CHAPTER VII
THE DOOR IN THE GARDEN-WALL
On the morning of the day after Mr. Stewart's secret arrival at MaxwellHall, the Rector was walking up and down the lawn that adjoined thechurchyard.
He had never yet wholly recovered from the sneers of Mistress Corbet; thewounds had healed but had not ceased to smart. How blind these Papistswere, he thought! how prejudiced for the old trifling details of worship!how ignorant of the vital principles still retained! The old realities ofGod and the faith and the Church were with them still, in this village,he reminded himself; it was only the incrustations of error that had beenremoved. Of course the transition was difficult and hearts were sore; butthe Eternal God can be patient. But then, if the discontent of thePapists smouldered on one side, the fanatical and irresponsible zeal ofthe Puritans flared on the other. How difficult, he thought, to steer thesafe middle course! How much cool faith and clearsightedness it needed!He reminded himself of Archbishop Parker who now held the rudder, andcomforted himself with the thought of his wise moderation in dealing withexcesses, his patient pertinacity among the whirling gusts of passion,that enabled him to wait upon events to push his schemes, and his tenderknowledge of human nature.
But in spite of these reassuring facts Mr. Dent was anxious. What couldeven the Archbishop do when his suffragans were such poor creatures; andwhen Leicester, the strongest man at Court, was a violent Puritanpartisan? The Rector would have been content to bear the troubles of hisown flock and household if he had been confident of the larger cause; butthe vagaries of the Puritans threatened all with ruin. That morning onlyhe had received a long account from a Fellow of his own college of CorpusChristi, Cambridge, and a man of the same views as himself, of theviolent controversy raging there at that time.
"The Professor," wrote his friend, referring to Thomas Cartwright, "isplastering us all with his Genevan ways. We are all Papists, it seems!He would have neither bishop nor priest nor archbishop nor dean norarchdeacon, nor dignitaries at all, but just the plain Godly Minister, ashe names it. Or if he has the bishop and the deacon they are to be the_Episcopos_ and the _Diaconos_ of the Scripture, and not the Papishcounterfeits! Then it seems that the minister is to be made not by Godbut by man--that the people are to make him, not the bishop (as if thesheep should make the shepherd). Then it appears we are Papists too forkneeling at the Communion; this he names a 'feeble superstition.' Then hewould have all men reside in their benefices or vacate them; and all thatdo not so, it appears, are no better than thieves or robbers.
"And so he rages on, breathing out this smoky stuff, and all the youngmen do run after him, as if he were the very Pillar of Fire to lead themto Canaan. One day he says there shall be no bishop--and my Lord of Elyrides through Petty Cury with scarce a man found to doff cap and say 'mylord' save foolish 'Papists' like myself! Another day he will have nodistinction of apparel; and the young sparks straight dress likeministers, and the ministers like young sparks. On another he likes notSaint Peter his day, and none will go to church. He would have us all tobe little Master Calvins, if he could have his way with us. But theMaster of Trinity has sent a complaint to the Council with chargesagainst him, and has preached against him too. But no word hath yet comefrom the Council; and we fear nought will be done; to the sore injury ofChrist His holy Church and the Protestant Religion; and the triumphing oftheir pestilent heresies."
So the caustic divine wrote, and the Rector of Great Keynes washeavy-hearted as he walked up and down and read. Everywhere it was thesame story; the extreme precisians openly flouted the religion of theChurch of England; submitted to episcopal ordination as a legal necessityand then mocked at it; refused to wear the prescribed dress, andrepudiated all other distinctions too in meats and days as Judaicremnants; denounced all forms of worship except those directly sanctionedby Scripture; in short, they remained in the Church of England and drewher pay while they scouted her orders and derided her claims. Further,they cried out as persecuted martyrs whenever it was proposed to insistthat they should observe their obligations. But worse than all, for suchconscientious clergymen as Mr. Dent, was the fact that bishops preferredsuch men to livings, and at the same time were energetic against thePapist party. It was not that there was not an abundance of disciplinarymachinery ready at the bishop's disposal or that the Queen was opposed tocoercion--rather she was always urging them to insist upon conformity;but it seemed rather to such sober men as the Rector that the principleof authority had been lost with the rejection of the Papacy, and thatanarchy rather than liberty had prevailed in the National Church. Indarker moments it seemed to him and his friends as if any wild fancy wastolerated, so long as it did not approximate too closely to the OldReligion; and they grew sick at heart.
