 As soon as the sheriff came into the chamber, he 
 took Mr. Maine by the bosom, and said to him, 
 • What art thou V ' A man,' he answered. Where- 
 at the sheriff asked if he had a coat of mail under 
 his doublet, and so unbuttoned it, and found an 
 AgQus Dei case about his neck, which he took 
 from him, and called him traitor, rebel, and 
 many other opprobrious names. They carried 
 him, his books, papers, and letters to the bishop, 
 and thence from one gentleman's house to an- 
 other, till he came to Launceston, where he was 
 cruelly imprisoned, being chained to his bed- 
 posts, with a pair of great gyves above his legs, 
 and strict command given that no man should re- 
 
 Jair to him. Thus he remained in prison from 
 une to Michaelmas, at which time the judges 
 came their circuit." — Challoner's ''Records of 
 Missionary Priests." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1. Lady Mounteagle's Death. — "Life of the 
 Countess of Arundel and Surrey, p. 171. 
 
 2. Bees, their delight in aweet music. — This 
 singular fact (?) and the description of what the 
 author calls a little commonwealth of nature, are 
 taken from "Euphues," a novel of the sixteenth 
 century.- 
 
 3. The Lady Godiva— The Pageants of Coventry 
 —Their Celebrity.— '• Even that class of anti- 
 quaries who so much delight in destroying for 
 other people the enjoyments they cannot appre- 
 ciate themselves, have been unable with all their 
 researches to do more with the story of the Lady 
 Godiva than confiim it. On^e undeniable evi- 
 dence is as good as a thousand ; such a one la 
 furnished by the inscription that formerly existed 
 in a window at Coventry, set up in the reign of 
 Richard II. Thus it ran : 
 
 I, Luriche, for the love of thee, 
 Do make Coventry toll free. 
 Pageants were carried to a higher pitch of 
 splendour in Coventry than in any other part of 
 England, unless the Chester plays may be con- 
 sidered an exception. The king and Royal 
 family, the nobles and chief ecclesiastical digni- 
 taries of England, were usually present, with a 
 host of strangers from different parts of the king- 
 dom."—" Old England," vol. i. 
 
 6. Mr. Weston, a religious priest of the Society 
 of Jesus, well known iu England by the name of 
 Father Edmond. He suffered seventeen years' 
 imprisonment in the Tower of London, Wisbeach, 
 and other places, for the profession of the Catho- 
 lic religion, 
 
 7. Lord Morley.— June 8, 1570, Bruges. Harry, 
 Lord Morley, to the Queen. Beseeches her not 
 to entertain any doubt of his loyalty on account 
 of his leaving the kingdom. He knows the 
 malice of the Lord Keeper and Mr. Secretary 
 against him. Solicits permission for his wile 
 and children to join him.— State Papers. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1. The scent of Roses from the Bishop's Gar- 
 den.— When the Bishop of Ely, at the Queen's 
 command, surrendered the gate-house of his 
 palace, and several acres of laud (now Hattou 
 
 Garden), he reserved to himself and his succes- 
 sors the right of access through the gatehouse, ol 
 walking in the garden, and leave to gather twenty 
 bushels of roses yearly therein. 
 
 2. Mr. Swithin Wells.— He was the sixth son ol 
 Thomas Wells, of Brambridge, near Winchester. 
 The particulars of his life and of his death are 
 taken from the " Life of Edmund Gening.-," und 
 a manuscript history by Dr. Champney. 
 
 3. Richmondshire.— Order for executions after 
 the rising in the North. The Earl of Sussex t > 
 Sir George Bowes. 
 
 " Sir Gborgb Bowes,- I have set the numbers 
 to be executed in every town, as I did in yoiir 
 other book which draweth near to two hundred : 
 wherein you may use your discretion in taking 
 more or less in every town, as you shall see jusr, 
 cause for the offences, and fitness for example ; 
 so as in the whole you pass not of all kind of 
 such the number of two hundred, amongst whom 
 you may not execute any that hath freeholds, or 
 noted wealthy, for so is the Queen's Majesty's 
 pleasure. By her special commandment, 10th of 
 January, 1569." 
 
 4. Lady Mary Howard.—" Lady Mary Howard, 
 her Majesty's near relative, and the Court beauty 
 withal, was the envied possessor of the rich 
 velvet kirtlewith the costly border, which Eliza- 
 beth had taken a whimsical method of admonish- 
 ing her not to wear any more." — "Life of Queen 
 Elizabeth," p. 611. 
 
 5. Pecora Campi.— " Queen Elizabeth gave Sir 
 Christopher Haiton various pet names, such as 
 'her sheep,' 'her mutton,' 'her belwether,' her 
 ' Pecora Campi,' and her ' lids,' meaning eyelids, 
 to which she occasionally added the flattering 
 appellation of her " sweet lids.' He was indebt- 
 ed for his good fortune to his fine person, insinu- 
 ating manners, and graceful dancing." — " Life of 
 Queen Elizabeth," p. 312. 
 
 6. Queen Elizabeth's Letter to the Bishop of 
 Ely.— "Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 314. 
 
 7. The Reason of the Queen's Aversion to the 
 Bishop of Ely.— It was this Bishop of Ely who re- 
 monstrated ' with Elizabeth for retaining the 
 crucifix and lighted tapers in her chapel, for 
 which she never forgave him." — "Life of Queen 
 Elizabeth," p. 314. 
 
 9. Renewal of the Marriage Contract of Lord 
 and Lady Surrey.— "Life of Lord Arundel," 
 p. 10. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1. Hl-treatraent of a Prisoner. — Mr. John 
 Cooper, a hopeful young man of a good family, 
 designing to leave England for the sake of his 
 religion, and to follow his studies abroad, was 
 stopped at the sea-side, sent back to London, 
 and committed close prisoner to the Beacham 
 Tower. Here, partly through hunger and cold, 
 he became delirious. This being told to the 
 Lieutenant of the Tower, he ordered his bed to be 
 taken away, which some friends had sent him in, 
 that he might lie for the future on the bare floor, 
 which addition to his former sufferings brought 
 him quickly to his end ; and for a token that he 
 perished through barbarous usage, when they 
 pulled off his slippers, in order to bury him, his 
 flesh stuck to them, and came off by pieces from 
 the bones. — Dr. Bridgewater's " Concertatio 
 Ecclesiae Catholicag." 
 
 2. M. de la Motte Fenelon. — The French 
 Queen's dwarfs. — " Queen Elizabeth's Life," by 
 Miss A. Strickland, p. 409. 
 
 3. Mrs. Arundell, Maid of Honor.— The Queen's 
 treatment of her with regard to her marriaoje.— 
 "Queen Elizabeth's Life," by Miss Strickland, 
 p. 412. 
 
 4. Edmund Genings becomes page to a Catho- 
 lic gentleman. — "Life of Edmund Genings, by 
 his Brother. 
 
 5. Mr. Hart. — Mr. Hart was born in the city of 
 Wells, in Somersetshire; was brought up at Ox- 
 ford ; thence passed over to Douay, and after- 
 wards to the English College at Rome ; was made 
 priest there, and sent on the English Mission. 
 
