The Witch E-Book

Johnston Mary

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

It was said that the Queen was dying. She lay at Richmond, in the palace looking out upon the wintry, wooded, March-shaken park, but London, a few miles away, had daily news of how she did. There was much talk about herthe old Queenmuch telling of stories and harking back. She had had a long reign "Not far from fifty years, my masters!" and in it many important things had happened. The crowd in the streets, the barge and wherry folk upon the wind-ruffled river, the roisterers in the taverns drinking ale or sack, merchants and citizens in general talking of the times in the intervals of business, old soldiers and seamen ashore, all manner of folk, indeed, agreed upon the one most important thing. The most important thing had been the scattering of the Armada fifteen years before. That disposed of, opinions differed as to the next most important. The old soldiers were for all fighting wherever it had occurred. The seamen and returned adventurers threw for the voyages of Drake and Frobisher and Gilbert and Raleigh. With these were inclined to agree the great merchants and guild-masters who were venturing in the East India and other joint-stock companies. The little merchant and guild fellows agreed with the great. A very large number of all classes claimed for the overthrow of Popery the first place. On the other hand, a considerable number either a little hurriedly slurred this, or else somewhat too anxiously and earnestly supported the assertion. One circle, all churchmen, lauded the Act of Uniformity, and the pains and penalties provided alike for Popish recusant and non-conforming Protestant. Another circle, men of a serious cast of countenance and of a growing simplicity in dress, left the Act of Uniformity in obscurity, and after the deliverance from the Pope, made the important happening the support given the Protestant principle in France and the Netherlands. A few extreme loyalists put in a claim for the number of conspiracies unearthed and trampled into nothingnessScottish conspiracies, Irish conspiracies, Spanish conspiracies, Westmoreland and Northumberland conspiracies, Throgmorton conspiraciesthe death of the Queen of Scots, the death, two years ago, of Essex.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

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CHAPTER I

THE QUEEN’S CHAMBER

Itwas said that the Queen was dying. She lay at Richmond, in thepalace looking out upon the wintry, wooded, March-shaken park, butLondon, a few miles away, had daily news of how she did. There wasmuch talk about her—the old Queen—much telling ofstoriesand harking back. She had had a long reign—“Notfar from fifty years, my masters!”—and in it manyimportant things had happened. The crowd in the streets, the bargeand wherry folk upon the wind-ruffled river, the roisterers in thetaverns drinking ale orsack, merchants and citizens in generaltalking of the times in the intervals of business, old soldiers andseamen ashore, all manner of folk, indeed, agreed upon the one mostimportant thing. The most important thing had been the scatteringof the Armadafifteen years before. That disposed of, opinionsdiffered as to the next most important. The old soldiers were forall fighting wherever it had occurred. The seamen and returnedadventurers threw for the voyages of Drake and Frobisher andGilbert and Raleigh. With these were inclined to agree the greatmerchants and guild-masters who were venturing in the East Indiaand other joint-stock companies. The little merchant and guildfellows agreed with the great. A very large number of all classesclaimed for the overthrow of Popery the first place. On the otherhand, a considerable number either a little hurriedly slurred this,or else somewhat too anxiously and earnestly supported theassertion. One circle, all churchmen, lauded the Act of Uniformity,and the pains and penalties provided alike for Popish recusant andnon-conforming Protestant. Another circle, men of a serious cast ofcountenance and of a growing simplicity in dress, left the Act ofUniformity in obscurity, and after the deliverance from the Pope,made the important happening the support given the Protestantprinciple in France and the Netherlands. A few extreme loyalistsput in a claim for the number of conspiracies unearthed andtrampled into nothingness—Scottish conspiracies, Irishconspiracies, Spanish conspiracies, Westmoreland and Northumberlandconspiracies, Throgmorton conspiracies—the death of the Queenof Scots, the death, two years ago, of Essex.

All agreed that the Queen had had a stirring reign—all butthe latter end of it. The last few years—despite Irishaffairs—had been dull and settled, a kind of ditch-waterstagnation, a kind of going downhill. Fifty years, almost, was along time for one person to reign....