It was all the more difficult for the Rector, as he had so littlesympathy in the place; his wife did all she could to destroy friendlyrelations between the Hall and the Rectory, and openly derided herhusband's prelatical leanings; the Maxwells themselves disregarded hispriestly claims, and the villagers thought of him as an official paid topromulgate the new State religion. The only house where he found sympathyand help was the Dower House; and as he paced up and down his garden now,his little perplexed determined face grew brighter as he made up his mindto see Mr. Norris again in the afternoon.
During his meditations he heard, and saw indistinctly, through theshrubbery that fenced the lawn from the drive, a mounted man ride up tothe Rectory door. He supposed it was some message, and held himself inreadiness to be called into the house, but after a minute or two he heardthe man ride off again down the drive into the village. At dinner hementioned it to his wife, who answered rather shortly that it was amessage for her; and he let the matter drop for fear of giving offence;he was terrified at the thought of provoking more quarrels than wereabsolutely necessary.
Soon after dinner he put on his cap and gown, and to his wife's inquiriestold her where he was going, and that after he had seen Mr. Norris hewould step on down to Comber's, where was a sick body or two, and thatshe might expect him back not earlier than five o'clock. She noddedwithout speaking, and he went out. She watched him down the drive fromthe dining-room window and then went back to her business with an oddexpression.
Mr. Norris, whom he found already seated at his books again after dinner,took him out when he had heard his errand, and the two began to walk upand down together on the raised walk that ran along under a line of pinesa little way from the house.
The Rector had seldom found his friend more sympathetic and tender; heknew very well that their intellectual and doctrinal standpoints weredifferent, but he had not come for anything less than spiritual help, andthat he found. He told him all his heart, and then waited, while theother, with his thin hands clasped behind his back, and his great greyeyes cast up at the heavy pines and the tender sky beyond, began tocomfort the minister.
"You are troubled, my friend," he said, "and I do not wonder at it, bythe turbulence of these times. On all sides are fightings and fears. Ofcourse I cannot, as you know, regard these matters you have spokenof--episcopacy, ceremonies at the Communion and the like--in the gravelight in which you see them; but I take it, if I understand you rightly,that it is the confusion and lack of any authority or respect forantiquity that is troubling you more. You feel yourself in a sad plightbetween these raging waves; tossed to and fro, battered upon by bothsides, forsaken and despised and disregarded. Now, indeed, although I donot stand quite where you do, yet I see how great the stress must be;but, if I may say so to a minister, it is just what you regard as yourshame that I regard as your glory. It is the mark of the cross that is onyour life. When our Saviour went to his passion, he went in the sameplight as that in which you go; both Jew and Gentile were against him onthis side and that; his claims were disallowed, his royalty denied; hewas despised and rejected of men. He did not go to his passion as to asplendid triumph, bearing his pain like some solemn and mysteriousdignity at which the world wond
ered and was silent; but he went batteredand spat upon, with the sweat and the blood and the spittle running downhis face, contemned by the contemptible, hated by the hateful, rejectedby the outcast, barked upon by the curs; and it was that that made hispassion so bitter. To go to death, however painful, with honour andapplause, or at least with the silence of respect, were easy; it is nothard to die upon a throne; but to live on a dunghill with Job, that isbitterness. Now again I must protest that I have no right to speak likethis to a minister, but since you have come to me I must needs say what Ithink; and it is this that some wise man once said, 'Fear honour, forshame is not far off. Covet shame, for honour is surely to follow.' Ifthat be true of the philosopher, how much more true is it of theChristian minister whose profession it is to follow the Saviour and to bemade like unto him."