2/8 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 After gome years he was arrested at York, tried, 
 and executed in that city in 1582. " This Mr. 
 Hart was hanged, drawn, and quartered, lor 
 being a Eomish priest." — Wood's 'Athecse 
 Oxon.,"p. 214. 
 
 fi. Eliot.— George Eliot belonged to a respect- 
 able Catholic family. For several years he was a 
 ."crvaut To Mr. Thomas Roper, grandson of bir 
 '1 homas More. Having committed a grave offence 
 ;ig>*in=t morality, he left his master. Mr. Paine, 
 ;i priest, whom he applied to in London, having 
 reiused to marry him under forbidden conditions 
 t 1 ilie person he had seduced, he went straight 
 t ) the Secretary of State, Sir Francis Walsiug- 
 iiam. declared himself a convert to Protestantism, 
 and offered to turn to the account of the Govern- 
 ment his knowledge of recusants' houses and bis 
 supposed Catholicity. By means of his acquaint- 
 anceship with the cook atLyford House, the scat 
 of Mr. Yates, then imprisoned in London for 
 Popish contumacy, he managed to obtain admis- 
 sion into the chapel, on pretext that it Avas Sun- 
 day, and that he wished to fulfil the obligation of 
 hearing Mass. The cook, who had been a fellow- 
 servant of his at Mr. Roper's, never for a moment 
 called his sincerity into question, and told him, 
 which Eliot did not know for certain, that 
 Father Campion M'as in the house, and that he 
 was in luck, lor he would hear him preach after 
 Mass. Elio; went into the chapel, and attended 
 the service Avith the Queen's Avarrant in his 
 pocket, was seen to shed tears during Father 
 Campion's eloquent sermon, in Avhichhe patheti- 
 cally described the sufferings of Catholics, and 
 the dangers perpetually hanging i^ver their heads. 
 Before the congregation, composed of eighty 
 persons, Avithdrew from the chapel, Eliot disap- 
 peared, and soon returned Avith an armed force, 
 Avhich narrowly searched the house. Twice in 
 vain, but the third time, Avhen the Queen's offi- 
 cers and Eliot Averc about to retire in despair, 
 the latter accidentally struck one of the Avails as 
 he passed with an iron bar he held in his hand. 
 'J'he hollow sound the bloAv produced revealed 
 the osi:-tence of the priest's hiding-place. Orders 
 AVtre given to puil doAvn the Avail, and Father 
 (^'ampion Avas arrested. hliot carried on his 
 nelaiious trade till, sinking into the loAvest 
 d(;pihs of infamy, he Avas scouted even by his 
 tinployers, and "died a miserable death in a 
 aruukeu iray. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1. Edmund Gcnings' success in a dangprous 
 enterprise.— " Life of E. Genings," by John 
 Genings. 
 
 2. Roland Jenks, the bookseller at Oxford. — 
 The folloAving curious account of the disease 
 which broke out immediately after the execution 
 of this man's sentence is given by Anthony Wood 
 in his "• History of the University of Oxford." 
 
 "It AA-as ordered in the Convocation held on 
 the Ist of May, 1577, that the criminal, Roland 
 Jenks, should immedia^^ely be apprehended and 
 examined before the Chancellor of the University 
 and the Queen's Council. In the meantime, all 
 his goods Avere seized, and in his house Avere 
 lound bull." of Popes and libe s reflecting on her 
 Majesty, He Avas brought to the ))ar at Oxford, 
 and Avas arraigned lor high crimes and misde- 
 meanours, and being found guilty, Avas condemn- 
 ed by a sentence in some manner C7;vi^rt/. for he 
 was to lose his ears. At Avhich time (althougli 
 my soul dreads almost to relate it) so sudden a 
 plague inA-aded the men that were present ('he 
 great crowd of people, the violeit heat of the 
 i^ummer, and the great stench of the prisoners all 
 C'Mippiring together, and perhaps also a poison- 
 uiH exhalation breaking suddenly at the same 
 ti'ne out ol the earth), that you might say Death 
 itself sat on the bench, and by her dednitive sen- 
 tence put an end to all causes. For great num- 
 herrt immediately died upon the spot; others 
 hri uck Avith dtiath hastened out of ihe court as last 
 as they could, to die Avithin a few hon s. It may 
 uct be amiss to set dOAvn the names of the persona 
 
 of greatest note who Avrrc seized by that plague. 
 There were Sir Robert Bell, Chief Baron of the 
 Exchequer, and Nicholas Barham, Serjeant-at- 
 Law, both great enemies of the Popish religion, 
 which, perhaps, the Romanists Avill lay hold of as 
 an argument to their cause, but I desire them not 
 to search too narroAvly into the secret judgments 
 of God. Avhen Ave are at a loss to account even for 
 those things which are revealed in Holy Writ. 
 To the above-named must be added, Sir Robert 
 Daylcy, the High Sheriff of Oxford, Mr. Hart, his 
 deputy. Sir William Babington, Messrs. Dayley, 
 Wenman, Danvers, Petlyplace. and Harcourt, 
 justices of the peace ; Kirby, Green, Nash, and 
 Foster, gentlemen ; to whom are to be joined, to 
 say nothing of others, almost all the jurymen, Avho 
 died within tAvo days." 
 
 He adds out of the register of Merton College 
 the folloAving account olf the symptoms of this 
 strange disease. '• Some getting out of their bed, 
 agitated Avith I knoAV not what fury, from their 
 distemper and pain beat and drive from them 
 their keepers. Others run abotit the yards and 
 streets like madmen, others jump head foremost 
 into dt-ep waters. The sick labor AA'ith a most vio- 
 lent pain both of the head and stomach. They are 
 taken Avith a frenzy ; are deprived of their under- 
 standing, sight, hearing, and other senses. As the 
 dis''ase increases they take nothing — thej' get no 
 sleep. They suffernone to tend or keep them. They 
 are Avonderfully strong and robust cA'en in death 
 itself. Mo complexion or constitution is spared ; 
 but the choleric are more particularly attacked by 
 this evil, of Avhich the physicians can neither And 
 the cause nor cure. The stronger a person is the 
 sooner he dies. Women are not seized by it, 
 neither the poor, neither does anyone catch it 
 that takes care of the sick, or visits them. But as 
 this disease AA'as strangely violent, so it Avas but 
 of short continuance, for Avithin a month it was 
 over." The substance of this history may also be 
 found in Sir Wichard Bakers "Chronicle," and 
 in Fuller's " Church History," book ix., p. 109. 
 
 3. Mr. Churchyard.— The poet Churchyard Avas 
 an old retainer of the Norfolk family, and had a 
 peculiar taste and talent for the arrangement of 
 masks, festivals, and pageants. 
 
 4. Catherine, Lady Berkeley, Avas the second 
 daughter of Henry. Earl of murrey, and Sister of 
 Thomas, fourth IJuke of Norfolk. In Smythe's 
 "History of the Berkeley Family," she is thus 
 describpcl: "Of stature this lady was someAvhat 
 tall, of complexion lovely, both in the spring and 
 autumn of her life : her hair somewhat yellowish, 
 of pace the most steady and upright, of stomach 
 great and haughty, of great expense and bounty 
 beyond tlie means of continuance, of speech 
 passing eloquent and ready, Avhom in many 
 years 1 could never observe to misplace tr 
 even to recall one mistaken or mispronounced 
 word or syllable, and as ready and significant 
 with her pen : her iuA-ention as quick as her first 
 thoughts, and her Avords as ready as her inven- 
 vention ; skilful in the French, but perfect in the 
 Italian tongue. At the lute she played admirably, 
 and Avould often sin'j; thereto to the ravishment 
 of her hearers, so that her husband, her servants, 
 and three or four times myself have secretly 
 hearkened under her Avindow. In the first twenty 
 3 ears after hor marriage she Avas given to all man- 
 ner of delights beseeming her birth and calling; 
 but after the behcadii'g of the Duke of Norfolk, 
 her brother, and the frowns Avliich the State Go- 
 vernment had cast upon the rest of her dearest 
 kindred, with the harsh bcreavings. or rather 
 Avrestings, of her husband's possessions; then 
 groAvn toAvards thirty-eight or forty years, she 
 retired herself into her chamber and private 
 Avalks, gardcu, park, and other solitaries, not 
 ])ermiitiug any of her house to come nearer to 
 her than their appointed distances. In her elder 
 (lays she siave herself Avholly to the study of Na- 
 tural Ph'losophy and the Latin tongue." 
 
