"O Agatha, I shall die!-O let me die!" Mistress Agatha raised her, for she sat on the couch, her face buried in her hands, swaying her body to and fro with the great sorrow that was upon her. She rose up, however, obedient to the touch of her old gouvernante, and followed. Agatha opened the door, and looked out into the corridor. There was no one to be seen; she beckoned with her finger, and Elizabeth followed her across the passage. From the stairs that led into the hall, Agatha looked forth to ascertain if they might go on with safety; there was no one in the hall. They descended the steps together, and there, in the old hall, they embraced one another, hurriedly, tenderly, and Elizabeth quitted her father's house. As she did so, she drew the handkerchief which covered her head low on her brow, and looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, sped on towards the city gate.

At the moment Elizabeth left the house, a tall, ungainly figure came out from a dark doorway a few paces distant, and followed her closely.

She turned into the market, where a busy scene presented itself, and through which she readily passed unnoticed, for the early traffickers were far too much occupied, jesting, laughing, buying, talking, selling, to take heed of the country girl-for so they would have regarded her, if they thought of her at all; but she was still followed closely by the gaunt figure, all unknown to herself.

Through the market, away into quiet streets that led towards one of the city gates; over the wooden bridge crossing the canal; and then she faltered, for she saw a company of the town guard approaching her, and shrank in dismay. Turning her face towards the water, and leaning on the wooden railing of the bridge, idly gazing, so it would appear, on a heavily-built craft that lay at her moorings, Elizabeth hoped to escape attention. Nearer came the guard, their regular footfall, and the clatter of their accoutrements, filling her with deadly fear. She dared not look up, as she felt that they were close upon her; but suddenly the beseeching tones of a woman's voice struck on her ear; she recognized that voice, and turned impulsively towards the speaker. In the centre of the company, with her hands fast bound, walked Martha-Martha in pain and shame, praying the guard to be more gentle with her, as they roughly urged her forward on her way from the guard-bouse to the townhall. In a moment Elizabeth recognized and was recognized by Martha; but neither gave any sign of recognition: the guard passed on

with their prisoner, and Elizabeth was left alone.

Pity for her old friend, and the dread of what that friend might be made to suffer, overcame for a moment all personal alarm. Leaning on the rail of the bridge, she tried to realize her own position if she went straightway to the authorities and surrendered. Perhaps, by this means, her dear old friend's liberty might be restored, or, at the least, she might be spared the dreaded" question." Yes; she was resolved to risk all: better to face the danger—better to know and bear the worst-better to die, than to allow another to suffer in her room. But reflection showed her plainly that nothing would be in reality gained by rashness on her part. Martha was a Protestant-one of the sect condemned and outcast, and on this account, and this alone, would be exposed to all the dread penalties of the law. There was also something from which the Lady Elizabeth shrank with more terror than even from death itself-namely, the living burial which awaited her, should she escape all persecution, in the East Friezland convent. She knew the stern purpose of her father was unshaken; that she was vowed to the Church, and that all her life would henceforth be spent in the gloomy cloister cell.

Slowly resuming her way towards the gate, still thinking how should she act, she saw not the gaunt figure that had followed her from her father's house, had stopped when she stopped, and now crept after her like a shadow. When she came within sight of the city gate, she noticed, and her heart sank at the sight, that it was closed, and that a gossiping throng stood round some three or four of the city guard on duty. A country wench and a farming lad were in angry altercation with the guard, and the knot of idlers stood round to listen.

"But pass we must," said the lad: "this wench and I will be in trouble with the master if we are not back as we should be. I tell you we must pass."

"No one passes," was the soldier's answer, "but such as have an order signed and sealed by the authorities."

"But what have they to do with us? We have been in and out of the gate often enough before," was the wench's remark. "Why should they shut us in now?"

The soldier complimented her on her rosy cheeks, and was good enough to explain; not, as he observed, that the authorities (and he spoke as if he was one of them) had the least business in the world to explain why they did this, that, or the other, yet still, when a civil question was put in a civil way, the authorities (self and partners) would obligingly give a reason.