He said much more of the same kind; and his soft balmy faith soothed theminister's wounds, and braced his will. The Rector could not help halfenvying his friend, living, as it seemed, in this still retreat, apartfrom wrangles and controversy, with the peaceful music and sweetfragrance of the pines, and the Love of God about him.
When he had finished he asked the Rector to step indoors with him; andthere in his own room took down and read to him a few extracts from theGerman mystics that he thought bore upon his case. Finally, to put him athis ease again, for it seemed an odd reversal that he should be comingfor comfort to his parishioners, Mr. Norris told him about his twochildren, and in his turn asked his advice.
"About Anthony," he said, "I am not at all anxious. I know that the boyfancies himself in love; and goes sighing about when he is at home; buthe sleeps and eats heartily, for I have observed him; and I thinkMistress Corbet has a good heart and means no harm to him. But about mydaughter I am less satisfied, for I have been watching her closely. Sheis quiet and good, and, above all, she loves the Saviour; but how do Iknow that her heart is not bleeding within? She has been taught to holdherself in, and not to show her feelings; and that, I think, is as much adrawback sometimes as wearing the heart upon the sleeve."
Mr. Dent suggested sending her away for a visit for a month or two. Hishost mused a moment and then said that he himself had thought of that;and now that his minister said so too, probably, under God, that was whatwas needed. The fact that Hubert was expected home soon was an additionalreason; and he had friends in Northampton, he said, to whom he could sendher. "They hold strongly by the Genevan theology there," he said smiling,"but I think that will do her no harm as a balance to the Popery atMaxwell Hall."
They talked a few minutes more, and when the minister rose to take hisleave, Mr. Norris slipped down on his knees as if it was the naturalthing to do and as if the minister were expecting it; and asked his guestto engage in prayer. It was the first time he had ever done so; probablybecause this talk had brought them nearer together spiritually than everbefore. The minister was taken aback, and repeated a collect or two fromthe Prayer-book; then they said the Lord's Prayer together, and then Mr.Norris without any affectation engaged in a short extempore prayer,asking for light in these dark times and peace in the storm; and beggingthe blessing of God upon the village and "upon their shepherd to whomThou hast given to drink of the Cup of thy Passion," and upon his ownchildren, and lastly upon himself, "the chief of sinners and the least ofthy servants that is not worthy to be called thy friend." It touched Mr.Dent exceedingly, and he was yet more touched and reconciled to theincident when his host said simply, remaining on his knees, with eyesclosed and his clear cut tranquil face upturned:
"I ask your blessing, sir."
The Rector's voice trembled a little as he gave it. And then with realgratitude and a good deal of sincere emotion he shook his friend's hand,and rustled out from the cool house into the sunlit garden, greetingIsabel who was walking up and down outside a little pensively, and tookthe field-path that led towards the hamlet where his sick folk wereexpecting him.
As he walked back about five o'clock towards the village he noticed therewas thunder in the air, and was aware of a physical oppression, but inhis heart it was morning and the birds singing. The talk earlier in theafternoon had shown him how, in the midst of the bitterness of the Cup,to find the fragrance where the Saviour's lips had rested and that wasjoy to him. And again, his true pastor's heart had been gladdened by theway his ministrations had been received that afternoon. A sour old manwho had always scowled at him for an upstart, in his foolish old desireto be loyal to the priest who had held the benefice before him, hadmelted at last and asked his pardon and God's for having treated him soill; and he had prepared the old man for death with great contentment tothem both, and had left him at peace with God and man. On looking back onit all afterwards he was convinced that God had thus strengthened him forthe trouble that was awaiting him at home.
He had hardly come into his study when his wife entered with a strangelook, breathing quick and short; she closed the door, and stood near it,looking at him apprehensively.
"George," she said, rather sharply and nervously, "you must not be vexedwith me, but----"
"Well?" he said heavily, and the warmth died out of his heart. He knewsomething terrible impended.