 5. Kdmuud Campion, born in London, educated 
 at Christ Church IIosi)it il,thc i sent to St John's 
 C;olU'ge, Oxl<ird. Avas 'vdained d(!.scoii by Richard 
 Chcuijy, Bishop of Gloucester, but soou utter bu- 
 
Appendix. 
 
 2/9 
 
 came a Catholic, partly moved thereunto by the 
 arguments and persuasions of Mr. Martin, who 
 had been tutor to Lord Surrey, travelled into Ire- 
 land, whence ho escaped in disguise, warned 
 to do so by the Viceroy himself, Sir Henry Syd- 
 ney. Ue secretly passed through London on hi3 
 way to Douay, where he resolved to become a 
 Jesuit, and went over to Rome. Thence he was 
 cent into Bohemia, where he was ordained priest, 
 and -abcred for seven years ; at the end -of that 
 time I'.e <£ame to England. For about thirteen 
 months ae exercised his ministry in London and 
 various parts of the country, was arrested at Ly- 
 ford. Mfc Yates's house, and thence brought to 
 theTowcr of London, where he suffered a cruel 
 imprisonment, and, a few months afterwards, 
 was executed at Ti-burn, 
 
 t). Burningof Anabaptists.— "Fox the Martyr- 
 ologist wrote an eloquent letter to Elizabeth, 
 imploring her not to sully the annals of her reign 
 and the practice of the Reformed Church by 
 burning for heterodoxy. His Intercession was 
 unavailing to save two wretched Dutch Anabap- 
 tists from the flames, who were burnt alive June 
 2:2d at Smithfield, and according to Stowe died 
 in great horror with roaring and crying." — Miss 
 A. Btrickland's "Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 
 418. 
 
 7. Dr. Cheney, Bishop of Gloucester, a Protes- 
 tant divine of learning, piety, and singular charm 
 of manners and conversation; charitable and 
 compassionate. A Lutheran in his creed, and a 
 determined opponent of the Puritan party. He 
 was Edmund Campion's ardent friend and patron, 
 until the latter, after receiving deacon's orders 
 from him, renounced the Anglican Church and 
 became a Catholic. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1. Edmund Genings' departure from England. 
 —His " Life," by John Genings, his brother. 
 
 2. The Dulie of Norfolk's imprisonment and 
 execution.— "Life of the Earl of Arundel"; 
 ••Biographies of the Earls of Arundel," by the 
 Rev. M. Tierney. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 1. Lord Surrey goes to Cambridge, and receives 
 no small detriment by the bad examples he has 
 there.— "Life of Lord Arundel and Surrey," p. 
 11. . 
 
 2. Fisher, Bishop of Rochester.— " Life and 
 Death of ihe renowned Juhn Ficher, Bishop of 
 Rochester," by Thomas Bayley, D.D., pp. 230 and 
 
 3. Lady Egerton of Ridley.— Sir Christopher 
 Hatton to Henry Stanley, Earl of Derby, and 
 William Chaderton, Bishop of Chester, in behalf 
 of the Lady Egerton of Ridley, that she may have 
 further liberty, and to put off her appearance be- 
 fore them till Michaelmas. 
 
 "My very good Lord =<,— Whereas the Lady 
 Egerton of Ridley standeth beundforher appear- 
 ance before your lordships to answer such matter 
 as she is charged with touching her dispositions 
 in religion ; I am credibly given to understand, 
 that albeit she hath not hitherto conformed her- 
 self to her Majesty's proceedings upon a certam 
 preciseness of conscience incident to divers of 
 her sex, without reason or measure oftentimes ; 
 yet in other respects she hath always showed 
 herself very dutiful and of good behaviour ; so far 
 forth as she continually entertaiueth a chaplain 
 in her house, who usually says the' service both 
 for her household and neighbours accoMing to her 
 Majesty's laws. 
 
 " I am further informed, the gentlewoman is 
 very aged and in very weak disposition of health ; 
 troubled oftentimes witli sundry infirmities ; the 
 which of late are much increased upon her. In 
 consideration whereof, I think her case rather to 
 be pitied, and that haply it may fall to better 
 purpose to seek to reduce her by a mild and gen- 
 tle course, than to endanger her health by im- 
 prisonment or other proceedings against her. 
 
 "I am therefore to recommend her to your 
 Lordships' favorable considerations, if in your 
 wisdom it may be thought convenient to be 
 pleased to give her a further time of toleration 
 until Michaelmas next, in hope that by such 
 convenient means as in that space may be 
 wrought, she may be brought to better cou- 
 formify. 
 
 " Wherein what course it shall please your 
 Lordships to take together with the gutiit of this 
 her humble request (wherein I aoi parnestJj- 
 pressed by special friends), I shall thick myseiV 
 much beholden to your Lordships. 
 
 " Your Lordships' poor friend, most assured. 
 "Cur. Hatton." 
 
 Sir Thomas Bromley, Lord Chancellor, writes 
 to the same effect : 
 
 " I understand that the Lady Egerton of Rid- 
 ley hath been convented before your Lordships 
 lor disobedience in causes of religion. I am soi- 
 ry that either through her own simplicity, or by 
 the malice of any secret practisers, she should be 
 thus misled and holden in blindness. I com- 
 mend her simplicity to your Lordships, and to 
 pray you to use some further toleration with her 
 until Michaelmas next. . . . I havealso writ- 
 ten unto her exhorting her to frame herself to 
 such conformity and dutiful obedience to her 
 Majesty's laws as becometh her. Wherein I 
 trust my words will work some good effect. ]f 
 it fall out otherwise (as I hope in God it will not), 
 then I wish the law should proceed against hei', 
 as appcrtaineth."— Peck's ''•Desiderata Curiosa," 
 pp. 123 and 13(J. 
 
 4. The impression made in London by the news 
 of the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and the 
 Queen's kindness to La Motte Fenelon.— "De- 
 pcches de la Motte Fenelon," p. 123. 
 
 5. Huguenot cruelties in France. — The fury of 
 the religious civil wars in France is well known. 
 The cruelties committed by Catholics have been 
 over and over asrain brought forward, but those 
 perpetrated by Huguenots are not so often men- 
 tioned. Yet the massacres in cold blood of Ca- 
 tholic prisoners, the burnings of churches, the 
 ravages and sacrileges committed in eveiy pro- 
 vince where they obtained the ascendancj% if 
 they are not so startling as the Massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew, were events of such frequent oc- 
 currence, that they go far to account for the 
 popular frenzy which seconded and exceeded the 
 orders of inhuman rulers. 
 