"We have reason to know," said the soldier, "that a girl, strongly suspected of heresy, and known to be a runaway from a convent, is within the city, and she must not be allowed to pass the gate."

lad.

But you do not take me for her?" said the

"In the eye of the law," is the soldier's answer, "you may be; in my own eye you are an agricultural implement of the rougher kind.”

"Do you take me for her?"-this from the wench.

The guard favoured her with an agreeable smile, and candidly confessed he did not; but that law was law, and orders were orders, and that through the gate they must not pass.

Elizabeth had heard enough, and she turned away with renewed terror, not knowing whither to go; and the gaunt figure followed her. Wandering with no certain purpose in her mind, her steps strayed towards the cathedral; and seeing on the steps which led to the entrance a crowd assembled, she stopped to listen, as one of the city officials was reading from a paper to the people, with that peculiar disregard for emphasis and punctuation for which the readers of public documents have in all ages been remarkable. She heard her own name, "Elizabeth Meinheim, a fugitive from the convent," she heard her appearance described as she had been seen by Frosch; she heard the reward which had been offered for her apprehension doubled; and heard, also, that her father had disowned her, and would stretch no shield between her and the cruel engines of the law, should she be, as was expressly stated, "given to the arrant heresies of the re-baptizers."

More like one in a dream than one in her waking senses, the Lady Elizabeth entered the cathedral. It was not the hour for high mass; but a priest was officiating at one of the altars, intoning, in a low, melancholy voice, solemn words of supplication. A few worshippers-very fewwere there, and every footfall echoed through the lofty church; but he who had followed Elizabeth moved noiselessly, and she heard him not. She knelt down, and bowed her poor head, and murmured, "Jesus, Jesus!" and the gaunt form knelt behind her, the head towering above hers, and the eyes, with a strange childlike pleasure, turned towards the vapour of the incense, as it rolled upwards in a spiral cloud.

house of Stumf, your late servant, she was seen by two of the town guard. She was seen again near this house, and by report entered it and was seen no more."

"Do you still believe her to be under this roof? I swear by the saints it shall go hard with those who conceal her!"

"I do not believe that she is here; she has again escaped, but her capture is certain. The city gates are watched, a double reward has been offered, and one on whom I can rely will trace her out, watch her steps, apprize me where she abides. Before this night, my lord, I doubt not that the stray lamb will be restored to the fold."

Meinheim sat silent for a few moments, and then he turned to the priest and said,

"Father Anselmo, I have never doubted your zeal on behalf of the Church, nor your good service rendered to me. If the girl be retaken, she shall be restored to the altar, if she die on the altar steps, unless

"Has my lord a reservation ?" "Unless she has learned the heresies that pollute the land. If that be so, the law must deal with her; my hand shall never be raised to save her."

Nay," said Anselmo, and he laid his velvet palm on the arm of Meinheim, “the child is young, easily impressed, warm-hearted, of an ardent imagination; it may be that the heresies of the time may have affected her, but not hopelessly, not irredeemably; the penitential prayer is never spoken in vain, the arms of the Church are still open to receive the sinner: let not my lord refuse the comfort which hope and faith can give."

"I have given myself to the Church's service; I and all that I have I have given,-in this, Anselmo, I owe much to you. You found me a different man from what I am; all my passions of the earth earthy; all my days spent in the lusts of the flesh; there was guilt on my conscience, for I had betrayed the friend of my youth, had won the woman he loved, had

66

'My lord, the story is familiar to me-it is over and past. I, the humble servant of the Church, but spoke her words of grace and truth."

"You showed me the way to heaven-taught me to seek in fast and vigil, penance and prayer, the peace which I sought for in vain elsewhere. And I found it. Anselmo, I have heard of men becoming changed to stone, and I have thought sometimes that the thing was true of me. My lost, my buried, my forgotten ones-the spring days of my life-the memory of these for awhile stirred my heart to its depths, even under your teachings; but I schooled my wandering affections; I shut myself out from the world, I plucked away every growth of earthly tenderness, and the coldness which was at first assumed, became natural. I grew cold and hard-all my desire to serve the Church, all my hope to be worthy of the company of those whose heads are crowned with glory. Does this coldness, this hardness, this stone-like nature, become the saint?"