On a time the Queen had been an idol and a cynosure—foryears the love ofa people had been warm about her. It had been apeople struggling to become a nation, beset with foreign foes andinner dissensions, battling for a part in new worlds and realms.She had led the people well, ruled well, come out with them intothe PromisedLand. And now therewas a very human dissatisfactionwith the Promised Land, for the streams did not run milk and honeynor were the sands golden. As humanly, the dissatisfaction involvedthe old Queen. She could not have been, after all, the Queen thatthey had thought her.... After crying for so many years “Longlive Queen Elizabeth!” there would come creeping into mind adesire for novelty.King James,—King James!The words soundedwell, and promised, perhaps, the true Golden Age. But they weresaid, ofcourse, under breath. The Queen was not dead yet.

They told strange stories of her—the old Queen; usually insmall, select companies where there were none but safe men. AsMarch roared on, there was more and more of this story-telling,straws that showedthe way the tide was setting. They were rarelynow stories of her youth, of her courage and fire, of her learning,of the danger in which she lived when she was only “MadamElizabeth,” of her imprisonment in the Tower—nor werethey stories of her coronation, and of the way, through so manylong years, she had queened it, of her “mereEnglishness,” her steady courage, her power of work, hercouncillors, her wars, and her statecraft. Leaving that plane, theywere not so often either stories of tragic errors,of wrath andjealousy, finesse and deception, of arbitrary power, of the fretand weakness of the strong.—But to-day they told stories ofher amours, real or pretended. They repeated what she had said toLeicester and Leicester had said to her, what she had said toAlençon and Alençon had answered. They dug up again witha greasy mind her girlhood relations with Seymour, they createdlovers for her and puffed every coquetry into a full-blownliaison;here they made her this man’s mistress and that man’smistress, and there they said that she could be no man’smistress. They had stories to tell of her even now, old and sick asshe was. They told how, this winter, for all she was so ill atease, she would be dressed each day in stiff and gorgeous raiment,would lie upon her pillows so, with rings upon her fingers and herface painted, and when a young man entered the room, how shegathered strength....

The March wind roared down the streets and shook the tavernsigns.

In the palace at Richmond, there was a great room, and in theroom there was a great bed. The room had rich hangings, repeatedabout the bed. The windows looked upon the wintry park, and under ahuge, marble mantelpiece, carved with tritons and wreaths offlowers, a fire burned. About the room werestandingwomen—maids of honour, tiring-women. Near the fire stood agroup of men, silent, in attendance.

The Queen did not lie upon the bed—now she said that shecould not endure it, and now she said that it was her will to lieupon the floor. They placedrich cushions and she lay among them attheir feet, her gaunt frame stretched upon cloth of gold andcoloured silk. She had upon her a long, rich gown, as full andrigid a thing as it was possible to wear and yet recline. Her headwas dressed with a tireof false hair, a mass of red-gold; there wasfalse colour upon her cheek and lip. She kept a cup of gold besideher filled with wine and water which at long intervals she put toher lips. Now she lay for hours very still, with contracted brows,and now sheturned from side to side, seeking ease and finding none.Now there came a moan, and now a Tudor oath. For the most part shelay still, only the fingers of one hand moving upon the rim of thecup or measuring the cloth of gold beneath her. Her sight wasfailing. She had not eaten, would not eat. She lay still, supporteduponfringed cushions, and the fire burned with a low sound, and theMarch wind shook the windows.

From the group of men by the fire stepped softly, not hercustomary physician, but anotherof some note, called intoassociation during these last days. He crossed the floor with avelvet step and stood beside the Queen. His body bent itself into acurve of deference, but his eyes searched without reverence. Shecould not see him, he knew, withany clearness. He was followed fromthe group by a grave and able councillor. The two stood withoutspeaking, looking down. The Queen lay with closed eyes. Her fingerscontinued to stroke the cloth of gold; from her thin, drawn lips,coloured cherry-red, came a halting murmur:“England—Scotland—Ireland—”

The two men glanced at each other, then the Queen’scouncillor, stepping back to the fire, spoke to a young manstanding a little apart from the main group. This man, too, crossedthe floor with a noiselessstep and stood beside the physician. Hiseyes likewise searched with a grave, professional interest.

“Navarre,” went the low murmur at their feet.“Navarre and Orange.... No Pope, but I will have ritualstill.... England—Scotland—”

The Queen moaned and moved her body upon the cushions. Sheopened her eyes. “Who’s standing there? God’sdeath—!”