 On neither side in France were the horrors 
 committed as much the result of a deliberate sys- 
 tem of persecution as the fruits of a blind, vio- 
 lent party spirit, which often acted irrespectively 
 of all control. On both sides there was, on the 
 part of the more generous-minded and enlighten- 
 ed partisans, a disavowal of theae horrible deeds. 
 
 On the one hand, we find that, when the Baroii 
 des Adrets had indulged, at Lyons and in the 
 Comte Venaiesin, in cruelties which baffle con- 
 ception, such as throwing at one place two hun- 
 dred Catholic prisoners, who had surrendered by 
 capitulation, from a wall into a ditch, his own 
 soldiers receiving them as they fell on the points 
 of their bayonets; and, at another town, com- 
 pelling fifty men, to whom their lives had been 
 promised, to fling themselves oft' the tower of a 
 church, that the Prince de Conde severely repri- 
 manded him, and superseded him in the govern- 
 orship of Lyons, appointing M. de Sauliere in 
 his place, which caused the Protestant general 
 (who had up to that time detested Catholics to 
 the degree that he made his two sons bathe in 
 the blood of slaughtered prisoners, in order to in- 
 spire them with a similar hatred) to join the 
 Jjcague. On the other naiid, we hear from Bran- 
 tome that the Due da Guise, on his deathbed, 
 deeply lamented the slaughter of fifty or sixty 
 Protestants, who had been killed at Vassy by his 
 soldiers, though the conflict had arisen in an acci- 
 ddntal manner, at the door of one of their con- 
 venticles. Brantome says : " At his de ith" (speak- 
 ing of the Due de Guite) '• he accused himself of 
 this slaughter, taking God to witness, and pray- 
 ing he might not be saved if he had ever intended 
 
28o 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 or been the author of it ; and so, considering his 
 share in it as very trifling, but yet because blood 
 had been shed, he accused himself of it to God, 
 and begged his forgiveness. I heard him say 
 this with mine own ears." BrantOme adds: 
 '• And if those— amongst whom was the Bishop of 
 Ricz— who wrote an account of his dying speech- 
 es omiited this, they were wrong, for It clears 
 liim of a thing which he had been much blamed 
 for. ' ' 
 
 6. Tortures used towards Papists.— " Alexander 
 Brian (priest), because he M'ould not confess 
 where he had seen Father Parsons, how he was 
 maintained, where he had said Mass, and whose 
 confessions he had heard, they caused needles to 
 be thrust under his nails. After this he was, 
 even to the disjointing of his body, rent and torn 
 upon the rack because he would not confess where 
 tne printing-press was, and what books he had 
 sold, and so was returned to his lodgings for that 
 time; yet the next day following, notwithstand- 
 ing the great distemperature and soreness of his 
 whole body, he was brought to the torture again, 
 and there stretched with greater severity than be- 
 fore, insomuch that, supposing they would tear 
 him lo pieces, he raised his mind in contempla- 
 tion of Christ's bitter passion, resolving to die 
 rather than to hurt any creature living. He 
 swooned away, so that they Avere forced to sprin- 
 kle cold water in his face to revive him, yet re- 
 leased no part of his pain." — From a printed ac- 
 count of Alexander Brian's life and death, by an 
 eye-witness, published in 1582. 
 
 This is but one out of the many narratives to 
 be found of similar barbarities exercised on Ca- 
 tholics, both priests and laymen, which are re- 
 corded in Challoner's "Annals." The instances 
 Mr. Itoper is made to allude to, viz., the treat- 
 ment of William Tyrwhitt and of Mark Tupper, 
 are to be found in Dr. Bridgewater's " Concerlatio 
 liccle iiB Catholicai." 
 
 ■ihe following Extracts from letters addressed 
 by the lords and others of the Queen's Council to 
 llie Earl of JJerby and the Bishop of Chester, 
 tifiord a specimen of the galling and Insulting 
 tyranny to which imprisoned recusants were sub- 
 jected: '"Now likewise, forasmuch as Ave cou- 
 sidtr, lirst, that if the said recusants be all com- 
 mitted iu one p'ace, the burthen of their diets 
 would be more easy unto their keepers, and that 
 one preacher appointed to confer with them and 
 instruct them for 1 heir conformities will suffice 
 if they be all in one place, which preachers to the 
 end that they may attend that service only, are 
 of necessity to have allowance byway of pentiou, 
 which being not like to grow out of the purses of 
 the prisoners, who are so few in number able to 
 pay their own charges, therefore is to be borne 
 in some other manner. We, minding that this 
 charge of the pi'eacher and the poorer sort of pris- 
 oners shall be taken out of sucti fines as are and 
 shall be levied upon the recusants of the same 
 diocese, do think it most tit for the easing of the 
 ^aid charges that all the prisoners that are and 
 .xhall be committed for obstinacy in religion be 
 paced only at Manchester." 
 
 ••My Lords,- Whereas a son* of Sir John 
 Southworth, knight, hath oftentimes repaired 
 hither to be a suitor for his father's liberty and 
 better usage in the place where he is committed, 
 forasmuch as we have been informed that the 
 cause of his strait keeping proceedeth from the 
 said Sir John himself, m that he refuseth to be 
 
 * In a letter from Sir Franc's Walsingbam to 
 the Bishop of Chester, the cause of Kir John 
 Southworth's imprisonment is to be found. A 
 suspicion was entertained that that gentleman in- 
 t3nded to difiuherit ''his eldest and best son, 
 who was not 111 afi'ectcd like his bad father, 
 but well given in religion, and to dispose his 
 lands upon some oiher of his children." The 
 bishop is desired " to take some order to stay his 
 purpose." The ordtr taken api)ear8 to have been 
 to arrest him f.)r recusancy, and keep him iu 
 prison.— heck's "Desiderata Curiosd," book iv. 
 pp, 149, 145 : and book iii. p. 119. 
 
 present at thanksgivings unto God before and after 
 meals, and at the readings of chapters out of the 
 Old and New Testament, as he was wont to do 
 at the time of his first commitment. Seeing his 
 son hath undertaken here that his father shall do 
 that which he at firnt did, we have thought good 
 to signify so much unto your lordships, and prav 
 you to inform yourselves whether the said bir 
 John shall be contented to perform so much as 
 his son hath promised here. And if he will do it, 
 and put in good assurance to be a true prisoner, 
 and to behave himself well (viz., go to Protestant 
 players and preaching), that your lordships may 
 give order unto Mr. Worsley only to take 13.*. 4rf. 
 weekly for I is diet, and liberty of walking at 
 f-uch convenient times as your lordships sliall 
 think meet." 
 
 9. Conversation between Sir Thomas More and 
 Mr. Roper.— "Life of Sir Thomas More," by T. 
 Roper, i£sq., p. 30. 
 
 10. Dr. Laiimer, Bishop of Worcester, his letter 
 to the Lord Privy Seal upon his appointment to 
 preach at the burning of Friar Forest. 
 
 " Saluto in Christo plurimum. 
 