"I have done it for the best," she said, and obstinacy and a kind ofimpatient tenderness strove in her eyes as she looked at him. "You mustshow yourself a man; it is not fitting that loose ladies of the Courtshould mock--" He got up; and his eyes were determined too.
"Tell me what you have done, woman," he cried.
She put out her hand as if to hold him still, and her voice rang hard andthin.
"I will say my say," she said. "It is not for that that I have done it.But you are a Gospel-minister, and must be faithful. The Justice is here.I sent for him."
"The Justice?" he said blankly; but his heart was beating heavily in histhroat.
"Mr. Frankland from East Grinsted, with a couple of pursuivants and acompany of servants. There is a popish agent at the Hall, and they arecome to take him."
The Rector swallowed with difficulty once or twice, and then tried tospeak, but she went on. "And I have promised that you shall take them inby the side door."
"I will not!" he cried.
She held up her hand again for silence, and glanced round at the door.
"I have given him the key," she said.
This was the private key, possessed by the incumbent for generationspast, and Sir Nicholas had not withdrawn it from the Protestant Rector.
"There is no choice," she said. "Oh! George, be a man!" Then she turnedand slipped out.
He stood perfectly still for a moment; his pulses were racing; he couldnot think. He sat down and buried his face in his hands; and graduallyhis brain cleared and quieted. Then he realised what it meant, and hissoul rose in blind furious resentment. This was the last straw; it wasthe woman's devilish jealousy. But what could he do? The Justice washere. Could he warn his friends? He clenched his fingers into his hair asthe situation came out clear and hard before his brain. Dear God, whatcould he do?
There were footsteps in the flagged hall, and he raised his head as thedoor opened and a portly gentleman in riding-dress came in, followed byMrs. Dent. The Rector rose confusedly, but could not speak, and his eyeswandered round to his wife again and again as she took a chair in theshadow and sat down. But the magistrate noticed nothing.
"Aha!" he said, beaming, "You have a wife, sir, that is a jewel. Solomonnever spoke a truer word; an ornament to her husband, he said, I think;but you as a minister should know better than I, a mere layman"; and hisface creased with mirth.
What did the red-faced fool mean? thought the Rector. If only he wouldnot talk so loud! He must think, he must think. What could he do?
"She was very brisk, sir," the magistrate went on, sitting down, and theRector followed his example, sitting too with his back to the window andhis hand to his head.
Then Mr. Frankland went on with his talk; and the man sat there, stillglancing from time to time mechanically towards his wife, who was therein the shadow wit
h steady white face and hands in her lap, watching thetwo men. The magistrate's voice seemed to the bewildered man to roll onlike a wheel over stones; interminable, grinding, stupefying. What was hesaying? What was that about his wife? She had sent to him the day before,had she, and told him of the popish agent's coming?--Ah! A dangerous manwas he, a spreader of seditious pamphlets? At least they supposed he wasthe man.--Yes, yes, he understood; these fly-by-nights were threatenersof the whole commonwealth; they must be hunted out like vermin--just so;and he as a minister of the Gospel should be the first to assist.--Justso, he agreed with all his heart, as a minister of the Gospel. (Yes, but,dear Lord, what was he to do? This fat man with the face of a butchermust not be allowed to--) Ah! what was that? He had missed that. WouldMr. Frankland be so good as to say it again? Yes, yes, he understood now;the men were posted already. No one suspected anything; they had come bythe bridle path.--Every door? Did he understand that every door of theHall was watched? Ah! that was prudent; there was no chance then of anyone sending a warning in? Oh, no, no, he did not dream for a moment thatthere was any concealed Catholic who would be likely to do such a thing.But he only wondered.--Yes, yes, the magistrate was right; one could notbe too careful. Because--ah!--What was that about Sir Nicholas? Yes, yes,indeed he was a good landlord, and very popular in the village.