CHAPTER XIV
AN OPEN DOOR
When the carriage reached the palace they were told that the Queen wasnot yet come from Greenwich; and they were shown into a little ante-roomnext the gallery where the interview was to take place. The Queen, theLieutenant told Anthony, was to come up that afternoon passing throughLondon, and that she had desired to see him on her way through toNonsuch; he could not tell him why he was sent for, though he conjecturedit was because of Mistress Corbet's death, and that her Grace wished toknow the details.
"However," said the Lieutenant, "you now have your opportunity to speakfor yourself, and I think you a very fortunate man, Mr. Norris. Few havehad such a privilege, though I remember that Mr. Campion had it too,though he made poor use of it."
Anthony said nothing. His mind was throbbing with memories andassociations. The air of state and luxury in the corridors through whichhe had just come, the discreet guarded doors, the servants in the royalliveries standing here and there, the sense of expectancy that mingledwith the solemn hush of the palace--all served to bring up the figure ofMary Corbet, whom he had seen so often in these circumstances; and thethought of her made the peril in which he stood and the hope of escapefrom it seem very secondary matters. He walked to the window presentlyand looked out upon the little court below, one of the innumerable yardsof that vast palace, and stood staring down on the hound that was chainedthere near one of the entrances, and that yawned and blinked in theautumn sunshine.
Even as he looked the dog paused in the middle of his stretch and stoodexpectant with his ears cocked, a servant dashed bareheaded down a coupleof steps and out through the low archway; and simultaneously Anthonyheard once more the sweet shrill trumpets that told of the Queen'sapproach; then there came the roll of drums and the thunder of horses'feet and the noise of wheels; the trumpets sang out again nearer, and therumbling waxed louder as the Queen's cavalcade, out of sight, passed theentrance of the archway down upon which Anthony looked; and then stilled,and the palace itself began to hum and stir; a door or two banged in thedistance, feet ran past the door of the ante-room, and the strain of thetrumpets sounded once in the house itself. Then all grew quiet once more,and Anthony turned from the window and sat down again by the Lieutenant.
There was silence for a few minutes. The Lieutenant stroked his beardgently and said a word or two under his breath now and again to Anthony;once or twice there came the swift rustle of a dress outside as a ladyhurried past; then the sound of a door opening and shutting; then moresilence; then the sound of low talking, and at last the sound offootsteps going slowly up and down the gallery which adjoined theante-room.
Still the minutes passed, but no summons came. Anthony rose and went tothe window again, for, in spite of himself, this waiting told upon him.The dog had gone back to his kennel and was lying with his nose justoutside the opening. Anthony wondered vacantly to himself what door itwas that he was guarding, and who lived in the rooms that looked outbeside it. Then suddenly the door from the gallery opened and a pageappeared.
"The Queen's Grace will see Mr. Norris alone."
Anthony went towards him, and the page opened the door wide for him to gothrough, and then closed it noiselessly behind him, and Anthony was inthe presence.
* * * *
It was with a sudden bewilderment that he recognised he was in the samegallery as that in which he had talked and sat with Mary Corbet. Therewere the long tapestries hanging opposite him, with the tall threewindows dividing them, and the suits of steel armour that he remembered.He even recalled the pattern of the carpet across which Mary Corbet hadcome forward to meet him, and that still lay before the tall window atthe end that looked on to the Tilt-yard. The sun was passing round to thewest now, and shone again across the golden haze of the yard through thisgreat window, with the fragments of stained glass at the top. The memoryleapt into life even as he stepped out and stood for a moment, dazed inthe sunshine, at the door that opened from the ante-room.
But the figure that turned from the window and faced him was not likeMary's. It was the figure of an old woman, who looked tall with hertowering head-dress and nodding plume; she was dressed in a great darkred mantle thrown back on her shoulders, and beneath it was a pale yellowdress sown all over with queer devices; on the puffed sleeve of the armthat held the stick was embroidered a great curling snake that shone withgold thread and jewels in the sunlight, and powdered over the skirt wererepresentations of human eyes and other devices, embroidered with darkthread that showed up plainly on the pale ground. So much he saw down oneside of the figure on which the light shone; the rest was to his dazzledeyes in dark shadow. He went down on his knees at once before thistremendous figure, seeing the buckled feet that twinkled below the skirtcut short in front, and remained there.