 " And, sir, if it be your pleasure, as it is, that I 
 shall play the fool in my customable manner 
 when Fore.«t shall suffer, 1 would wish that my 
 stage stood near unto Forest, for I would endea- 
 vour myself so to content the people that there- 
 with I might also convert Forest. God so help- 
 ing, or rather altogether working; wherefore I 
 would that he should hear what I shall say, si 
 forte, &c. &c. Forest, as I hear, is not duly 
 accompanied in Newgate for his hmendment witn 
 the White Friars of Doncasrer and monks of the 
 Charterhouse, more like to indurate than to mol- 
 lify ; whether through the fault of the sheriff, or 
 the gaolei", or both, no man could sooner dis- 
 cern than your lordship. Some think he is 
 rather comforted in his way than discouraged. 
 Some think he is both allowed to hear mass and 
 to receive the sacrament, which if it be so, it is 
 enough to confirm him in his obstinacy, as though 
 he were to sufler for a just cause. These things 
 would be nigher ' ut relegantur ex multis eordibus 
 cogitationem.' 
 
 ■• It is to be feared that some instilled into him 
 that, though he had persevered in his abjuration, 
 yet he should have suflered afterwards for trea- 
 son, and so by that occasion he might have been 
 induced to refuse his abjuration. If he would yet 
 with his heart return to his abjuration, I would 
 wisfi his pardon. Such is my toolishness. 
 
 "H. L. WiGOK. 
 
 " To the right honourable Lord Privy Seal, his 
 singular gopd Lord." 
 
 'Original Letters," etc., etc., with notes and 
 illustrations, by Sir Henry Ellis. Third Series, 
 vol. iii. p. 202. 
 
 The following contemporary notice of the burn- 
 ing of Friar Forest is preserved in one of the 
 Harleian Manuscripts : 
 
 "On Wednesday, the 19th of May, 1523, Friar 
 Forest, of Greenwich, a doctor of divinity, was 
 burnt in Smythfield for certain points that he held 
 of the Bishop of Rome, and that he would not 
 stick and preach the Nev/ Testament, for he said 
 he would ])reach the Pope's traditions, and his 
 laws, and decrees, and in them and for them he 
 died. At whose death was Master Richard Gres- 
 sam, mayor of this city, with his sheriffs ; also 
 the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suflblk, the 
 Lord Admiral ; the Lord Privy Seal, with divers 
 otners, and of the commons of the city a great 
 number ; and the Bishop of Worcester did preach 
 aloie him, face to face, the which bishop's name 
 is Latimer." 
 
 11. Mr. Roper.— "The reader is now to know, 
 that William Roper, who married 1^1 argaret More, 
 was born in Kent, and educated for a lime in one 
 of the universities. Afterwards he succeeded his 
 father, John Roper, in the office of pronotary t)f 
 the King's Bench, which alter he had kept and 
 faithfully performed four years, he resigned to 
 lus son, Thomas Roper. Tne said William was 
 very bouutilul both at home aud abroad, merci- 
 
Appendix. 
 
 281 
 
 ful. meek, and a staff lo such as were poor, op- 
 pressed, and in prison. At length, after he liad 
 Jived a widower thirtj^-three years, and eighty- 
 two in this vain world, he submitted to fate 4ch 
 January, 1577. Whereupon his body was buried 
 next to Margaret, his wife, in the church of St, 
 Dunstan, in Canterbury. The life of Sir Thomas 
 More before mentioned I have often perused." — 
 Anthony a Wood, '-Athenaj Oxoniensis," vol. 
 ii. p. 8. 
 
 12. Sir ThomTS More's foresight of the sufier- 
 ings of Catholics.—'' Life of Sir Thomas More," 
 by ThomaB Roper, Esq. 
 
 CHArTER XII. 
 
 1. Thomas Sherwood was born in London, 
 made his studies at Douay, returned to England 
 in 1576, suffered at Tyburn in 1577. What is re- 
 lated in this chapter regarding the cause and the 
 circumstances of his arrestation, his severe suf- 
 ferings, and his execurion, is taken from Bridge- 
 water's "Concertatio Ecclesiai Cath'olicaj." 
 
 2. Edmund Genings' illness, recovery, and 
 ardent desire to be sent on the English Mission. 
 —"■Life," by J. Genings. 
 
 3. The Queen's speech to Lady Berkeley. — Miss 
 A. Strickland's "Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 
 484. 
 
 4. Dr. Dee.— "Diary of Dr. Dee," publish^'! by 
 the Camden Society. 
 
 Prediction to Lord Surrey. — "He had under- 
 stood by some who had caused his nativity to be 
 calculated that he should be in great danger to be 
 overthrown by a woman."— "Life of Lord Arun- 
 del." 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Mode of carrying recusants to prison.— Manu- 
 script Letter of Father Parsons. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The following story, taken from "Records of 
 Missionary Priests," forms the groundwork of 
 the episode contained in these two chapters : 
 
 "Thomas Tunstall, of Thurlaud, in Lancashire, 
 performed his studies abroad in the English col- 
 lege of Douay, was ordained priest in 1G09, and 
 sent on the English Mission in IGIO. Here he 
 quickly fell into the hands of the pursuivants, 
 and spent four or five years of his life in dillorent 
 prisons. His last confinement before his final 
 apprehension was in Wisbeach Castle, from 
 whence he made his escape, letting himself down 
 by a rope. From Wisbeach he made the best of 
 his way into Norfolk, where he took shelter in a 
 friend's house, not far from Lynn. But he had 
 been there very few days when search was made 
 for him, and he was apprehended. There was in 
 that neighbourhood a charitable lady who did 
 great service to the poor in the way of surgery. 
 Mr. Tunstall stood in great want of such assist- 
 auce, having grievously galled and wounded his 
 hands by the rubbing of the rope at the time 
 when he made his escape, the sores for want of 
 proper applications being grown exceeding pain- 
 mi. Therefore his Catholic host advised him to 
 apply to Lady L'Estrange (this was her name), 
 and put himself under her care. She received 
 him kindly, dressed his wounds, and promised 
 him her best assistance for making a cure. How- 
 ever, the good lady could not forbear talking to 
 her husband, Sir Hammond L'Estrange, a justice 
 of peace, of some particulars relating to her new 
 patient; as that he was in poor apparel, yet a 
 gentlemanlike man in his discourse and beha- 
 viour, but withal somewhat reserved in giving 
 an account how he came by those wounds in his 
 hands; that he was a stranger in the country, 
 and lived at the house of a Popish recusant. The 
 justice immediate y cried out, "This must be the 
 Popish priest lately escaped out of Wisbeach," 
 for whom he had that day received orders to 
 nuike diligent search. Upon this, the lady is re- 
 ported to have cast herself on her knees to inter- 
 cede for the man, begging her husband to take no 
 
 notice of what she had said ; adding that she 
 should be an unhappy woman all her life if the 
 priest should come to any trouble by her speechei:. 
 «ut notwithstanding all she could say or do, the 
 knight persisted in his resolution to secure the 
 man, and accordingly sent out his warrants, and 
 had him seized and brought before him. And 
 though the lady again reijcvved her instances to 
 have him dismissed, yet she could not be heard ; 
 but Mr. Tunstall was forthwith committed to 
 Norwich gaol, where at the next assizes he was 
 brought to trial and condemned. He sult'ered 
 July I3ch, IGIG."— The reader is referred to the 
 second volume of Challoncr's " Kecords," etc.. p. 
 lis. '.or a full and interesting account of Mr. Tu^- 
 stail's trial and execution. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1. Mr. Watson.— Richard Watson was a f ecular 
 priesr, whose escape from Bridewell was cft'ected 
 by the aid of Mistress Margaret Ward, who was 
 in consequence condemned and executed. The 
 particulars of both their histories are to be fouLd 
 in the first volume of Challoner's " Records," p. 
 233. 
 