--Ah! justso; it had better be done quietly, at the side door. Yes, that was theone which the key fitted. But, but, he thought perhaps, he had better notcome in, because Sir Nicholas was his friend, and there was no use inmaking bad blood.--Oh! not to the house; very well, then, he would comeas far as the yew hedge at--at what time did the magistrate say? Athalf-past eight; yes, that would be best as Mr. Frankland said, becauseSir Nicholas had ordered the horses for nine o'clock; so they would comeupon them just at the right time.--How many men, did Mr. Frankland say?Eight? Oh yes, eight and himself, and--he did not quite follow the plan.Ah! through the yew hedge on to the terrace and through the south doorinto the hall; then if they bolted--they? Surely he had understood themagistrate to say there was only one? Oh! he had not understood that. SirNicholas too? But why, why? Good God, as a harbourer of priests?--No, butthis fellow was an agent, surely. Well, if the magistrate said so, ofcourse he was right; but he would have thought himself that Sir Nicholasmight have been left--ah! Well, he would say no more. He quite saw themagistrate's point now.--No, no, he was no favourer; God forbid! his wifewould speak for him as to that; Marion would bear witness.--Well, well,he thanked the magistrate for his compliments, and would he proceed withthe plan? By the south door, he was saying, yes, into the hall.--Yes, theEast room was Sir Nicholas' study; or of course they might be suppingupstairs. But it made no difference; no, the magistrate was right aboutthat. So long as they held the main staircase, and had all the otherdoors watched, they were safe to have him.--No, no, the cloister wingwould not be used; they might leave that out of their calculations.Besides, did not the magistrate say that Marion had seen the lights inthe East wing last night? Yes, well, that settled it.--And the signal?Oh, he had not caught that; the church bell, was it to be? But what for?Why did they need a signal? Ah! he understood, for the advance athalf-past eight.--Just so, he would send Thomas up to ring it. WouldMarion kindly see to that?--Yes, indeed, his wife was a woman to be proudof; such a faithful Protestant; no patience with these seditious roguesat all. Well, was that all? Was there anything else?--Yes, how dark itwas getting; it must be close on eight o'clock. Thomas had gone, had he?That was all right.--And had the men everything they wanted?--Well, yes;although the village did go to bed early it would perhaps be better tohave no lights; because there was no need to rouse suspicion.--Oh! verywell; perhaps it would be better for Mr. Frankland to go and sit with themen and keep them quiet. And his wife would go, too, just to make surethey had all they wanted.--Very well, yes; he would wait here in the darkuntil he was called. Not more than a quarter of an hour? Thank you,yes.--
Then the door had closed; and the man, left alone, flung himself down inhis chair, and buried his face again in his arms.
Ah! what was to be done? Nothing, nothing, nothing. And there they wereat the Hall, his neighbours and friends. The kind old Catholic and hisladies! How would he ever dare to meet their eyes again? But what couldbe done? Nothing!
How far away the afternoon seems; that quiet sunny walk beneath thepines. His friend is at his books, no doubt, with the silver candles, andthe open pages, and his own neat manuscript growing under his whitescholarly fingers. And Isabel; at her needlework before the fire.--Howpeaceful and harmless and sweet it all is! And down there, not fiftyyards away, is the village; every light out by now; and the children andparents, too, asleep.--Ah! what will the news be when they waketo-morrow?--And that strange talk this afternoon, of the Saviour and HisCup of pain, and the squalor and indignity of the Passion! Ah! yes, hecould suffer with Jesus on the Cross, so gladly, on that Tree ofLife--but not with Judas on the Tree of Death!
And the minister dropped his face lower, over the edge of his desk; andthe hot tears of misery and self-reproach and impotence began to run.There was no help, no help anywhere. All were against him--even his wifeherself; and his Lord.
Then with a moan he lifted his hot face into the dusk.
"Jesus," he cried in his soul, "Thou knowest all things; Thou knowestthat I love Thee."
There came a tapping on the door; and the door opened an inch.
"It is time," whispered his wife's voice.