"My lord, the accepted ones are as marble statues in God's Church; the passions of this

life, its joys, its sorrows, hopes, and fears, are for ever passed away."

"It is reassuring to hear this. Cold, hard, stony-it is well with me; and to you, Anselmo, I owe this Christian frame. And yet, when first I heard your voice, it made me start and tremble like the voice of the dead."

"I remember that you told me so; some resemblance in the tones, fancied or real, to those of one whom you had known some years before."

"Maybe, my lord, this resemblance, fancied or real, may have led you to reflection, and been thus blest in leading you within our fold."

"If so, the tones I dreaded should have been thrice welcome; they are familiar to me now, and the words they have uttered have given peace to my troubled soul. And my soul was sorely troubled. He was an old friend, he poor, I rich, but firmly bound together in the bonds of affection-I thought so he thought so. I bore a letter from him to the woman he loved, and, I saw and loved her, and my wealth tempted her she was mine, and the friend I had betrayed

My lord, why this disquiet? why recall the sins and follies which tears have blotted out for ever?"

"I knew not why, Anselmo, but the scenes of early life are present with me now. I see her in her great distress at the wrong she had done to the man who loved her, I hear her bitter cry when she heard that he had cursed her, I recall her deep sorrow, and refusal to be comforted, and her long dying; I think of him as we met in the grey light of an early morning, his fierce words, his wild threats, and

My lord, pray calm yourself; I have never seen you thus since the early days of our friendship.

I am thinking of my friendship with himof the pale face, and the crimson stain that called to Heaven for vengeance. Can coldness, hardness, acquit us for things such as these?" "My lord, the Church is ever merciful." "And God ? "

"God speaks through the Church."

r If the fugitive is discovered-I hate her, she is so like her mother, the best that I can hope to do is to devote her to the Church; this done, I shall myself forswear the world, and enter the cloister; all my worldly wealth, Anselmo, I would have devoted to pious uses; and into whose hands should I entrust it so well as to thine ?"

"My lord, so far as man can hope to exercise integrity and prudence, so far shall your trust be secure. We have known each other long." "Ay, seventeen years."

"Or more."

As the priest made this addition to Meinheim's remark, there was a knocking at the outer door. He rose, lifted the heavy drapery, and admitted one of the city officials.

"My lord, your servant (this to Meinheim), reverend father (this to Anselmo), the council are awaiting your presence. There is a prisoner, in whose case you are interested, about to be examined."

"Her name?"

"Martha Stumf, wife of the town-crier and drummer of the civic guard."

The priest glanced towards Meinheim; but he took no heed of the words thus spoken, piously employing himself in counting his beads. Anselmo laid his hand upon him-" My lord, I am sent for by the council; will you go with me? the case will have interest for you."

No, no! See to it, Anselmo. See to it, good father, it is in thine hand. I will remain here and pray."

The priest uttered a parting blessing, and followed the messenger, his heart full of strange thoughts, in which a sense of triumph predominated. Had the feelings of his heart been expressed in words, they would have taken some such form as this:

And the day of retribution is coming; the patient years of waiting have ripened the fruit, and he must drink of the vintage. He has laid his plans, and he promises to himself peace. Let him have it, if he can find peace in such terms-there is a fiery trial for the girl; will his nature, cold and hard as it is, withstand that trial? No, it will yield; but to what end? Is he another David, to seize the prey from out of the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear? No, she must die; all the wealth he possesses will be mine, a poor recompense for these long years of patient waiting; but I have schooled my heart-I am not the being I washe has made me what I am-I have made him what he is-let him go on; let him seek the peace which he fondly dreams the cloister can give; he shall know by whom he has been trained; he shall know all-I will confess to him, and his heart and brain shall be set on fire; let him find peace if he can. He beguiled me, wronged me, made of a frank and yielding nature a soft-spoken demon. O Meinheim, in the nethermost hell thou shalt find no cruel mocking fiend more terrible than I!"