 2. The Queen's Brooch.— Out of compliment to 
 her royal suitor, the Due d'Alen^on. Elizabeth 
 cherished the jewelled similitude of a frog in her 
 bosom, in the form of a brooch.— Miss A. btrick- 
 land's " Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 441. 
 
 3. Stubbe's pamphlet against the French mar- 
 riage:— "A yawning gulph," etc., his punishment 
 ana behavior under it. — Miss A. Strickland's 
 "Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 445. 
 
 4. Queen Elizabeth's method of retaining her 
 subjects' afiection, stated ))y herself in a conver- 
 sation with Lady Harrington. — ' ' Nugae Antiquai," 
 vol. i. p. 177. 
 
 5. A law passed to prevent the further increase 
 of the size of London.—" Life of Queen Eliza- 
 beth," p. 450. 
 
 G. A law with regard to the dimensions of rofs, 
 and the length of swords.— M. de Castelnau, the 
 French envoy, stopped by the Queen's officers in 
 Smithfleld.— *• Life of Queen Elizabeth," p. 449. 
 
 7. Richard Topclifl'e. — " A certain peculiar cast 
 of character displayed in this gentleman's letters 
 led me to suppose that I might probably collect 
 some particulars of his history from the writers 
 of his time. I can, however, only find that he 
 Avas distinguished as a most implacable persecn- 
 tor of the Roman Catholics, of which his own let- 
 ters are indeed a sufficient proof. Sir Anthony 
 Standen, praising the Earl of Essex's agreeable 
 manners in a letter to Mr. Anthony Bacon, of the 
 3d of March, 1593, in Dr. Birch's papers, says, 
 "Contrary to our Topcliffian practice, he hath 
 done more with words than others could do with 
 racks." It appears also in another letter in that 
 collection, that Topcliffizare, in the quaint lan- 
 guage of the Court, signified to hunt a recusant. 
 — Lodge's "Illustrations of British History." 
 
 The following note is appended to the "Me- 
 moir of the Rev. Robert Southwell," by William 
 Turnbnll, Esq. : 
 
 "Topcliff had permission from the Queen's 
 Council to torture in any manner, and to any ex- 
 tent short of death, the unfortunate victims of 
 his generallj' too successful search. He was fre- 
 quently heard to gay that ' nothing gave him 
 greater delight than the torturing and butchering 
 of Catholics, and that if his power was equal to 
 his will, his dearest pleasure would be to blow 
 every Jesuit to powder in the air.' " 
 
 8. Frances Ann Bellamy.— " There was resident 
 atUxendon, near Harrow-on-the-Hill, in Middle- 
 sex, a Catholic family of the name of Bellamy, 
 whom Southwell was in the habit of visiting and 
 providing with religious instruction when he ex- 
 changed his ordinary close confinement for a 
 purer atmosphere. One of the daughters, Ann, 
 had in her early youth exhibited marks of the 
 most vivid piet}', but having been committed to 
 the Gatehouse of Westminster, her faith gradually 
 departed, and along with it her virtue. She was 
 seduced by Richard Topclifle, and ended by mar- 
 
282 
 
 Appendix, 
 
 r3'ing one of his servants, the keeper of the prison, 
 and by this step forfeited all claim which she had 
 by law or favour upon her father. In order, 
 iberefore, to obtain some fortune, she resolved to 
 taUe advantage of the Act of 27 Elizabeth, which 
 made the harbouring of a priest treason. Accord- 
 ingly she sent a messenger to Southwell, urging 
 him to meet her on a certain day and hour at hec 
 father's house, whither he, either in ignorance or 
 what had happened, or under the impression that 
 she sought his spiritual assistance through mo- 
 tives of penitence, went at the appointed time. 
 In the mean time having apprized her husband of 
 this, as also of the place of concealment in her 
 father's house, and the mode of access, he con- 
 veyed the information to Topcliffe, who with a 
 band of his satellites surrounded the premises, 
 broke open the house, arrested Father Southwell, 
 and carried him off exposed to the gaze of the 
 mob. lie was in the first instance taken to Top- 
 ciiffe's house, where during a few weeks he was 
 put to the torture with such dreadful severity, 
 that, complainingof it to his judges, he declared 
 in the name of God that death would have been 
 Iire<'erable."— Bartoli's "Lives of English Jesu- 
 its." 
 
 V). Father Southwell.— " As to his fortitude, we 
 have the admiring testimony of Cecil : ' There is 
 at present confined one Southwell, a Jesuit, who, 
 thirteen times most cruelly tortured, cannot be 
 induced to confess anything, not even the colour 
 of the horse whereon on a certain day he rode, 
 lost from such indication his adversaries might 
 conjecture in what house or in what company of 
 Catholics he that day was.' "—"More," ut supra^ 
 p. I!i3. 
 
 10. Lord Monntjoy, one of the most determined 
 enemies of Catholics, happening to be present at 
 Father Southwell's execution, was so struck by 
 his pious constancy, that he could not forbear to 
 exclaim, " May my soul be with this man's I" — 
 •■ Memoir of Father Southwell," appended to his 
 Poetical Works. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 1. Lady Arundel goes to her husband to com- 
 phiin of iiis conduct to her. ''This sort of un- 
 kind usage, as it caused in her much grief and 
 affliction of mind, together with no small indis- 
 position of body. 60 it forced her at length to go 
 to him to cxjjostulate and mind him of his obli- 
 gation towards her, which she performed in a 
 "humble and dutiful way. The Earl, though he 
 could not deny her to be his wife, yet showed but 
 small signs that he would treat or esteem her as 
 such ; upon which she resolved, for her last re- 
 fuge, to have recourse to his grandfather, the 
 Earl of Arundel, who received, and not only re- 
 ceived, but entertained, and kept in his own 
 house as long as he lived, with all kindness as 
 his own child, and also did his best endeavour to 
 reclaim the Earl her husband, though his efforts 
 proved ineffectual." — "Life of the Countess of 
 Arundel," p. 179. 
 
 2. The narrative put into the mouth of Mr. 
 Sherwood, describing the adventures of a priest 
 landing in England, the manner of his escape, 
 the cause of his surrendering himself, and tne 
 anecdote of the dangers incurred in the perfor- 
 mance of an act of restitution undertaken in be- 
 half of a deceased Catholic, are borrowed from a 
 manuscript letter of Father Parsons. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 1. Sir Thomas More's last interview with his 
 daughter, and what she did in order to give him 
 christian burial. — " Life of Sir Thomas More," 
 etc., p. 79. 
 
 :i. Sir John Harrington's Poetical Petition, — 
 " Life of C^uecn Elizabeth," p. 418. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 1. Sir Francis Walsingham.— " Lhoyd, who im- 
 putes universal genius to him, says that he could 
 
 as well fit the humour of King James with pas- 
 sages out of Xenophon, Thucydides, Plutarch, or 
 Tacitus, as he could that of Henry, King of 
 France, with Rabelais' conceits, or the Holland- 
 ers with Mechanic's Discourses." 
 
 He was one of the most refined politiciap« and 
 most penetrating statesmen that any age ever 
 produced. He had an admirable talent both in 
 managing and discovering the secret recesses of 
 human nature. His favorite sayings vrere, " Know- 
 ledge is never too dear," and, " Video et Taceo." 
 The Queen said, in diligence and sagacity he ex- 
 ceeded her expectations. His spies sometimes 
 attended a man for three years together. 
 
