Part 2

Meanwhile Geoffrey and Hubert, cross-bow in hand, were rapidly treading the intricate forest paths. It was not the chase upon which they were bent, though a brace or two of birds, and a squirrel, hung over their shoulders; it was not the deer they were seeking when they gazed earnestly down the paths, or peered curiously into the hollow cavity of the oak which was mentioned in the first chapter. Deep holes, formed partly by time, and partly by man's hand, were found among the roots, each opening toward one of the different roads which led off into the forest. This was what might be called the Lollards' general news office or telegraph station. From one of these Geoffrey drew forth a small twig with two branches. After looking at it carefully, he threw it away, saying, cheerfully, to his brother: "No danger there, Hubert; Peter Lainton has seen that all is safe as far as the mountains; that is well for my Lord of Cobham, who will have to pass that way to-night. Now for the southern road." The forked stick was there also, denoting safety; but the next cavity contained a number of pebbles arranged two in a row, while in the centre was stuck a bit of red leaf. The boys immediately comprehended the signal. "Four, eight, ten horsemen," said Hubert, with a troubled look, "brother, is there not danger there?" "Certainly, Arundel's men can not be far off," said Geoffrey, thoughtfully, "probably though beyond Norris's Ford, else Peter Lainton had heard something. I will put the signal for him to be on the watch, perhaps they are only bound for Bristol, where they say there has been some trouble between the troops and the people." While he was speaking, he had been looking around for the twig of a tree. Having found it, he peeled the bark off it in rings, and partly breaking off the top, stuck it in the ground in the hollow opening to the southern road, and scratched two marks in the ground behind it. "Two hours after sunset," said Hubert, "is not that rather soon? There will be full moon to-night." "Still, father says it were better for him to start early than late, there is no telling when the soldiers may be here. How is it with the London road?" This hole contained two peeled sticks tied with cords in several places, and bent over toward the south-east. Around them were grouped several black beans. Too well the boys knew the meaning of the signal. The road to which it referred led to London. On that road had been seen, that morning, two Lollards, one a preacher, for one of the sticks was pointed a little at the top, and the black beans represented the dreaded emissaries of the church. The boys looked at each other; one name was trembling on the lips of both, but it was too fearful a thought to utter. There had been no preacher to their knowledge in the forest save him whose holy words had filled them with such awe and rapture the previous night. For John Beverly to be taken before Arundel's court was certain death, and death in its most fearful shape, the lingering agony of the chain and the flame.

Geoffrey's face grew pale, and he bent closer over the little signal as though he hoped to discover some additional circumstance that might contradict his suppositions. It was not absolutely certain that the prisoner and the preacher were the same. Beverly had intended to take the northern road; but it was very likely that he had heard of the band of soldiers there, and had turned aside. With this poor comfort they were forced to be content, and silently turned their steps toward the Tower.

Sir John heard their tidings, and construed them even more favorably than his son. The preacher, he said, when he believed his duty called him in a certain direction, was not one to turn back through fear. He had firmly signified his intention of meeting an assembly of Lollards in Flintshire the following Sabbath. At any rate, it were better not to alarm Lord Cobham with these uncertainties. Hubert's spirits rose at this new view of the case; but Geoffrey read in his father's face a contradiction of his words. Still he said nothing, but followed him to the room in the hall.

Lord Cobham laid aside the Bible from which he had been reading, and replied to their respectful salutations that he had slept well, and was quite refreshed. He then turned to Geoffrey, and looked earnestly at his tall, well-proportioned form and sinewy limbs. "Wouldst thou be a soldier, my son?" he said.

"Yea, my lord," replied the boy, "so I be able to fight for freedom and God's word."

The old soldier's face glowed at hearing the brave words; but he said nothing, only turned to the younger.

"And what wouldst thou do, my son?"

"O my lord!" said Hubert, his voice quivering with the strong emotion working in his breast, "could I but preach the word, as doth the good man who has just left us, then were I highly favored."

"The Lord grant thee thy desire, my child!" said Cobham. "Yea, and I think he will; for there is none that striveth to do his work unto whom some part shall not be given. It may not be according to his desire, in the way which he has marked out for himself; but to work in the Lord's vineyard will not be denied him. But come, let us see how thou wilt teach the people. Wouldst thou tell him who has done evil to go and confess him to the priest that he may, by him, be absolved, and then go and sin over again?"

"Nay, surely," answered the boy, his eye kindling, "for the priest hath no power by his word to forgive sins, but God only; neither will _he_ do it unless the sinner earnestly repent him of his sins, steadfastly purposing to lead a new life in the future, by God's help. Unto the Lord only must the people shrive themselves."