There was a busy crowd of gossipers outside the town-hall when the priest arrived; but they made way for him, and he stretched forth his white hands and blessed them as he passed.

"And who may that be ?" says the country wench who was refused egress at the city gate, "who may that be?" and she plucks at the skirts of the widow of Krantz the baker.

"Who, indeed," is the answer, "but the holy and reverend father Anselmo." "The great preacher ?"

Ay, you may say that."

I have heard talk of him in our parts." You may hear talk of him in all parts." "And what a goodly man to see!

They talk of making him a bishop." "Never man more deserved a mitre." "A mitre! he deserves a scarlet hat." Ay, and in time will have it, if not the tiara.'

"Holy Madonna, St. Peter might be proud of his successor."

"So good and faithful."
"So true and upright."
"So eloquent a preacher."

So pattern a saint."

"So thoughtful and charitable."

Comments such as these were freely spoken; and startled were the talkers, when a voice,

loud and distinct, uttered the words-"Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you, for so spoke their fathers of the false prophets." There was a murmur of indignation against the speaker, who might have been suspected of views heretical and dealt with in fashion orthodox, had not the attention of the crowd been absorbed in the arrival of certain civic dignitaries, with whom came the ever wavering town clerk, whom you may remember. He was busy, or seemed to be busy, and was talking rapidly now with one, and now with another, the ever present smile upon his face, and always agreeing with the man who spoke last.

"What may we expect of this affair, Mr. Town Clerk ?”

THE town council, with the ecclesiastical officers, were assembled and seated in their places as the town clerk took up his position at the table, and tried his goose-quill on a fragment of paper before the business began. Half a dozen of the city guards were on duty in the hall, and behind a low bar at the further end stood Martha, weeping bitterly.

The council was then arguing as to the charge on which the woman stood before them, and whether they should deal with her as one suspected of harbouring a heretic, or on the broad charge of heresy itself. The latter course was that which was most strongly supported, and on this count the charge was made. The president opened the proceedings. Prisoner, you stand before this honourable court charged with the foulest crime known to our laws-heresy. We are advised that you have consorted with, listened to, and advanced the work of the heretical sect known as the re-baptizers, and we conjure you, by your hope of acquittal before this court, and acquittal before the eternal tribunal, to answer fully and faithfully to the charge."

Martha's tears were her only answer. "Have you heard of the sect of the re-baptizers ?"

66

My lord, we have all heard of them; they are spoken of throughout the land."

"What think you of them?"

The thoughts of a poor weak woman can be of small moment, my lord; but, my lord, I have thought no harm of them."

There was a murmur of indignation, and the town clerk speedily committed himself to two contrary opinions.

"Do you know of the doctrines which the re-baptizers teach ? "

"I know but little; and yet in that little there seems to me much of good. Yes, they

There was indignation in the court. Here was flat heresy-flat denial of papal supremacy; evidently this woman knew more of her Bible than of her breviary. Question resumed,

"Tell us frankly, by whom are the believers admitted into heaven ?"

Again the terribly-perplexed glance, and then the quiet and simple answer,— "Jesus Christ."

More indignation in the court. Flatter heresy could not be uttered. Does the prisoner need to be instructed that the keys of heaven were 'committed to the prince of the apostles and great pontiff of the Church? Is it necessary the prisoner should be reminded of the words in which their sacred commission was given ?

The prisoner only pleads that she is no priest, no learned clerk to contest these matters; that she is but a simple woman, begging for mercy.

Answer for yourself, woman, and speak plainly. Dost thou hold to the doctrines of the Catholic Church?"

66

My lord, I have been nurtured in them." "Have you been careful in the discharge of your duties ?"

"I am a sinful, erring creature, and I have neglected many things which I ought to have done."

"You have been absent from the confessional ?"

"I have, my lord."

"This is in itself suspicious. Tell us, who can forgive sin ?"

She answered readily,"God alone."

"Flat heresy-heresy of the blackest!" "But it is so written in God's word."