The physician knelt. “Madam, it is your poor physician.Will not Your Grace take the draught now?”

“No.—There’s some one else—”

“Your Grace, it is a youngphysician—English—but who has studied at Paris underthe best scholar of Ambroise Paré. He is learned and skilful.He came commended by the Duke of —— to Sir RobertCecil—”

“God’s wounds!” cried the Queen in a thin,imperious voice. “Have I not told you and Cecil, too, thatthere was no medicine and no doctor who could do me good! Parédied, did he not? and you and your fellow will die! All die. I haveseen a many men and matters die—and I will die, too, if it bemy will!”

She stared past him at the strange physician. “If he wereHippocrates himself I would not have him! I do not like his looks.He is a dreamer and born to be hanged.—Begone, both of you,and leave me at peace.”

Her eyes closed. She turned upon the cushions. Her fingers beganagain to move upon the rich stuff beneath her.“England—”

The rejected aid or attempt to aid stepped, velvet-footed,backward from the pallet. The physicians knew, and all in the roomknew, that the Queen could not now really envisage a new face. Shemight with equal knowledge havesaid of the man from Paris,“He is a prince in disguise and born to be crowned.”But though they knew this to be true, the Queen had said the onething and had not said the other, and what she said had still greatand authoritative weight of suggestion. The younger physician,returning to his place a little apart alike from the womenattendants and from the group of courtiers, became the recipient ofglances of predetermined curiosity and misliking. Now, as ithappened, he really did have something the look of adreamer—thin, pale, and thoughtful-faced, with musing,questioning eyes. While according to accepted canons it was nothandsome, while,indeed, it was somewhat strange, mobile, andelf-like, his countenance was in reality not at all unpleasing. Itshowed kindliness no less than power to think. But it was a facethat was not usual.... He was fairly young, tall and well-formedthough exceedingly spare, well dressed after the quiet and soberfashion of his calling. Of their own accord, passing him hastily incorridor or street, the people in the room might not have given hima thought. But now they saw that undoubtedly hewasstrange, perhapseven sinister of aspect. Each wished to be as perspicacious as theQueen.

But they did not think much about it, and as the newcomer, aftera reverence directed toward the Queen, presently withdrew with theolder physician,—who came gliding back without him,—andas he was seen no more in the palace, they soon ceased to thinkabout him at all. He had been recommended by a great French lord tothe favour of Sir Robert Cecil. The latter, sending for him withina day or two, told him bluntly that he did not seem fitted for theCourt nor for Court promotion.

The March wind roared through London and over Merry England andaround Richmond park and hill. It shook the palace windows. Within,in the great room with the great bed, the old Queen lay upon thefloor with pillows beneath her, with her brows drawn together aboveher hawk nose. At intervals her mortal disease and lack of allcomfort wrung a moan, or she gave one of her old, impatient, round,mouth-filling oaths. For the most part she lay quite silent,uneating, unsleeping, her fleshless fingers keeping time againstthe rich cloth beneath her. Her women did not love her as the womenof Mary Stuart had loved that Queen. Year in and year out, day inand day out, they had feared this Queen; now she was almost pastfearing. They took no care to tell her that the carmine upon herface was not right, or that she had pushed the attire of hair toone side, and that her own hair showed beneath and was grey. Theyreasoned, perhaps with truth, that she might strike the one whotold. She lay in her rich garments upon the floor, and the fireburned with a low sound beneath the wreathedtritons and shesmoothed the gold cloth with her fingers.“England—Scotland—Ireland.... MereEnglish—... The Pope down, but I’ll have the Bishopsstill—”

CHAPTER II

THE CAP AND BELLS

Theinn was small and snug, near Cheapside Cross, and resorted toby men of an argumentative mind. The Mermaid Tavern, no greatdistance away, had its poets and players, but the Cap and Bells wasfor statesmen in their own thought alone, and for disputants uponsuch trifles as the condition of Europe, the Pope, and the changeinthe world wrought by Doctor Martin Luther. It was ill-luck,certainly, that brought Gilbert Aderhold to such a place.