"Yet the priests will tell thee that in the Scriptures standeth this verse: 'Confess your sins one to another.' What sayest thou then?"

"Let the priest bend the knee before me and the people, and confess his wickedness; then at the end--if there be any end--I will in my turn shrive myself to him, and to all people, for so saith the Scriptures."

Cobham smiled at the boy's logic.

"True, my son, thou sayest rightly; but suppose then that they put thee to the test, how instructest thou the people then?"

"I shall tell the people," said the boy stoutly, "that there is no more of the real flesh and blood of our Saviour in the wafer and wine of the holy mysteries after the words of consecration than before."

"Yet, my son, beware lest thou then fall into error. Christ doth say when he presenteth the paten and the chalice to his disciples, 'This is my body, this is my blood;' therefore he _is_ present under the form of bread and wine in the sacrament, though the substance of the bread and wine be still therein contained. Take heed not to fall into the great error either of declaring the elements to be absolutely changed into the flesh and blood of Christ, or, on the other hand, of denying his perfect spiritual presence in the mysteries he has ordained. Thou hast been well taught; hold fast the form of sound words contained in this Holy Book, then shall our Lord hold thee fast in his heavenly kingdom. But now, my son, thou knowest well that the priest is not convinced by this, but is rather incensed thereby, because he loveth darkness rather than light; and to stop thy mouth he will excommunicate thee as a heretic forever from the church of God. What will thou do then?"

To understand the full force of excommunication, we must remember that the excommunicated person was put under a sentence of absolute outlawry. His relations and friends were forbidden to give him any comfort or assistance under penalty of the same curse. None might give or sell him shelter, food, or clothing; and at his death his unburied body was cast into unhallowed ground, or left for the beasts and birds of prey to feed upon.

The boy did not shrink from the dreadful picture thus brought before his mind, but said quietly:

"He who hath made the heavens saith: 'I shut and no man openeth, and I open and no man shutteth.' Their power then is only in words which cannot hurt the soul. Having favor with God, who alone is powerful, wherefore care we for the wrath of men?"

"Truly saith the lad, Sir John," cried Cobham, cheerily, "if we have the lion on our side, care we for the barking of the foxes? But listen now: they will not stop here, but will then deliver thee to the secular power, and thou mayest languish long years in a dungeon. What sayest thou to that?"

"Paul and Silas sang for joy in their prison-house, and angels have visited oftentimes the prisons of the saints and loosened their bonds."

"Yet again," said the Lollard, rising and fixing his dark, piercing eye full on the boy's face. "Yet once more: the dungeon, be it never so dark, is too fair a dwelling for the heretic. They will gird thee in an iron chain and hang thee on the accursed gallows, and kindle under thee the smarting flame which will slowly creep up thy quivering limbs as though loath to end thy sufferings. Think, boy, of the smart, of the anguish--think and answer before God and man--wilt thou die for the Lord's sake?"

For a moment Hubert grew very pale--his whole frame seemed to shrink with horror from the thought. Every quivering nerve cried out to him to draw back; but the faith in that young heart was strong, and triumphed. The blood rushed back into his face, and tears, not of sorrow, dimmed the fire of his eyes:

"_I will, so help me Christ!_"

*CHAPTER IV.*

_*Farewell To Home.*_

"Look you, John De Forest," said the Lord of Cobham solemnly, "wilt thou give this thy son unto the Lord, that he may serve the Lord from his youth? God hath surely put his mark upon him in that he hath taken away from him both the love and the fear of the world. The Lord receiveth not the grudged gift, the Lord loveth the cheerful giver; answer then from the heart before God and man--wilt thou give this thy son unto the Lord or no?"

John De Forest bowed his head upon his hands for a moment, then raised it, and said firmly:

"Yea, truly, as the Lord hath given them to me, so give I them back into his hands."

Silence reigned in the room for some moments; Sir John had sunk his head upon his hands again; then the old Lollard arose, and laying his hands on the boys' heads, blessed them in scripture phrase:

"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord look upon you with his mercy. I pray not that he may give unto you the peace of this world; in these latter days Christ is making true his word that he came to send a sword into the world, and peace is the portion of the coward. The Lord give unto you a Christian warfare, a martyr's death, a victor's crown!"

John De Cobham next proceeded to inform the boys concerning the arrangements which he and their father had made for them. The latter was anxious for them to be away from the Tower for various reasons. He was fully aware that an attack upon it was meditated by Arundel, and he wished his sons, who could be no assistance to him, to be as far removed from the danger as possible. Then, besides, he wished that they should enjoy the instructions of some learned man, an advantage it was impossible for them to obtain in their retired home. Lord Cobham agreed with him, and mentioned a certain Roger Markham, formerly curate of Romney in Kent. The nobleman was also desirous of sending messages concerning his escape and other matters to his friends in London, for which place he wished the boys immediately to depart.

