CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
HOW THEY WENT HOME.
Arrived at the spot where they were to suffer, the prisoners knelt downto pray: "but not in such sort as they would, for the cruel tyrantswould not suffer them." Foremost of their tormentors at this lastmoment was Nicholas Clere, who showed an especial spite towardsElizabeth Foulkes, and interrupted her dying prayers to the utmost ofhis power. When Elizabeth rose from her knees and took off her outergarments--underneath which she wore the prepared robe--she asked theBailiff's leave to give her petticoat to her mother; it was all thelegacy in her power to leave. Even this poor little comfort was deniedher. The clothes of the sufferers were the perquisite of the Sheriffs'men, and they would not give them up. Elizabeth smiled--she did nothingbut smile that morning--and cast the petticoat on the ground.
"Farewell, all the world!" she said. "Farewell, Faith! farewell, Hope!"Then she took the stake in her arms and kissed it. "Welcome, Love!"
Ay, faith and hope were done with now. A few moments, and faith wouldbe lost in sight; hope would be lost in joy; but love would abide forever and ever.
Her mother came up and kissed her.
"My blessed dear," she said, "be strong in the Lord!"
They chained the two elder men at one stake; the two women at another:Elizabeth and Robert together at the last. The Sheriff's men put thechain round them both, and hammered the other end fast, so that theyshould not attempt to escape.
Escape! none of them dreamed of such a thing. They cared neither forpain nor shame. To their eyes Heaven itself was open, and the LordChrist, on the right hand of the Father, would rise to receive Hisservants. Nor did they say much to each other. There would be time forthat when all was over! Were they not going the journey together? wouldthey not dwell in happy company, through the long years of eternity?The man who was nailing the chain close to where Elizabeth stoodaccidentally let his hammer slip. He had not intended to hurt her; butthe hammer came down heavily upon her shoulder and made a severe wound.She turned her head to him and smiled on him. Then she lifted up hereyes to heaven and prayed. Her last few moments were spent in alternateprayer and exhortation of the crowd.
The torch was applied to the firewood and tar-barrels heaped aroundthem. As the flame sprang up, the six martyrs clapped their hands: andfrom the bystanders a great cry rose to heaven,--
"The Lord strengthen them! the Lord comfort them! the Lord pour Hismercies upon them!"
Ah, it was not England, but Rome, who burned those Marian martyrs! Theheart of England was sound and true; she was a victim, not a persecutor.
Just as the flame reached its fiercest heat, there was a slight cry inthe crowd, which parted hither and thither as a girl was borne out of itinsensible. She had fainted after uttering that cry. It was no wonder,said those who stood near: the combined heat of the August sun and thefire was scarcely bearable. She would come round shortly if she weretaken into the shade to recover.
Half-an-hour afterwards nothing could be seen beside the Lexden Road butthe heated and twisted chains, with fragments of charred wood and ofgrey ashes. The crowd had gone home.
And the martyrs had gone home too. No more should the sun light uponthem, nor any heat. The Lamb in the midst of the Throne had led them toliving fountains of water, and they were comforted for evermore.
"Who was that young woman that swooned and had to be borne away?" askeda woman in the crowd of another, as they made their way back into thetown.
The woman appealed to was Audrey Wastborowe.
"Oh, it was Amy Clere of the Magpie," said she. "The heat was too muchfor her, I reckon."
"Ay, it was downright hot," said the neighbour.
Something beside the heat had been too much for Amy Clere. The familiarface of Elizabeth Foulkes, with that unearthly smile upon it, had goneright to the girl's heart. For Amy had a heart, though it had beenoverlaid by a good deal of rubbish.
The crowd did not disperse far. They were gathered again in theafternoon in the Castle yard, when the Mounts and Johnson and Rose Allenwere brought out to die. They came as joyfully as their friends haddone, "calling upon the name of God, and exhorting the people earnestlyto flee from idolatry." Once more the cry rose up from the wholecrowd,--
"Lord, strengthen them, and comfort them, and pour Thy mercy upon them!"
And the Lord heard and answered. Joyfully, joyfully they went home andthe happy company who had stood true, and had been faithful unto death,were all gathered together for ever in the starry halls above.
To two other places the cry penetrated: to Agnes Bongeor weeping in theMoot Hall because she was shut out from that blessed company; and toMargaret Thurston in her "better lodging" in the Castle, who had shutherself out, and had bought life by the denial of her Lord.
The time is not far-off when we too shall be asked to choose betweenthese two alternatives. Not, perhaps, between earthly life and death(though it may come to that): but between faith and unfaithfulness,between Christ and idols, between the love that will give up all and theself-love that will endure nothing. Which shall it be with you? Willyou add your voice to the side which tamely yields the pricelesstreasures purchased for us by these noble men and women at this awfulcost? or will you meet the Romanising enemy with a firm front, and ashout of "No fellowship with idols!--no surrender of the liberty whichour fathers bought with their heart's blood!" God grant you grace tochoose the last!
When Mrs Clere reached the Magpie, she went up to Amy's room, and foundher lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall.
"Amy! what ailed thee, my maid?--art better now?"
"Mother, we're all wrong!"
"Dear heart, what does the child mean?" inquired the puzzled mother."Has the sun turned thy wits out o' door?"
"The sun did nought to me, mother. It was Bessie's face that I couldnot bear. Bessie's face, that I knew so well--the face that had lainbeside me on this pillow over and over again--and that smile upon herlips, as if she were half in Heaven already--Mother it was dreadful! Ifelt as if the last day were come, and the angels were shutting me out."
"Hush thee, child, hush thee! 'Tis not safe to speak such things.Heretics go to the ill place, as thou very well wist."
"Names don't matter, do they, Mother? It is truth that signifies.Whatever names they please to call Bessie Foulkes, she had Heaven andnot Hell in her face. That smile of hers never came from Satan. I knowwhat his smiles are like: I've seen them on other faces afore now. Henever had nought to do with her."
"Amy, if thy father hears thee say such words as those, he'll be properangry, be sure!"
Amy sat up on the bed.
"Mother, you know that Bessie Foulkes loved God, and feared Him, andcared to please Him, as you and I never did in all our lives. Do folksthat love God go to Satan? Does He punish people because they want toplease Him? I know little enough about it, alack-the-day! but if anangel came from Heaven to tell me Bessie wasn't there this minute, Icould not believe him."
"Well, well! think what you will, child, only don't say it! I'venothing against Bess being in Heaven, not I! I hope she may be, poorlass. But thou knowest thy father's right set against it all, and thepriests too; and, Amy, I don't want to see _thee_ on the waste by LexdenRoad. Just hold thy tongue, wilt thou? or thou'lt find thyself in thewrong box afore long."
"Mother, I don't think Bessie Foulkes is sorry for what happened thismorning."
"Maybe not, but do hold thy peace!"
"I can hold my peace if you bid me, Mother. I've not been a good girl,but I mean to try and be better. I don't feel as if I should ever careagain for the gewgaws and the merrymakings that I used to think all theworld of. It's like as if I'd had a glimpse into Heaven as she went in,and the world had lost its savour. But don't be feared, Mother; I'llnot vex you, nor Father neither, if you don't wish me to talk. Only--nobody 'll keep me from trying to go after Bessie!"