There was complete silence for a moment, while he felt the Queen lookingat him, and then the voice he remembered, only older and harsher, nowsaid:
"What is all this, Mr. Norris?"
Anthony looked for a moment and saw the Queen's eyes fixed on him; but hesaid nothing, and looked down again.
"Stand up," said the Queen, not unkindly, "and walk with me."
Anthony stood up at once, and heard the stiff rustle of her dress and thetap of her heels and stick on the polished boards as she came towardshim. Then he turned with her down the long gallery.
Until this moment, ever since he had heard that he was to see the Queen,he had felt nervous and miserable; but now this had left him, and he feltat his ease. To be received in this way, in privacy, and to accompany herup and down the gallery as she took her afternoon exercise was lessembarrassing than the formal interview he had expected. The two walkedthe whole length of the gallery without a word, and it was not until theyturned and faced the end that looked on to the Tilt-yard that the Queenspoke; and her voice was almost tender.
"I understand that you were with Minnie Corbet when she died," she said.
"She died for me, your Grace," said Anthony.
The Queen looked at him sharply.
"Tell me the tale," she said.
And Anthony told her the whole story of the escape and the ride; speakingtoo for his friend, Mr. Buxton, and of Mary's affection for him.
"Your Grace," he ended, "it sounds a poor tale of a man that a womanshould die for him so; but I can say with truth that with God's grace Iwould have died a hundred deaths to save her."
The Queen was silent for a good while when the story was over, andAnthony thought that perhaps she could not speak; but he dared not lookat her.
Then she spoke very harshly:
"And you, Mr. Norris, why did you not escape?"
"Your Grace would not have done so."
"When I saw that she was dying, I would."
"Not if you had been a priest, your Grace."
"What is that?" asked the Queen, suddenly facing him.
"I am a priest, madam, and she was a Catholic, and my duty was besideher."
"Eh?"
"I shrived her, your Grace, before she died."
"Why! they did not tell me that."
Anthony was silent.
They walked on a few steps, and the Queen stood silent too, looking downupon the Tilt-yard. Then she turned abruptly, and Anthony turned withher, and they began to go up and down again.
"It was gallant of you both," she said shortly. "I love that my peopleshould be of that sort." Then she paused. "Tell me," she went on, "didMary love me?"
Anthony was silent for a moment.
"The truth, Mr. Norris," she said.
"Mistress Corbet was loyalty itself," he answered.
"Nay, nay, nay, not loyalty but love I asked you of. How did she speak ofme?"
"Well, your Grace, Mistress Corbet had a shrewd wit, and she used itfreely on friend and foe, but her very sharpness on your Grace,sometimes, showed her love; for she hated to think you otherwise thanwhat she deemed the
best."
The Queen stopped full in her walk.
"That is very pleasantly put," she said; "I told Minnie you were acourtier."
Again the two walked on.
"Then she used her tongue on me?"
"Your Grace, I have never met one on whom she did not: but her heart wastrue."
"I know that, I know that, Mr. Norris. Tell me something she said."
Anthony racked his brains for something not too severe.
"Mistress Corbet once said that the Queen's most disobedient subject washerself."
"Eh?" said Elizabeth, stopping in her walk.
"'Because,' said Mistress Corbet, 'she can never command herself,'"finished Anthony.
The Queen looked at Anthony, puzzled a moment; and then chuckled loudlyin her throat.
"The impertinent minx!" she said, "that was when I had clouted her, nodoubt."