Geoffrey's free, high spirit longed for more of the world than was to be seen from the narrow boundaries of the Tower domain. He had been once to London, and it seemed to him a land of delights; so that the very thought of going there to view all its wonders, and mingle with those of his own age, caused his face to flush with pleasure and his heart to beat fast with hope. Hubert's heart also leaped for joy; but his thoughts were not his brother's thoughts. His prayer was answered; he might now go forth and labor for the Lord, and learn how to preach the glad gospel tidings--gospel in the fullest sense of the word, good news of freedom from Satan's chain, and the galling yoke of popish traditions. He might read the whole of those tracts from the pen of Wickliffe, of which he had only as yet seen fragments. But more than all, he might see a _whole Bible_! The one which his father had procured with difficulty, and kept with danger, was not entire--some chapters from the New Testament were wanting, and nearly all the historical books of the Old. These this Lollard child longed to feast upon with an earnestness which would shame many a Christian of the present day, whose legible, perfect Bible is ever _at_ his hand, but seldom _in_ it.

These joyful thoughts were followed by painful ones. Their father, who had been the only companion and protector of their solitary boyhood, father and mother in one, was united to them by no common tie. They had shared, as children seldom do, not only in his cares, and doubts, and sorrows, but also in his joys, and hopes, and consolation. Him they must leave, and also the dear old Tower, every corner of which was associated with pleasant home remembrances, and it must be a long time before they saw either their home or their father again, if, in these uncertain times, they ever should. But the Lord had need of them; they had put their hands to the plough--should they draw back?

Lord Cobham next handed them some folded pieces of parchment. "This one," he said, "ye shall show at such places as ye stop; they will then receive you in my name, or rather"--and the Lollard bowed low--"in the name and for the sake of Him whom I serve. Ye shall tell them of my safety, no more; also that they be of good cheer and hold fast the Lord Jesus Christ, looking to the reward. And when ye arrive at the city, ye shall go straight to the house of Philip Naseby, a trader, who dwells near Whitefriars, just by the bridge. Ye shall give him this watchword--not openly, but in the midst of other words--'The Lord is my help all the day long;' and he will answer: 'How long is the day?' When ye are entirely alone with him, bid him tell Sir Roger Ashton that the bird has flown to the mountain. Will ye remember all this?"

The texts were familiar to both the boys, and besides, they were too much accustomed to the various methods of communicating by signals not to perceive their signification and importance; and having indicated their assent, Cobham continued:

"These letters the trader will give as they are directed; but this last ye shall give yourselves to good Roger Markham, and he will instruct you in all useful and clerkly things, for he is well learned in the schools of Oxford. In due time, my son, thou shalt preach; but see that thou preach only 'Christ and him crucified,' so shall his Spirit rest upon thee and thy labors, and shall instruct thee, as no man can, in the holy mysteries. The Lord bless you both and give you of his work to do, whether it be to sit and wait his good pleasure, or to teach his doctrines unto men, or to die for the truth's sake. He keepeth the reward, and verily it can never fail."

It did not take either of the boys long to prepare for their journey. The letters and a few pages of Scripture were sewed into the inner lining of their tunics, a wallet containing some provision was hung at their sides, and, staff in hand, like the patriarchs of old, they stood. Their father was too poor to give them horses, and the long, weary journey must be made on foot.

It would not have been wise to depart openly, so when the sun had set more than an hour, they, with Lord Cobham, passed along one of the subterranean passages which opened far out into the open country. There they parted with the noble Lollard. He, with their father, who was to accompany him a few miles on his way, turned toward the Welsh mountains; they, with stout hearts, but tear-filled eyes, set their faces toward the east.

Half an hour later they stood on the summit of a hill overlooking the tower. The full moon was casting its sheets of silver over the brown autumn landscape. The storm of the preceding night had entirely passed away, and only left a breezy freshness in the evening air. Far to the west loomed up the mountains of Wales, their peaks already glistening with snow. Far beneath them in the valley lay their home. The gray towers cast their shadows across the moat, and looked even more massive than they were in reality. Only a single light appeared in the buttery window, like a twinkling star. Never had the scene appeared so lovely to the young Lollards as it did when they were about leaving it, perhaps forever. But again the boys' thoughts were different. The elder looked back to the long, unbroken line of ancestry which for so many hundred years had looked upon those walls and said, "They are mine." Far to the right hand and left lay the broad acres of woodland and pasturage which had owned his grandsire lord. Now all was changed. Close and narrow were the lines which bounded the patrimony one day to be his. But why? Were his arms less sinewy, his frame less well-knit than all the Geoffreys, and Johns, and Richards that had gone before? Why should Henry the usurper, who had no more just claim to the throne of England than himself, have a right to take away his father's lands because he would not forsake the cause of his rightful monarch? And now he, and the brother he loved so well, must become dependents on the bounty of others because they wished to read the word of God in their own tongue, and worship him in their own way. Must this always last? Should the oppressor always walk about the earth?

