The King's Daughters Part 19

"O Cissy, Cissy; I am so sorry for thee!"

"O Bessy, but I'm so glad! Don't say you're sorry."

"Why, Cissy, how canst thou be glad? Dost know what it all signifieth?"

"I know they've taken Father, and I'm sorry enough for that; but then Father always said they would some day. But don't you see why I'm glad?

They've got me too. I was always proper 'feared they'd take Father and leave me all alone with the children; and he'd have missed us dreadful!

Now, you see, I can tend on him, and do everything for him; and that's why I'm glad. If it had to be, you know."

Elizabeth looked up at Cissy's father, and he said in a husky voice,--

"'Of such is the kingdom of Heaven.'"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS.

"Bessy," said Cissy in a whisper, "do you think they'll burn us all to-day?"

"I reckon, sweet heart, they be scarce like to burn thee."

"But they'll have to do to me whatever they do to Father!" cried Cissy, earnestly.

"Dear child, thou wist not what burning is."

"Oh, but I've burnt my fingers before now," said Cissy, with an air of extensive experience which would have suited an old woman. "It's not proper pleasant: but the worst's afterwards, and there wouldn't be any afterwards, would there? It would be Heaven afterwards, wouldn't it? I don't see that there's so much to be 'feared of in being burnt. If they didn't burn me, and did Will and Baby, and--and Father"--and Cissy's voice faltered, and she began to sob--"that would be dreadful--dreadful!

O Bessy, won't you ask G.o.d not to give them leave? They couldn't, could they, unless He did?"

"Nay, dear heart, not unless He did," answered Elizabeth, feeling her own courage strengthened by the child's faith.

"Then if you and I both ask Him _very_ hard,--O Bessy! don't you think He will?"

Before Elizabeth could answer, Johnson said--"I wouldn't, Cis."

"You wouldn't, Father! Please why?"

"Because, dear heart, He knoweth better than we what is good for us.

Sometimes, when folk ask G.o.d too earnestly for that they desire, He lets them have it, but in punishment, not in mercy. It would have been a sight better for the Israelites if they hadn't had those quails. Dost thou mind how David saith, 'He gave them their desire, but sent leanness withall into their souls?' I'd rather be burnt, Cis, than live with a lean soul, and my Father in Heaven turning away His face from me."

Cissy considered. "Father, I could never get along a bit, if you were so angry you wouldn't look at me!"

"Truly, dear heart, and I would not have my Father so. Ask the Lord what thou wilt, Cis, if it be His will; only remember that His will is best for us--the happiest as well as the most profitable."

"Wilt shut up o' thy preachment?" shouted Wastborowe, with a severe blow to Johnson. "Thou wilt make the child as ill an heretic as thyself, and we mean to bring her up a good Catholic Christian!"

Johnson made no answer to the gaoler's insolent command. A look of great pain came into his face, and he lifted his head up towards the sky, as if he were holding communion with his Father in Heaven.

Elizabeth guessed his thoughts. If he were to be martyred, and his little helpless children to be handed over to the keeping of priests who would teach them to commit idolatry, and forbid them to read the Bible-- that seemed a far worse prospect in his eyes than even the agony of seeing them suffer. That, at the worst, would be an hour's anguish, to be followed by an eternity of happy rest: but the other might mean the loss of all things--body and soul alike. Little Will did not enter into the matter. He might have understood something if he had been paying attention, but he was not attending, and therefore he did not. But Cissy, to whom her father was the centre of the world, and who knew his voice by heart, understood his looks as readily as his words.

"Father!" she said, looking at him, "don't be troubled about us. I'll never believe n.o.body that says different from what you've learned us, and I'll tell Will and Baby they mustn't mind them neither."

And Elizabeth added softly--"'I will be a G.o.d to thee, and to thy seed after thee.' 'Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive.'"

"G.o.d bless you both!" said Johnson, and he could say no more.

The next day the twelve prisoners accused of heresy were had up for examination before the Commissioners, Sir John Kingston, Mr Roper, and Mr Boswell, the Bishop's scribe. Six of them--Elizabeth Wood, Christian Hare, Rose Fletcher, Joan Kent, Agnes Stanley, and Margaret Simson--were soon disposed of. They had been in prison for a fortnight or more, they were terribly frightened, and they were not strong in the faith. They easily consented to be reconciled to the Church--to say whatever the priests bade them, and to believe--or pretend to believe-- all that they were desired.

Robert Purcas was the next put on trial. The Bishop's scribe called him (in the account he wrote to his master) "obstinate, and a glorious prating heretic." What this really meant was that his arguments were too powerful to answer. He must have had considerable ability, for though only twenty years of age, and a village tradesman, he was set down in the charge-sheet as "lettered," namely, a well-educated man, which in those days was most extraordinary for a man of that description.

"When confessed you last?" asked the Commissioners of Purcas.

"I have not confessed of long time," was the answer, "nor will I; for priests have no power to remit sin."

"Come you to church, to hear the holy ma.s.s?"

"I do not, nor will I; for all that is idolatry."

"Have you never, then, received the blessed Sacrament of the altar?"

"I did receive the Supper of the Lord in King Edward's time, but not since: nor will I, except it be ministered to me as it was then."

"Do you not wors.h.i.+p the sacred host?"

That is, the consecrated bread in the Lord's Supper.

"Those who wors.h.i.+p it are idolaters!" said Robert Purcas, without the least hesitation: "that which there is used is bread and wine only."

"Have him away!" cried Sir John Kingston. "What need to question further so obstinate a man?"

So they had him away--not being able to answer him--and Agnes Silverside was called in his stead.

She was very calm, but as determined as Purcas.

"Come hither, Mistress!" said Boswell, roughly. "Why, what have we here in the charge-sheet? 'Agnes Silverside, _alias_ Smith, _alias_ Downes, _alias_ May!' Hast thou had four husbands, old witch, or how comest by so many names?"

"Sir," was the quiet answer, "my name is Smith from my father, and I have been thrice wed."

The Commissioners, having first amused themselves by a little rough joking at the prisoner's expense, inquired which of her husbands was the last.

"My present name is Silverside," she replied.

"And what was he, this Silverside?--a tanner or a chimney-sweep?"

"Sir, he was a priest."

The Commissioners--who knew it all beforehand--professed themselves exceedingly shocked. G.o.d never forbade priests to marry under the Old Testament, nor did He ever command Christian ministers to be unmarried men: but the Church of Rome has forbidden her priests to have any wives, as Saint Paul told Timothy would be done by those who departed from the faith: [see One Timothy four 3.] thus "teaching for doctrines the commandments of men." [See Matthew fifteen verse 9.]