Again they walked up and down in silence a little while. Anthony began towonder whether this was all for which the Queen had sent for him. He wasastonished at his own self-possession; all the trembling awe with whichhe had faced the Queen at Greenwich was gone; he had forgotten for themoment even his own peril; and he felt instead even something of pity forthis passionate old woman, who had aged so quickly, whose favourites oneby one were dropping off, or at the best giving her only an exaggeratedand ridiculous devotion, at the absurdity of which all the world laughed.Here was this old creature at his side, surrounded by flatterers andadventurers, advancing through the world in splendid and jewelledraiment, with trumpets blowing before her, and poets singing her praises,and crowds applauding in the streets, and sneering in their own houses atthe withered old virgin-Queen who still thought herself a Diana--and allthe while this triumphal progress was at the expense of God's Church, hercar rolled over the bodies of His servants, and her shrunken, gemmedfingers were red in their blood;--so she advanced, thought Anthony, dayby day towards the black truth and the eternal loneliness of the darknessthat lies outside the realm where Christ only is King.
Elizabeth broke in suddenly on his thoughts.
"Now," she said, "and what of you, Mr. Norris?"
"I am your Grace's servant," he said.
"I am not so sure of that," said Elizabeth. "If you are my servant, whyare you a priest, contrary to my laws?"
"Because I am Christ's servant too, your Grace."
"But Christ's apostle said, 'Obey them that have the rule over you.'"
"In indifferent matters, madam."
The Queen frowned and made a little angry sound.
"I cannot understand you Papists," said the Queen. "What a-God's name doyou want? You have liberty of thought and faith; I desire to inquire intono man's private opinions. You may worship Ashtaroth if it please you, inyour own hearts; and God looks to the heart, and not to the outer man.There is a Church with bishops like your own, and ministers; there arethe old churches to worship in--nay, you may find the old ornaments stillin use. We have sacraments as you have; you may seek shrift if you will;nay, in some manner we have the mass--though we do not call it so--but wefollow Christ's ordinance in the matter, and you can do no more. We havethe Word of God as you have, and we use the same creeds. What more canthe rankest Papist ask? Tell me that, Mr. Norris; for I am a-weary ofyour folk."
The Queen turned and faced him again a moment, and her eyes were peevishand resentful.
Presently she went on again.
"Mr. Campion told me it was the oath that troubled him. He could not takeit, he said. I told the fool that I was not Head of the Church as Christwas, but only the supreme governor, as the Act declares, in all spiritualand ecclesiastical things:--I forget how it runs,--but I showed it him,and asked him whether it were not true; and I asked him too how it wasthat Margaret Roper could take the oath, and so many thousands of personsas full Christian as himself--and he could not answer me."
The Queen was silent again. Then once more she went on indignantly:
"It is yourselves that have brought all this trouble on your heads. Seewhat the Papists have done against me; they have excommunicated me,deposed me--though in spite of it I still sit on the throne; they havesent an Armada against me; they have plotted against me, I know not howmany times; and then, when I defend myself and hang a few of the wolves,lo! they are Christ's flock at once for whom he shed His precious blood,and His persecuted lambs, and I am Jezebel straightway and Athaliah andBeelzebub's wife--and I know not what."
The Queen stopped, out of breath, and looked fiercely at Anthony, whosaid nothing.
"Tell me how you answer that, Mr. Norris?" said the Queen.
"I dare not deal with such great matters," said Anthony, "for your Graceknows well that I am but a poor priest that knows nought of state-craft;but I would like to ask your Highness two questions only. The first is:whether your Grace had aught to complain of in the conduct of yourCatholic subjects when the Armada was here; and the second, whether therehath been one actual attempt upon your Grace's life by private persons?"
"That is not to the purpose," said the Queen peevishly.
"It was Catholics who fought against me in the Armada, and it wasCatholics who plotted against me at Court."
"Then there is a difference in Catholics, your Grace," said Anthony.
"Ah! I see what you would be at."
"Yes, your Highness; I would rather say, Although they be Catholics theydo these things."
There was silence again, which Anthony did not dare to break; and the twowalked up the whole length of the gallery without speaking.
"Well, well," said Elizabeth at last, "but this was not why I sent foryou. We will speak of yourself now, Mr. Norris. I hope you are not anobstinate fellow. Eh?"
Anthony said nothing, and the Queen went on.
"Now, as I have told you, I judge no man's private opinions. You maybelieve what you will. Remember that. You may believe what you will; nay,you may practise your religion so long as it is private and unknown tome."