When he lost hope of any help from Cecil, the evident firstthing to do upon returning from Richmond to London, was to changeto lodgings that were less dear,—indeed, to lodgings aslittle dear as possible. His purse was running very low. Hechanged, with promptitude, to a poor room in a poor house. It wascold at night and dreary, and his eyes, tired with reading throughmuch of the day, ached in the one candlelight. He went out into thedark and windy street, saw the glow from the windows and open doorof the Cap and Bells, and trimmed his course for the swinging sign,a draught of malmsey and jovial human faces.

In the tavern’s commonroom he found a seat upon the longbench that ran around the wall. It was a desirable corner seat andit became his only by virtue of its former occupant, a portlygoldsmith, being taken with a sudden dizziness, rising and leavingthe place. Aderhold, chancing to be standing within three feet,slipped into the corner. He was near the fire and it warmed himgratefully. A drawer passing, he ordered the malmsey, and when itwas brought he rested the cup upon the table before him. It was along table, and toward the farther end sat half a dozen men,drinking and talking. What with firelight and candles the room wasbright enough. It was warm, and at the moment of Aderhold’sentrance, peaceable. He thought of a round of wild and noisytaverns that he had tried one after the other, and, looking aroundhim, experienced a glow of self-congratulation. He wanted peace, hewanted quiet; he had no love for the sudden brawls, for the candlesknocked out, and lives of peaceable men in danger thatcharacterized the most ofsuch resorts. He sipped his wine, andafter a few minutes of looking about and finding that the clusterat the far end of the table was upon a discussion of matters whichdid not interest him, he drew from his breast the book he had beenreading and fell to it again. As he read always with a concentratedattention, he was presently oblivious of all around.

An arm in a puffed sleeve of blue cloth slashed with red, comingflat against the book and smothering the page from sight, broke thespell and brought him back to the Cap and Bells. He raised his chinfrom his hand and his eyes from the book—or rather from theblue sleeve. The wearer of this, a formidable, large man, anevident bully, with a captious and rubicund face, frowned upon himfrom the seat he hadtaken, at the foot of the table, just byhiscorner. The number of drinkers and conversers had greatlyincreased. There was not now just a handful at this especial table;they were a dozen or more. Moreover, he found that for some reasontheir attention was upon him; they were watching him; and he had agreat and nervous dislike of being watched. He became aware thatthere was a good deal of noise, coarse jests and laughter, and somedisputing. Yet they looked, for the most part, substantial men, notthe wild Trojans and slashswords that he sometimes encountered. Forall his physical trepidations he was a close and accurate observer;roused now, he sent a couple of rapid glances the length andbreadth of the table. They reported disputatious merchants andburgomasters, a wine-flushed three or four from the neighbouringcongeries of lawyers, a country esquire, some one who lookedpompous and authoritative like a petty magistrate, others lesspatent,—and the owner of the arm still insolently stretchedacross his book.

The latter now removed the arm. “So ho! Master Scholar,your Condescension returns from the moon—after we’vehalloaed ourselves hoarse! What devil of a book carried you aloftlike that?”

Aderhold decided to be as placating as possible. “Itis,sir, the ‘Chirurgia Magna’ of Theophrastus Bombastvon Hohenheim, called Paracelsus.”

The red and blue man was determined to bully. “The Cap andBells has under consideration the state of the Realm. The Cap andBells has addressed itself to you three times, requesting youropinion upon grave matters. First you deign no answer at all, andfinally you insult us with trivialities! ’S death! are you anEnglishman, sir?”

“As English as you, sir,” answered Aderhold;“though, in truth, seeing that I have lived abroad some yearsand am but lately returned, my English manners may have somewhatrusted and become clownish. I crave pardon of the worshipfulcompany, and I shall not again read in its presence.”

A roisterer addressed him from halfway down the table.“We’vegot a ruling—we that frequent the Cap andBells. You’re a stranger—and a strange-lookingstranger, too, by your leave—and you must wipe out theoffense of your outlandishness! A bowl of sack for thecompany—you’ll pay for a bowl of sack for thecompany?”

The colour flooded Aderhold’s thin cheek. He had notenough in his purse or anything like enough. To-morrow heexpected—or hoped rather than expected—to receivepayment from the alderman whose wife, having fallen ill before thevery door of the house wherehe lodged, he had attended and broughtout from the presence of death. But to-morrow was to-morrow, andto-night was to-night. He told the truth. “I am a poorphysician, my masters, who hath of late been set about withmisfortune—”

The red and blue bullysmote the table with his fist.