 2. Lady Sydney.—" Sir Philip Sydney married 
 Walsiugham's daughter portionless, 'not carry- 
 ing his love in his purse.' This is that Sir Fran- 
 cis, who impoverished himself to enrich the state, 
 and indeed made England his heir. He was so 
 far from building up a fortune by the benefit of 
 his place, that he demolished that fine estate left 
 him by his ancestors to purchase dear intelligence 
 from all parte of Christendom. He had a key to 
 unlock the Pope's cabinet, and if as master of 
 some invisible whispering-place, all the secrets of 
 Christian princes met at. his closets. Wonder 
 not then if he bequeathed no great wealth to his 
 daughter." — " Aulica Arcana." 
 
 3. Sir Francis Walsingham's answer to a friend 
 who taxed him with being melancholy : "No, I am. 
 not melancholy. I am serious, and 'tis fit J 
 should be so. O my friends, whilst we laugh, all 
 things are serious round about us I God is seri- 
 ous, who exercises patience towards us. Christ 
 is serious, who shed his blood for tis. The Holy 
 Spirit is serious, in striving against the obstinacy 
 of our hearts. The Holy Scriptures bring to our 
 ears the most serious things in the Avorid. The 
 whole creation is serious in serving God and us. 
 The Holy Sacraments represent the most serious 
 and awful matters. AH that are in heaven and in 
 hell are serious. How, then, can we be gay ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 1 . Mistress Margaret Ward.—" Yesterday she 
 suffered at Tyburn, with a wonderful constancy 
 and alacrity." 
 
 The history of this courageous woman's suc- 
 cessful stratagem for the promotion of Mr. Wat- 
 son's escape Irom Bridewell, of her trial, scourg- 
 ing, sentence, and execution, is glveu in the first 
 volume of Challoner's "Records of Missionary 
 Priests." 
 
 2. "Description of the piece of Embroidery 
 which the Queen of Scots sent as a present to the 
 Countess oi Arundel." — " Life of the Countess of 
 Arundel," p. 265. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1. Euston.— " Euston, a village pleasantly situa- 
 ted upon the river Ouse the less. It is on a flat, 
 and by a fair champion country." 
 
 "It is almost surrounded by trees of uncommon 
 growth, and of the most healthy and luxuriant 
 appearance, and near it flows the river Ouse, ovc»r 
 which is thrown a neat substantial wooden 
 bridge. The scenery about the house and park 
 combines the most delightful assemblage of rural 
 objects that can well be ijiiagined. and is justly 
 celebrated by tiie author of the ' Farmer's Boy.' 
 Euston is the biggest house in the county ol Suf- 
 folk, built by Rookwood, Esq.. in the time of 
 
 Q.ueen Elizabeth. That estate hath continued in 
 the family of Rookwood many generations ; Ed- 
 ward Rookwood of Euston being, I think, a 
 Popish recusant, compounded his estate for 700/. 
 12/?."—" History of the County of Suffolk." 
 
 2. Description of a Stag-hunt— Is taken from 
 an incident in the life of Wilson, the histoiian. 
 a retainer of the Earl of Essex.— " Shakespeare 
 and his Times," p. 13(J. 
 
 3. Master Owen was a lay brother of the So- 
 ciety of Jesus, and servant of Father Garnet. I It- 
 was commonly called Little .Tolin. His stature 
 was extraordinarily small. He had originally 
 
Appendix. 
 
 28' 
 
 been a carpenter, and, beini? a person of sin<?iilar 
 ingenuity, he carried his abilities in that line in 
 the contiivin^ of those hitlir)j,'-places which had 
 become a necessary appendage to the houses of 
 recusants. His skill in this respect was so well 
 known, that there was scarcely a Catholic house 
 in England where he was not called upon t) make 
 one of these secret chambers, which were so oltpn 
 the means of saving the lives of priests and other 
 recusants. He wai a man of raost holy life and 
 manners, and was always observed to pray while 
 he was at work. It was his habit to go to Com- 
 munion before beginning any labor of this kind. 
 When he was arre--ted. at the same time as Father 
 t'arnet, great exultation wa.-^ felt by the violent 
 Protestant party ; for hopes were entertained 
 that, he would be forced to reveal the secret of 
 their innumerable hiding-places ; but no amount 
 of torture could extract one word from him on 
 the subject, though he was so cruelly racked in 
 prison that he died f oon after he was taken off 
 the torture.— From More's ''•History of the Eng- 
 lish Province," and Bartoli's "Lives of Englihii 
 Jesuits," 
 
 4. The Holy Week at Enston— The description 
 given of it is taken from "■ Mrs. Dorothy Lawsou's 
 Life," published by Sir William Lawson, Bart. 
 
 5. The Sun dancing at Easter.— It was the be- 
 lief of the vulgar that the Sun himself partook of 
 the general exhilaration at Eastertide, and regu- 
 larly danced on the morning of the Resurrection. 
 —'• Shakespeare and his Times," p. 71. 
 
 (5. Fishing to be preferred to hunting. — The 
 preference Constance Sherwood is made to give 
 to fishing over hunling is expressed by Damo 
 Juliana Berners in a little tract, entitled "• The 
 treatise pertaining to hawking,^ hunting, and 
 lishin^," printed in 14%. The descriptions of 
 hawking are from Gervase Markham's "Country 
 Contentments," a version in prose of a poem on 
 the same subject by John Dennys. 
 
 7. The Keconciliation between Lord and Lady 
 Arundel, and her removal to Arundel Castle.— 
 •• The Life of the Countess of Arundel," p. 181. 
 
 8. The Lamb Ale. or Sheep-shearing Feast. — 
 This rustic festival 1ms furnished the poets of the 
 KHh and 17th century with subjects for the most 
 exquisite poetry, 'the following verses of Dray- 
 ion descriije the custom ahuded to in this chap- 
 ter: 
 
 " With light fantastic toe, the nymphs 
 Thither assembled ; thither every swain ; 
 And o'er the dimpled stream a tliousand flowers, 
 Pale lilies, roses, violets, and pinks. 
 Mixt with the greens otburnet, mint, and thyme. 
 And treloil, sprinkled witn their sportive arms." 
 
 CHAPTSR XXIL 
 
 1. The Queen's progress through Norfolk and 
 Suffolk.— •• Life of Qunen Kbzabeth," p. 430. 
 
 2. Description of the Pageants at Norwich.— 
 Churchyard, the poet, and an old retainer of the 
 Norfolk family, arranged all the pageants on this 
 occasion, and gives himself a description of what 
 had been planned, and the mischief caused by the 
 delusing rain. — '• Life of Qaeen Elizabeth," p. 
 433. 
 
 3. Queen Elizabeth's visit to Eustou, and the 
 scenes which took place there.— The following 
 letter from Richard Topcliffe to the Earl of Shrews- 
 bury gives a graphic account of them : 
 
 " Richard Topclyfte to the Earl of Shrewsbury, 
 "SOthof August, 1578, 
 "■ At Stamford. 
 