God thinks it right to speak no more to men in dreams and visions, or to point out to them the dim shadows of coming events. Faith in his wisdom is to be our only guide. But do I err when I say that sometimes the Comforter, who is expressly said to take of the things of God and show them unto us, whispers to the fainting soul words of cheering, and lifts, though it be but a very little way, the veil that hides the future? Thus it was with the Lollard boys. A voice in their hearts said to their inward eyes, "Ephatha!" be ye opened! and straightway they saw dimly, but surely, a glorious sight. The looked-for time of refreshing they saw arrived; England, their beautiful England, was free; and the pure Word of God in all its sweetness and power, reigned in every heart and home. The night of popish ignorance had fled away forever, the martyr's blood had ceased dropping its precious seed into the earth, and instead thereof had sprung up an abundant harvest through the length and breadth of the world. Thus it was that the elder brother's heart responded joyfully to the younger's lips in the sublime words of the prophet:

"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the people; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee. Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return and come with singing to Zion, and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

And then he added the words of a greater than Isaiah: "Verily I say unto you, there is no one that hath left houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, for my sake and the Gospel's, but he shall receive an hundred-fold now in this present time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come, _life everlasting_."

One quick glance they cast toward their earthly possessions, and a long eager one toward their heavenly home--then they passed on their way.

*CHAPTER V.*

_*In London.*_

The snow was falling fast and thick in London, covering with its pure mantle the quaint houses which formed that part of the metropolis called White Friars, and making the Thames, which flowed close under their walls, look all the blacker by contrast. Upon one of the bridges spanning this river, stood the two young Lollards. They looked very weary and travel-worn, and the younger had sunk down exhausted on one of the stone seats. They had been more than a month on their journey, having been detained more than once by storms and sickness, so that the month of December was fairly commenced. Hubert had suffered most from the fatigue, cold, and exposure, but even Geoffrey looked pale and weary, though he strove to cheer his brother with the thought of how near they were to their journey's end, and of the wonders that lay before them.

"Look, Hubert! this is the bridge we were told of, and yonder high wall must be White Friars; it cannot be many steps to good Philip Naseby's." Then as the other did not seem to attend, he added, lower: "We must not be seen loitering here as though we were strangers--Mark Catliffe may have dispatched word of our coming, and it were best to be among friends ere our enemies know we have come."

The boy raised himself with an effort, and they proceeded. Fortunately, it was but a stone's throw; and having passed under the high wall of the monastery, they turned into a narrow lane, and stopped at the open front of a shop. The master stood upon the step; they both knew him from the description they had heard of him; but it was best to be on the safe side; so they approached as though wishing to purchase.

"Have you a warm cloak, master trader, that may serve to keep the snow and rain from my shoulders this cold Christmas?"

The man looked rather suspiciously at the boys' tattered garments, but a glance at their faces changed his tone to one of respect and pity. "The Lord save you, young masters, it is truly but sorry weather to travel in. Will ye not step in and rest a bit?"

"I thank you, Philip Naseby," said Geoffrey, stepping within the shop; "the Lord is truly my help all the day long."

The trader's face lighted up as he gave the necessary answer to the password, and grasping a hand of each, he led them to a little back-apartment, and placed stools for them. He received them as eagerly as though they were his nearest relations, though as yet he knew neither their name nor their errand. Lord Cobham's message explained all, and then they were overwhelmed with questions. Good news always makes the bearers welcome, and the fact that they brought intelligence of Lord Cobham's escape, as well as their father's name, was a full passport to the honest trader's heart.

He called his wife, and having told her who were their guests, she dispatched their daughter to bring some refreshment, while she and her husband removed their torn and soaked outer garments.

"Poor boy!" said the good woman, as she noticed Hubert's bleeding and blistered feet, "thou hast walked far to day?"

"A good twenty miles since midnight," sighed the weary child, the very mention of the distance bringing back, with redoubled force, the memory of suffering.

"But why did you not stop at the house of good Mark Catliffe, the miller of Lianton? He has given a bed and a welcome to many a weary traveler, and especially to those who love the Master."

Hubert's face grew very sad, but Geoffrey's eyes flashed with indignation, and he answered before his brother could speak. "He is a Judas; he hath sold his faith for silver; the Lord requite him!"

"How! sayest thou that Mark Catliffe is a renegade?" said the trader, astonished.