Anthony began to wonder what was coming; but he still said nothing as theQueen paused. She stood a moment looking down into the empty Tilt-yardagain, and then turned and sat suddenly in a chair that stood beside thewindow, and put up a jewelled hand to shield her face, with her elbow onthe arm, while Anthony stood before her.
"I remember you, Mr. Norris, very well at Greenwich; you spoke up sharplyenough, and you looked me in the eyes now and then as I like a man to do;and then Minnie loved you, too. I wish to show you kindness for hersake."
Anthony's heart began to fail him, for he guessed now what was coming andthe bitter struggle that lay before him.
"Now, I know well that the Commissioners have had you before them; theyare tiresome busybodies. Walsingham started all that and set thema-spying and a-defending of my person and the rest of it; but they areloyal folk, and I suppose they asked you where you had been and with whomyou had stayed, and so on?"
"They did, your Grace."
"And you would not tell them, I suppose?"
"I could not, madam; it would have been against justice and charity to doso."
"Well, well, there is no need now, for I mean to take you out of theirhands."
A great leap of hope made itself felt in Anthony's heart; he did not knowhow heavy the apprehension lay on him till this light shone through.
"They will be wrath with me, I know, and will tell me that they cannotdefend me if I will not help them; but, when all is said, I am Queen. NowI do not ask you to be a minister of my Church, for that, I think, youwould never be; but I think you would like to be near me--is it not so?And I wish you to have some post about the Court; I must see what it isto be."
Anthony's heart began to sink again as he watched the Queen's face as shesat tapping a foot softly and looking on the floor as she talked. Thoselines of self-will about the eyes and mouth surely meant something.
Then she looked up, still with her cheek on her right hand.
"You do not thank me, Mr. Norris."
Anthony made a great effort; but
he heard his own voice quiver a little.
"I thank your Grace for your kindly intentions toward me, with all myheart."
The Queen seemed satisfied, and looked down again.
"As to the oath, I will not ask you to take it formally, if you will giveme an assurance of your loyalty."
"That, your Grace, I give most gladly."
His heart was beating again in great irregular thumps in his throat; hehad the sensation of swaying to and fro on the edge of a precipice, nowtowards safety and now towards death; it was the cruellest pain he hadsuffered yet. But how was it possible to have some post at Court withoutrelinquishing the exercise of his priesthood? He must think it out; whatdid the Queen mean?
"And, of course, you will not be able to say mass again; but I shall nothinder your hearing it at the Ambassador's whenever you please."
Ah! it had come; his heart gave a leap and seemed to cease.
"Your Grace must forgive me, but I cannot consent."
There was a dead silence; when Anthony looked up, she was staring at himwith the frankest astonishment.
"Did you think, Mr. Norris, you could be at Court and say mass toowhenever you wished?" Her voice rang harsh and shrill; her anger wasrising.
"I was not sure what your Grace intended for me."
"The fellow is mad," she said, still staring at him. "Oh! take care, takecare!"
"Your Grace knows I intend no insolence."
"You mean to say, Mr. Norris, that you will not take a pardon and a postat Court on those terms?"
Anthony bowed; he could not trust himself to speak, so bitter was thereaction.
"But, see man, you fool; if you die as a traitor you will never say massagain either."
"But that will not be with my consent, your Grace."
"And you refuse the pardon?"
"On those terms, your Grace, I must."
"Well----" and she was silent a moment, "you are a fool, sir."
Anthony bowed again.
"But I like courage.--Well, then, you will not be my servant?"
"I have ever been that, your Grace; and ever will be."
"Well, well,--but not at Court?"
"Ah! your Grace knows I cannot," cried Anthony, and his voice rangsorrowfully.
Again there was silence.
"You must have your way, sir, for poor Minnie's sake; but it passes myunderstanding what you mean by it. And let me tell you that not many havetheir way with me, rather than mine."
Again hope leapt up in his heart. The Queen then was not so ungracious.
He looked up and smiled--and down again.
"Why, the man's lips are all a-quiver. What ails him?"
"It is your Grace's kindness."