“What a murrain is a man doing in the Cap and Bells whocannot pay for sack? Poor physician, quotha! I’ve known amany physicians, but none so poor as that—”

One of the lawyers, a middle-aged, wiry man in black, raised hishead. “He says true. Come, brother, out with thy gold andsilver!”

“When I shall have paid,” said Aderhold, “forthe malmsey I have drunk, I shall not have fourpence in mypurse.”

“Pay for the sack,” said the lawyer, “andleave the malmsey go.”

“Nay,” said Aderhold, “I owe for themalmsey.”

The red and blue man burst forth again. “Oons! Would youhave it that you do not owe the sack? Call for the drink and agreat bowl of it, aye! If the host is out at the end, he can takehis pay with a cudgel or summon thewatch! Physician, quotha? Now,as my name’s Anthony Mull, he looks more to me like a blackseminary priest!”

Aderhold leaned back appalled. He wished himself in the windystreet or the gloom of his lodgings, or anywhere but here. Was itall to begin again,the great weariness of trouble here and troublethere? To thread and dodge and bend aside, only in the end to findhimself at bay, bright-eyed and fierce at last like any huntedanimal—he who wanted only peace and quiet, calm space tothink in! He groanedinwardly. “Ah, the most unluckystar!” There came to his help, somewhat strangely, and,though none noticed it, upon the start as it were of the red andblue bully’s closing words, the Inns of Court man who hadspoken before. He took his arms from the table and, turning, calledaloud, “William Host! William Host!”

The host came—a stout man with a moon face. “Aye,sir? aye, Master Carnock?”

“William Host,” said Carnock, “it is known,even in that remnant of Bœotia, the Mermaid Tavern, that thou’rt the greatest lover of books of all the Queen’ssubjects—”

The host assumed the look of the foolish-wise. “Nay, nay,I would not say the greatest, Master Carnock! But ’tis knownthat I value a book—”

“Then,” said the other, “here is a learneddoctor with a no lesslearned book.” Rising, he leaned halfwayover the table and lifted from before Aderhold the volume withwhich he had been engaged. “Lo! A good-sized book and wellmade and clothed! Look you, now! Is’t worth thy greatest bowlof sack, hot and sugared? It is—I see it by thine eye ofjudicious appraisement! I applaud thy judgement!—I call it aSolomon’s judgement.—Furnish the doctor with the sackand take the book for payment!”

Aderhold thrust out a long and eager arm. “Nay, sir! Ivalue the book greatly—”

“If you are not a fool—” said the lawyer withasperity.

But the physician had already drawn back his arm. He could be attimes what the world might call a fool, but his intelligence agreedthat this occasion did not warrant folly. He might somehow come upwith the book again; if the alderman paid, he might, indeed, comeback to-morrow to the Cap and Bells and recover it from the host.When the first starting and shrinking from danger was over, he wasquick and subtle enough in moves of extrication. He had learnedthat in his case, or soon or late, a certain desperate coolnessmight be expected to appear. Sometimes he found it at one corner,sometimes at another; sometimes it only came after long delay,after long agony and trembling; and sometimes it slipped its handinto his immediately after the first recoil. Whenever it came itbrought, to his great relief, an inner detachment, much as thoughhe were a spectator, very safe in some gallery above. Up there, sosafe and cool, he could even see the humour in allthings. Now headdressed the company. “My masters, Cleopatra, when she wouldhave a costlydrink, melted pearls in wine! The book there may becalled a jewel, for I prized it mightily. Will you swallow itdissolved in sack? So I shall make amends, and allwill be wiser forhaving drunk understanding!”

The idea appealed, the sack was ordered. But the red and bluebully was bully still. Aderhold would have sat quiet in his corner,awaiting the steaming stuff and planning to slip away as soon asmight be after its coming. At the other end of the table had arisena wordy war over some current city matter or other—so far ashe was concerned the company might seem to be placated andattention drawn. He was conscious that the lawyer still watched himfrom the corner of his eye, but the rest of the dozen indulged intheir own wiseacre wrangling. All, that is, but the red and bluebully. He still stared and swelled with animosity, and presentlybroke forth again. “‘Physician’! It may be so,but I do not believe it!As my name’s Anthony Mull, I believeyou to be a Jesuit spy—”

