CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
"REMEMBER!"
Mr Ewring only returned Wastborowe's uncivil farewell by a nod, as hewalked up High Street towards East Gate. At the corner of Tenant's Lanehe turned to the left, and went up to the Castle. A request to see theprisoner there brought about a little discussion between the porter andthe gaoler, and an appeal was apparently made to some higher authority.At length the visitor was informed that permission was granted, oncondition that he would not mention the subject of religion.
The condition was rejected at once. Mr Ewring had come to talk aboutthat and nothing else.
"Then you'd best go home," said Bartle. "Can't do to have matters seta-crooked again when they are but now coming straight. MargaretThurston's reconciled, and we've hopes for John, though he's been harderof the two to bring round. Never do to have folks coming and setting'em all wrong side up. Do you want to see 'em burned, my master?"
"I want to see them true," was Mr Ewring's answer, "The burning doesn'tmuch matter."
"Oh, doesn't it?" sneered Bartle. "You'll sing another tune, MasterEwring, the day you're set alight."
"Methinks, friend, those you have burned sang none other. But how abouta thousand years hence? Bartholomew Crane, what manner of tune wiltthou be singing then?"
"Time enough to say when I've got it pricked, Master," said Bartle: butMr Ewring saw from his uneasiness that the shot had told.
People were much more musical in England three hundred years ago thannow. Nearly everybody could sing, or read music at sight: and a ladywas thought very poorly educated if she could not "set"--that is, writedown a tune properly on hearing it played. Writing music they called"pricking" it.
Mr Ewring did not stay to talk with Bartle; he bade him good-bye, andwalked up Tenant's Lane on his way home. But before he had gone manyyards, an idea struck him, and he turned round and went back to theCastle.
Bartle was still in the court, and he peeped through the wicket to seewho was there.
"Good lack! you're come again!"
"I'm come again," said Mr Ewring, smiling. "Bartle, wilt take amessage to the Thurstons for me?"
"Depends," said Bartle with a knowing nod. "What's it about? If youwant to tell 'em price of flour, I don't mind."
"I only want you to say one word to either of them."
"Come, that's jolly! What's the word?"
"Remember!"
Bartle scratched his head. "Remember what? There's the rub!"
"Leave that to them," said Mr Ewring.
"Well,--I--don't--know," said Bartle very slowly. "Mayhap _I_ sha'n'tremember."
"Mayhap that shall help you," replied the miller, holding up an angelet,namely, a gold coin, value 3 shillings 4 pence--the smallest gold cointhen made.
"Shouldn't wonder if that strengthened my wits," said Bartle with agrin, as the little piece of gold was slipped through the wicket."That's over a penny a letter, bain't it?"
"Fivepence. It's good pay."
"It's none so bad. I'm in hopes you'll have a few more messages, MasterEwring. They're easy to carry when they come in a basket o' thatmetal."
"Ah, Bartle! wilt thou do that for a gold angelet which thou wouldst notfor the love of God or thy neighbour? Beware that all thy good thingscome not to thee in this life--which can only be if they be things thatpertain to this life alone."
"This life's enough for me, Master: it's all I've got."
"Truth, friend. Therefore cast it not away in folly."
"In a good sooth, Master Ewring, I love your angelets better than yourpreachment, and you paid me not to listen to a sermon, but to carry amessage. Good den!"
"Good den, Bartle. May the Lord give thee good ending!"
Bartle stood looking from the wicket until the miller had turned thecorner.
"Yon's a good man, I do believe," said he to himself. "I marvel whatthey burn such men for! They're never found lying or cheating ormurdering. Why couldn't folks let 'em alone? We shouldn't want to hurt'em, if the priests would let us alone. Marry, this would be a goodland if there were no priests!"
Bartle shut the wicket, and prepared to carry in supper to hisprisoners. John and Margaret Thurston were not together. The priestswere afraid to let them be so, lest John, who stood more firmly of thetwo, should talk over Margaret. They occupied adjoining cells. Bartleopened a little wicket in the first, and called John to receive hisrations of brown bread, onions, and weak ale.
"I promised to give you a message," said he, "but I don't know as it'slike to do you much good. It's only one word."
"Should be a weighty one," said John. "What is it?"
"`Remember!'"
"Ah!" John Thurston's long-drawn exclamation, which ended with a heavysigh, astonished Bartle.
"There's more in it than I reckoned, seemingly," said he as he turned toMargaret's cell, and opened her wicket to pass in the supper.
"Here's a message for you, Meg, from Master Ewring the miller. Let'ssee what _you'll_ say to it--`Remember!'"
"`Remember!'" cried Margaret in a pained tone. "Don't I alwaysremember? isn't it misery to me to remember? And can't I guess what hemeans--`Remember from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do thefirst works'? Eh, then there's repentance yet for them that havefallen! `I will fight against thee, _except_ thou repent.' God blessyou, Bartle: you've given me a buffet and yet a hope."
"That's a proper powerful word, is that!" said Bartle. "Never knew oneword do so much afore."
There was more power in that one word from Holy Writ than Bartleguessed. The single word, sent home to their consciences by the HolyGhost, brought quit different messages to the two to whom it was sent.To John Thurston it did not say, "Remember from whence thou hastfallen." That was the message with which it was charged for Margaret.But to John it said, "Call to remembrance the former days, in which,after that ye were illuminated, ye endured a great flight of afflictions... knowing in yourselves that ye have in Heaven a better and anenduring substance. Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hathgreat recompense of reward." That was John's message, and it found himjust on the brink of casting his confidence away, and stopped him.
Mr Ewring had never spent an angelet better than in securing thetransmission of that one word, which was the instrument in God's hand tosave two immortal souls.
As he reached the top of Tenant's Lane, he met Ursula Felstede, carryinga large bundle, with which she tried to hide her face, and to slinkpast. The miller stopped.
"Good den, Ursula. Wither away?"
"Truly, Master, to the whitster's with this bundle."
The whitster meant what we should now call a dyer and cleaner.
"Do you mind, Ursula, what the Prophet Daniel saith, that `many shall bepurified and made white'? Methinks it is going on now. White, as nofuller on earth can white them! May you and I be so cleansed, friend!Good den."
Ursula courtesied and escaped, and Mr Ewring passed through the gate,and went up to his desolated home. He stood a moment in the mill-door,looking back over the town which he had just left.
"`The night cometh, when no man can work,'" he said to himself. "Grantme, Lord, to be about Thy business until the Master cometh!"
And he knew, while he said it, that in all likelihood to him that comingwould be in a chariot of fire, and that to be busied with that workwould bring it nearer and sooner.