 "Fou TAX Duty, &c. &c.— Since I did wait 
 upon your good Lordship, and after I parted 
 irom Mr. Gilbert Talbot at lullingworth, and 
 have been trained b^ little and little onward this 
 l)n)gress thus far now homewards, and because 
 1 would gladly wait upon your Lordship and my 
 liady in such 'convenient place and at such time 
 as shall best please you, I thought it my duty to 
 trouble your Lordship in the meantime with my 
 scribbling some such news as partly yon know 
 and partly are not like to know, but by such 
 wayfarers, and somewhat shall keep in stoie, 
 
 havirg in charg3 from her Majesty to your good 
 Loi-dAiip all tending towards ner gnicious favoui- 
 and assistance in your Lordship, of whom her 
 Highness saith she hath daily most faithlul trial, 
 which the Lord knows I joy at. Kext somo com- 
 fort I received of her lor myself, that must ever 
 lie nearest. The best good news is thai'her Ma- 
 jesty hath served God with great zeal and com- 
 fortable examples ; lor by her Council two no- 
 torious papists, young Rookwood (the master of 
 Fusion Hall, where her Majesty did lie upon 
 Sunday now a fortnight), and one Downes. a 
 gentleman, were both committed, the one to the 
 town prison at Norwich, the otber to the country 
 prison there for obstinate papistry, and seven 
 more gentlemen of worship were committed to 
 several houses in Norwich as prisoners ; two of 
 the Lovells, another Downes, one Bedingfleld, 
 one Parr3% and two others not worthy naming, for 
 badness of belief. 
 
 "This Rookwood is a papist, newly crept out 
 of his late wardship. Iler Majesty, by some 
 means I know not. was lodged at his house. Eus- 
 tou, farre unmeet for her Highness, but fitter for 
 the blackguard. Nevertheless, the gentlemin 
 brought into her Majesty's presence by the like 
 device, her excellent Majesty gave to Rookwood 
 ordinary thanks for his bad house and her fair 
 hand to kiss ; after which it was braved out. But 
 my Lord Chamberlain, nobly and gravely, under- 
 standing that Rookwood was excommunicated 
 for papistry, called him before him, demanded of 
 him how he dared presume to attempt her royal 
 presence, he, unfit to accompany any Christian 
 person ; forthwith said he was fitter for a pair of 
 stocks ; commanded him out of the court, and 
 yet to attend her CounclFs pleasure ; and at Nor- 
 wich he was committed. And to decypher the 
 gentleman to the full, a piece of plate, having 
 been missed in the court, and searched for in his 
 hay-house, in the hayrick such an image of Our 
 Lady was there found, as for greatness and gay- 
 ness and workmanship I did never see a match ; 
 and after a sort of country dance, ended in her 
 Majesty's sight, the idol was set behind the 
 people, who avoided . . . . (the intermediate 
 words are too offensive to be transcribed). Her 
 Majesty commanded it to the fire, which in her 
 sight by the country folk was quickly done, to 
 her content and unspeakable joy of every one but 
 some one or two who had sucked of the idol's 
 poisoned milk. 
 
 " I was happy lately amongst other good graces 
 that her Majesty did tell me of sundry lewd Pop- 
 ish beasts that have resorted to Buxton from 
 their countries in the south, since my Lord did 
 come from thence. Her Highness doubteth not 
 but you regard them well enough, amongst whom 
 there is a detestable Popish priest, one Dyrham, 
 or Durande. Mr. Secretary hath written to your 
 Lordship in this his letter here enclosed, to wish 
 your Lordship to apprehend him: to examine 
 him of his coming to the Church, and upon the 
 least or lightest occasion to commit him, and to 
 certify the Lords thereof, . , ," — Lodge's " Il- 
 lustrations of British Historj'," vol. ii, pp. liy-l-Jl. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 1. The details relating to Father Campion's ar- 
 rival in London, the temporary chapel at Noel 
 House, the efi'ects of his preaching and presence 
 in London, are taken from Bar toll's "Lives of the 
 English Jesuits." 
 
 2. Description of Arundel Castle. — " nisti)ry 
 and Antiquities of Arundel Castle," by the Rev. 
 M, Tierney. 
 
 3. Lady Arundel's reconcilement,— All the par- 
 ticulars concerning this event. Lord Arundel's 
 conduct at that time, the impression made upon 
 him by his sister. Lady Margaret Sackville's con- 
 version, Lac'y Arundel's arrest and imprison- 
 ment, are drawn from the history other lile. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 1, Lord Arundel's intention to leave the king- 
 
284 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 dom, the cause of its failure, the Queen's visit to 
 him at Arundel House, his subsequent imprison- 
 ment and examination, his wife's release, his 
 conversion to Catholicism, the change in his life 
 which resulted from it, are detailed at length in 
 the history of his life. 
 
 2. Queen Elizabeth's device for the reconcilia- 
 tion of Sir John Spencer with his daughter. Lady 
 Compton.— '' Queen Elizabeth's Life," by Misd A. 
 Strickland, p. t)33. 
 
 3. The description of the Huguenot victory in 
 Provence, is taken from an article in " La Kevue 
 d' Economic Chretienne " for May, 1865. 
 
 4. The travellers' adventures in France, and 
 view of French and English manners, are taken 
 from Fynes Morrison's " Travels in the Sixteenth 
 Century." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 1. The whole substance of this chapter, as re- 
 gards Edmund Genings and his brother, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Swithin Wells, and their companions, is 
 drawn from the "Life of Edmund Genings," by 
 John Genings. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 1. The details of the execution of Edmund 
 Genings and Mr. Wells, and of John Genmg.-,' 
 conversion, are related bj" the latter in the above- 
 mentioned work. 
 
 2. The Queen's unkind comment on Lady 
 Arundel's verses.— Miss A. Strickland's "Life of 
 Queen Elizabeth." 
 
 •3. A touching relation of the almost simultane- 
 ous deaths of Sir John and Lady Biron, the 
 g/andlather and grandmother of Colonel Hutchin- 
 
 pon, is given in his Memoirs, written by his 
 widow, Lucy. 
 
 CHAPTERS XXVIL and XXVHL 
 
 1. Father Southwell's verses. "Time goes by 
 Turn-."— From a volume of his poems, repub- 
 lished in 1856. 
 
 2. The history of Lord Arundel's attempted 
 escape, of his betrayal, arrest, lingering suflcr- 
 ings, ten years' imprisonment, admirable virtues, 
 of his wife's ill-usage, of the obstinate refusal to 
 allow them ever to meet on the part of the 
 Queen, not even at his deathbed, uule^^s 
 he had renounced his religion, of the oflVr 
 made him at the last of a full restoration 
 to fortune, rank, and the company of his wife 
 and children, if he would have conformed to the 
 established religion even by one single act of 
 compliance, are strictly historical. So are the 
 smallest details regarding Lord and Lady Arun- 
 del in the concluding chapter of this tale. Not 
 a single fact, not a single hardship, has been 
 invented. Nothing added but the supposed ex- 
 pression of her feelings under this long persecu- 
 tion. 
 
 3. Rookwood's execution at the time of the 
 Gunpowder Plot.— The author of the *' Illustra- 
 tions of British History " aiiixes a note to the 
 previously given letter of Richard Topcliffe, in 
 which he says: "Probably the same Rookwood 
 who was implicated in the Gunpowder Plot, and 
 executed in 1605." For obvious reasons the 
 author of this tale concludes this Rookwood to 
 have been the brother of the hero of her story. 
 
 4. " The Holy Maries."— When the nuns of The 
 Visitation were first established in France, the 
 popular name they went by amongst the lower 
 orders was " Les Saintes Maries."— " Life of 
 Madame de Chantal," by the Abbe Bougaud. 
 
M111768 
 
 9S6 
 
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