The sack came at the moment and with it a diversion. Cups werefilled, all drank, and the lawyer flung upon the board fordiscussion the growing use of tobacco, its merits and demerits.Then, with suddenness, the petty magistrate at the head of thetable was found to be relating the pillorying that day, side byside, of a Popish recusant and a railing Banbury man or Puritan.All at table turned out to be strong Church of England men, zealousmaintainers of the Act of Uniformity, jealous of even a smack ofdeviation toward Pope or Calvin. At the close of a moment ofsuspension, while all drank again, the red and blue bully, leaningforward, addressed the man of justice. “Good Master Pierce,regardthis leech, so named, and put the question to him, will hecurse Popery and all its works.”

It seemed, in truth, that this was Aderhold’s unluckynight. That, or there was something in the Queen’sdeclaration, there was something about him different, somethingthat provoked in all these people antagonism. And yet he was aquiet man, of a behaviour so careful that it suggested a shyness ortimidity beyond the ordinary. He was not ill-looking orvillainous-looking—but yet, there it was! For all that he wasindubitably of English birth, “Foreigner” was writtenupon him.

The present unluckiness was the being again involved in thiscontentious and noisy hour. He had been gathering himself together,meaning to rise with the emptying of the bowl, make his bow to thecompany, and quit the Cap and Bells. And now it seemed that he muststop to assure them that he was not of the old religion!Aderhold’s inner man might have faintly smiled. He felt thelawyer’s gaze upon him—a curious, even an apprehensive,gaze. The justice put the question portentously, all the table,save only the lawyer, leaning forward, gloating for the answer,ready to dart a claw forward at the least flinching. But Aderholdspoke soberly, with a quiet brow. “I do not hold withcursing, Master Justice. It is idle to curse past, present, or tocome, for in all three a man but curses himself. But I am farremoved from that faith, and that belief is become a strange andhostile one to me. I am no Papist.”

The bully struck the table with his fist. “Asmyname’s Anthony Mull, that’s not enough!”

And the justice echoed him with an owl-like look:“That’s not enough!”

A colour came into Aderhold’s cheek. “There is, mymasters, no faith that has not in some manner served the world andgiven voice to what wewere and are, good and bad. No faith withoutlives of beauty and grace. No faith without its garland. But sinceI am to clear myself of belonging to the old religion—then Iwill say that I abhor—as in a portion of myself, diseased,which I would have as far otherwise as I might—that I abhorin that faith all its cruelties past and present, its Inquisition,its torturers and savage hate, its wars and blood-letting andinsensate strife, its falseness and cupidity and great andunreasonable pride, its King Know-No-More and its QueenEnquire-No-Further! I abhor its leasing bulls, its anathemas andexcommunications, its iron portcullis dropped across the outwardand onward road, its hand upon the throat of knowledge and itssearing irons against the eyes of vision! I say that it has made adogma of the childhood of the mind and that, or soon or late, therewill stand within its portals intellectual death—”

The table blinked. “At least,” said the justicesagely, “you are no Papist!”

But the red and blue man would not be balked of his prey.“That’s round enough, but little enough as a trueChurchman talks! You appear to me not one whit less one of us thanyou did before! Master Pierce, Master Pierce! if he be not a maskedJesuit, then is he a Marprelate man, a Banbury man, a snuffling,Puritan, holy brother! Examine him, Master Pierce! My name is notMull, if he be not somehow pillory fruit—”

It seemed that they all hated a Puritan as much as a Papist.“Declare! Declare! Are you a Banbury Saint and a Brother? AreyouReformed, a Precisian, and a Presbyter? Are you John Calvin andJohn Knox?”

But Aderhold kept a quiet forehead. “A brother to any inthe sense you mean—no. A saint—not I! ACalvinist?—No, I am no Calvinist.”

“Not enough! Not enough!”

Aderhold looked at them, bright-eyed. “Then I will saythat Calvin burned Servetus. I will say that where they have hadpower to persecute they have persecuted! I will saythat—”

Outside the Cap and Bells arose a great uproar. Whether it wereapprentices fighting, or an issue of gentry and sword-playwith—in either case—the watch arriving, or whether itwere a fire, or news, perhaps, of the old Queen’sdeath—whatever it was it behooved the Cap and Bells to knowthe worst! All the revellers and disputers rose, made for thedoor,became dispersed. Aderhold snatched up his cloak and hat, laida coin beside the empty malmsey cup, sent one regretful glance inthe direction of the volume lying beside the great bowl, andquitted the Cap and Bells. In the street was a glare of lightandthe noise of running feet. The crowd appeared to be rushingtoward Thames bank, some tall building upon it being afire. He letthem go, and drawing his cloak about him, turned in the directionof his lodging.