"I must say I marvel at it myself," observed Elizabeth. "You near angeredme just now; take care you do not so quite."
"I would not willingly, as your Grace knows."
"Then we will end this matter. You give me your assurance of loyalty tomy person."
"With all my heart, madam," said Anthony eagerly.
"Then you must get to France within the week. The other too--Buxton--heloses his estate, but has his life. I am doing much for Minnie's sake."
"How can I thank your Grace?"
"And I will cause Sir Richard to give it out that you have taken theoath. Call him in."
There was a quick gasp from the priest; and then he cried with agony inhis voice:
"I cannot, your Grace, I cannot."
"Cannot call Sir Richard! Why, you are mad, sir!"
"Cannot consent; I have taken no oath."
"I know you have not. I do not ask it."
Elizabeth's voice came short and harsh; her patience was vanishing, andAnthony knew it and looked at her. She had dropped her hand, and it wasclenching and unclenching on her knee. Her stick slipped on the polishedboards and fell; but she paid it no attention. She was looking straightat the priest; her high eyebrows were coming down; her mouth wasbeginning to mumble a little; he could see in the clear sunlight thatfell on her sideways through the tall window a thousand little wrinkles,and all seemed alive; the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouthdeepened as he watched.
"What a-Christ's name do you want, sir?"
It was like the first mutter of a storm on the horizon; but Anthony knewit must break. He did not answer.
"Tell me, sir; what is it now?"
Anthony drew a long breath and braced his will, but even as he spoke heknew he was pronouncing his own sentence.
"I cannot consent to leave the country and let it be given out that I hadtaken the oath, your Grace. It would be an apostasy from my faith."
Elizabeth sprang to her feet without her stick, took one step forward,and gave Anthony a fierce blow on the cheek with her ringed hand. Herecoiled a step at the shock of it, and stood waiting with his eyes onthe ground. Then the Queen's anger poured out in words. Her eyes burnedwith passion out of an ivory-coloured face, and her voice rang high andharsh, and her hands continually clenched and unclenched as she screamedat him.
"God's Body! you are the ungratefullest hound that ever drew breath. Isend for you to my presence, and talk and walk with you like a friend. Ioffer you a pardon and you fling it in my face. I offer you a post atCourt and you mock it; you flaunt you in your treasonable livery in myvery face, and laugh at my clemency. You think I am no Queen, but a weakwoman whom you can turn and rule at your will. God's Son! I will show youwhich is sovereign. Call Sir Richard in, sir; I will have him in thisinstant. Sir Richard, Sir Richard!" she screamed, stamping with fury.
The door into the ante-room behind opened, and Sir Richard Barkleyappeared, with a face full of apprehension. He knelt at once.
"Stand up, Sir Richard," she cried, "and look at this man. You know him,do you not? and I know him now, the insolent dog! But his own mothershall not in a week. Look at him shaking there, the knave; he will shakemore before I have done with him. Take him back with you, Sir Richard,and let them have their will of him. His damned pride and insolence shallbe broken. S' Body, I have never been so treated! Take him out, SirRichard, take him out, I tell you!"
CHAPTER XV
THE ROLLING OF THE STONE
It was a week later, and a little before dawn, that Isabel was kneelingby Anthony's bed in his room in the Tower. The Lieutenant had sent forher to his lodging the evening before, and she had spent the whole nightwith her brother. He had been racked four times in one week, and wasdying.
* * * *
The city and the prison were very quiet now; the carts had not yet begunto roll over the cobble-stones and the last night-wanderers had gonehome. He lay, on the mattress that she had sent in to him, in the cornerof his cell under the window, on his back and very still, covered fromchin to feet with her own fur-lined cloak that she had thrown over him;his head was on a low pillow, for he could not bear to lie high; his feetmade a little mound under the coverlet, and his arms lay straight at hisside; but all that could be seen of him was his face, pinched and whitenow with hollows in his cheeks and dark patches and lines beneath hisclosed eyes, and his soft pointed brown beard that just rested on the furedging of Isabel's cloak; his lips were drawn tight, but slightly parted,showing the rim of his white teeth, as if he snarled with pain.