He had not gone far when he felt himself touched on theshoulder. “Not so fast! A word with you,friend!—You’ve put me out of breath—”

It proved to be the lawyer who had befriended him. They werestanding before some church. Wall and porch, it rose above them,dark and vacant. The lawyer looked about him, glanced along thesteps and into the hollow of the porch. “Bare as is this landof grace!—Look you, friend, we know that it is allowable attimes to do that in danger which wedisavow in safety. Especially ifwe have great things in trust.—I marked youquickly enough fora man with a secret—and a secret more of the soul and mindthan of worldly goods. Hark you! I’m as little as you one ofthe mass-denying crew we’ve left. What! a man may go introublous times with the current and keep a still tongue—nay,protest with his tongue that he loves the current—elsehe’ll have a still tongue, indeed, and neither lands norbusiness, nor perhaps bare life! But when we recognize afriend—” He spoke rapidly, in a voice hardly above awhisper, a sentence or two further.

“You take me,” said Aderhold, “to be Catholic.You mistake; I am not. I spoke without mask.” Then, as theother drew back with an angry breath. “You were quick andkindly and saved me from that which it would have been disagreeableto experience. Willyou let me say but another word?”

“Say on,” said the other thickly, “but had Iknown—”

The light from Thames bank reddening the street even here, theydrew a little farther into the shadow of the porch. “I havetravelled much,” said Aderhold, “and seen many men andbeliefs, and most often the beliefs were strange to me, and I sawnot how any could hold them. Yet were the people much what theywere themselves, some kindly, some unkindly, some hateful, somefilled with all helpfulness. I have seen men of rarequalities,tender and honourable women and young children, believe what to mewere monstrous things. Everywhere I have seen that men and womenmay be better than the dogma that is taught them, seeing that whatthey think they believe is wrapped in all therest of their beingwhich believes no such thing. Both in the old religion and in theReformed have I known many a heroic and love-worthy soul. Think aswell as you may of me, brother, and I will think well ofthee—and thank thee, besides,—”

“Cease your heretic talk!” said the lawyer. “Iheld you to be of holy Mother Church—” With suddenness,in the darkness, he put forth his foot and swung his arm, at oncetripping and striking the physician with such violence that he cameto the ground with his foreheadagainst the stone step of thechurch. When he staggered to his feet the lawyer was gone. Aroundhim howled the March wind and far above the church vane creaked. Hestood for a moment until the giddiness passed, then gathered hiscloak about him and, hurrying on through the nipping air, reachedhis lodging without further adventure.

That night he slept well. The next morning, as he was eating hisbreakfast, that was spare enough, he heard a loud and formal cryingin the street below. He went to the window. Acrier was approaching,at his heels a mob of boys and of the idle generally. “TheQueen is Dead!—The Queen is Dead!—The Queen isDead!—Long Live King James!”

CHAPTER III

THE TWO PHYSICIANS

Hewent that morning to visit the alderman, inopportune as heknew the visit would be esteemed. But many things wereinopportune—hunger, for instance. The alderman found thevisit offensively, unpatriotically inopportune. “What! TheKing’s Majesty’s ascension day—!” But onething saved Aderhold, and that was the presence in thealderman’s parlour of some seven or eight cronies, men andwomen. It would not do—it would not do for the alderman toseem haggling and unwilling. Aderhold quitted the house the richerby twelve shillings.

The narrow streets were crowded; everybody was out, excited andimportant as though he or she had died or been crowned. Thephysician strolled with the others. The morning was fine, he feltwealthy and happy. The sunshine that stroked the projecting,timbered fronts of houses was the sunshine ofhome, the soft andmoist light of England. He loved England. He wandered for an houror two here and there in the London of less than two hundredthousand souls. He went down to the riverside, and sat upon a stonestep, and gazed into the purple, broodingdistance.... At last heturned back, and after a time found himself in the street of hislodging, and before the house.