The only furniture in the room was a single table and chair; the tablewas drawn up not far from the bed, and a book or two, with a flask ofcordial and some fragments of food on a plate lay upon it; his cloak anddoublet and ruff lay across the chair and his shoes below it, and alittle linen lay in a pile in another corner; but the clothes in which hehad been tortured the evening before, his shirt and hose, could not betaken off him and he lay in them still. They had been so soaked withsweat, that Isabel had found him shivering, and laid her cloak over him,and now he lay quiet and warm.
Earlier in the night she had been reading to him, and a taper stillburned in a candlestick on the table; but for the last two hour
s he hadlain either in a sleep or a swoon, and she had laid the book down and waswatching him.
He was so motionless that he would have seemed dead except for the steadyrise and fall of a fold in the mantle, and for a sudden muscular twitchevery few minutes. Isabel herself was scarcely less motionless; her facewas clear and pale as it always was, but perfectly serene, and even herlips did not quiver. She was kneeling and leaning back now, and her handswere clasped in her lap. There was a proud content in her face; her dearbrother had not uttered one name on the rack except those of the Saviourand of the Blessed Mother. So the Lieutenant had told her.
Suddenly his eyes opened and there was nothing but peace in them; and hislips moved. Isabel leaned forward on her hands and bent her ear to hismouth till his breath was warm on it, and she could hear the whisper....
Then she opened the book that lay face down on the table and began toread on, from the point at which she had laid it down two hours before.
"'_Erat autem hora tertia: et crucifixerunt eum._ And it was the thirdhour and they crucified him ... And with him they crucify two thieves,the one on his right hand, and the other on his left. And the scripturewas fulfilled which saith, And he was numbered with the transgressors.'"
Her voice was slow and steady as she read the unfamiliar Latin, stillkneeling, with the book a little raised to catch the candlelight, and hergrave tranquil eyes bent upon it. Only once did her voice falter, andthen she commanded it again immediately; and that, as she read "_Erantautem et mulieres de longe aspicientes_." "There were also women lookingon afar off."
And so the tale crept on, minute by minute, and the priest lay withclosed eyes to hear it; until the mocking was complete, and the darknessof the sixth hour had come and gone, and the Saviour had cried aloud onHis Father, and given up the ghost; and the centurion that stood by hadborne witness. And the great Criminal slept in the garden, in thesepulchre "wherein was never man yet laid."
There was a listening silence as the voice ceased without another falter.Isabel laid the book down and looked at him again; and his eyes openedlanguidly.
He had not yet said more than single words, and even now his voice was sofaint that she had to put her ear close to his mouth. It seemed to herthat his soul had gone into some inner secret chamber of profound peace,so deep that it was a long and difficult task to send a thought to thesurface through his lips.
She could just hear him, and she answered clearly and slowly as to adazed child, pausing between every word.
"I cannot get a priest; it is not allowed."
Still his eyes bent on her; what was it he said? what was it?...
Then she heard, and began to repeat short acts of contrition clearly anddistinctly, pausing between the phrases, in English, and his eyes closedas she began:
"O my Jesus--I am heartily sorry--that I have--crucified thee--by mysins--Wash my soul--in Thy Precious Blood. O my God--I am sorry--that Ihave--displeased Thee--because thou art All-good. I hate all thesins--that I have done--against Thy Divine Majesty."
And so phrase after phrase she went on, giving him time to hear and tomake an inner assent of the will; and repeating also other short vocalprayers that she knew by heart. And so the delicate skein of prayer rosefrom the altar where this morning sacrifice lay before God, waiting theconsummation of His acceptance.
Presently she ended, and he lay again with closed eyes and mute face.Then again they opened, and she bent down to listen....
"It will all be well with me," she answered, raising her head again."Mistress Margaret has written from Brussels. I shall go there for awhile.... Yes, Mr. Buxton will take me; next week: he goes to Normandy,to his estate."
Again his lips moved and she listened....
A faint flush came over her face. She shook her head.
"I do not know; I think not. I hope to enter Religion.... No, I have notyet determined.... The Dower House?... Yes, I will sell it.... Yes, toHubert, if he wishes it."
Every word he whispered was such an effort that she had to pause againand again before he could make her understand; and often she judged moreby the movement of his lips than by any sound that came from him. Now andthen too she lifted her handkerchief, soaked in a strong violet scent,and passed it over his forehead and lips. She motioned with the flask ofcordial once or twice, but his eyes closed for a negative.
As she knelt and watched him, her thoughts circled continually in littleflights; to the walled garden of the Dower House in sunshine, and Anthonyrunning across it in his brown suit, with the wallflowers behind himagainst the old red bricks and ivy, and the tall chestnut rising behind;to the wind-swept hills, with the thistles and the golden-rod, and thehazel thickets, and Anthony on his pony, sunburnt and voluble, hawk onwrist, with a light in his eyes; to the warm panelled hall in winter,with the tapers on the round table, and Anthony flat on his face, withhis feet in the air before the hearth, that glowed and roared up the widechimney behind, and his chin on his hands, and a book open before him;or, farther back even still, to Anthony's little room at the top of thehouse, his clothes on a chair, and the boy himself sitting up in bed withhis arms round his knees as she came in to wish him good-night and talkto him a minute or two. And every time the circling thought came home andsettled again on the sight of that still straight figure lying on themattress, against the discoloured bricks, with the light of the taperglimmering on his thin face and brown hair and beard; and every time herheart consented that this was the best of all.
A bird chirped suddenly from some hole in the Tower, once, and then threeor four times; she glanced up at the window and the light of dawn wasbeginning. Then, as the minutes went by, the city began to stir itselffrom sleep. There came a hollow whine from the Lion-gate fifty yardsaway; up from the river came the shout of a waterman; two or three timesa late cock crew; and still the light crept on and broadened. But Anthonystill lay with his eyes closed.
At last over the cobbles outside a cart rattled, turned a corner and wassilent. Anthony had opened his eyes now and was looking at her again; andagain she bent down to listen; ... and then opened and read again.
"'_Et cum transisset sabbatum Maria Magdalene et Maria Jacobi et Salomeemerunt aromata, ut venientes ungerent Jesum._'
"'And when the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother ofJames and Salome, had bought sweet spices that they might come and anointhim.'"
A slight sound made her look up. Anthony's eyes were kindling and hislips moved; she bent again and listened.... What was it he said?...
Yes, it was so, and she smiled and nodded at him: she was reading theGospel for Easter Day, the Gospel of the first mass that they had heardtogether on that spring morning at Great Keynes, when their Lord had ledthem so far round by separate paths to meet one another at His altar. Andnow they were met again here. She read on:
"'_Et valde mane una sabbatorum, veniunt ad monumentum, orto jamsole._'
"'Very early they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun; andthey said among themselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from thedoor of the sepulchre? And when they looked, they saw that the stone wasrolled away, for it was very great.'...
"'... _magnus valde_,'" read Isabel; and looked up again;--and thenclosed the book. There was no need to read more.
* * * *
She walked across the court half an hour later, just as the sun came up;and passed out through the Lieutenant's lodging, and out by the narrowbridge on to the Tower wharf.
To the left and behind her, as she looked eastwards down the river, laythe heavy masses of the prison she had left, and the high walls andturrets were gilded with glory. The broad river itself was one rollingglory too; the tide was coming in swift and strong and a barge or twomoved upwards, only half seen in the bewildering path of the sun. The airwas cool and keen, and a breeze from the water stirred Isabel's hair asshe stood looking, with the light on her face. It was a cloudless Octobermorning overhead. Even as she stood a flock of pigeons streame
d acrossfrom the south side, swift-flying and bathed in light; and her eyesfollowed them a moment or two.
As she stood there silent, a step came up the wharf from the direction ofSt. Katharine's street, and a man came walking quickly towards her. Hedid not see who she was until he was close, and then he started and tookoff his hat; it was Lackington on his way to some business at the Tower;but she did not seem to see him. She turned almost immediately and beganto walk westwards, and the glory in her eyes was supreme. And as she wentthe day deepened above her.
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