Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

concealment in a close part of the city tillit shall be convenient for him to cross the sea to France."

  "Must you go?" I said, seeing her rise, and feeling a dull hardheaviness at my heart which did well-nigh impede my utterance. I wasnot willing to let her know the fear I had conceived; "of what useshould it be," I inwardly argued, "to disturb her in the discharge ofher perilous task by a surmise which might prove groundless; and,indeed, were it certainly true, could she, nay, would she, alter herintent, or could I so much as ask her to do it?" Whilst, with Muriel'sassistance, she concluded the packing of her basket, wherein theweighty cord was concealed in an ingenious manner, I stood bywatching the doing of it, fearing to see her depart, yet unable tothink of any means by which to delay that which I could not, even if Ihad willed it, prevent. When the last contents were placed in thebasket, and Muriel was pressing down the lid, I said: "Do you,peradventure, know the name of the inn where you said that gentlemandoth tarry which the boatman spake of?"

  "No," she replied; "nor so much as where the good boatman himselflodgeth. I met with him at Mr. Hodgson's house, and there made thisagreement."

  "But if," I said, "it should happen by any reason that Mr. Watsonchanged his mind, how should you, then, inform him of it?"

  "In that case," she answered, "he would hang a white kerchief outsidehis window, by which they should be advertised to withdraw themselves.And now," she added, "I have always been of the way of thinking thatfarewells should be brief; and 'God speed you,' and 'God bless you,'enough for those which do hope, if it shall please God, on earth, butfor a surety in heaven, to meet again."

  So, kissing us both somewhat hurriedly, she took up her basket on herarm, and said she should send a messenger on the morrow for herclothes; at which Muriel, for the first time, shed some tears, whichwas an instance of what I have often noticed, that grief, howsoeverheavy, doth not always overflow in the eyes unless some familiar wordsor homely circumstance doth substantiate the verity of a sorrow knownindeed, but not wholly apparent till its common effects be seen. Thenwe two sat awhile alone in that empty chamber--empty of her which forso long years had tenanted it to our no small comfort and benefit.When the light waned, Muriel lit a candle, and said she must go for toattend on her mother, for that duty did now devolve chiefly on her;and I could see in her sad but composed face the conquering peacewhich doth exceed all human consolation.

  For mine own part, I was so unhinged by doubtful suspense that Ilacked ability to employ my mind in reading or my fingers institch-work; and so descended for relief into the garden, where Iwandered to and fro like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest but findingnone. The dried shaking leaves made a light noise in falling, whichcaused me each time to think I heard a footstep behind me. And despitethe increasing darkness, after I had paced up and down for near untoan hour, some one verily did come walking along the alley where I was,seeking to overtake me. Turning round I perceived it to be mine owndear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, what great comfort I experienced inthe sight of this good man! How eager was my greeting of him! How fullmy heart as I poured into his ear the narrative of the passages whichhad befallen me since we had met! Of the most weighty he knewsomewhat; but nothing of the last haunting fear I had lest my dearBasil should be in London, and this very night engaged in the perilousattempt to carry off Mr. Watson. When I told him of it, he started andexclaimed:

  "God defend it!" but quickly corrected himself and cried, "God'smercy, that my first feeling should have led me to think rather ofBasil's safety than of the fine spirit he showed in all instanceswhere a good action had to be done, or a service rendered to those inaffliction."

  "Indeed, Mr. Roper," I said, as he led me back to the house and intothe solitary parlor (where my uncle now seldom came, but remainedsitting alone in his library, chiefly engaged in praying and reading),"I do condemn mine own weakness in this, and pray God to give mestrength for what may come upon us; but I do promise you 'tis no easymatter to carry always so high a heart that it shall not sink withhuman fears and griefs in such passages as these."

  "My dear," the good man answered, "God knoweth 'tis no easy matter toattain to the courage you speak of. I have myself seen the sweetest,the lovingest, and the most brave creature which ever did breathe givemarks of extraordinary sorrow when her father, that generous martyr ofChrist, was to die."

  "I pray you tell me," I answered, "what her behavior was like in thattrial; for to converse on such themes doth allay somewhat the tormentof suspense, and I may learn lessons from her example, who, you say,joined to natural weakness so courageous a spirit in like straits."

  Upon which he, willing to divert and yet not violently change thecurrent of my thoughts, spake as followeth:

  "On the day when Sir Thomas More came from Westminster to theTower-ward, my wife, desirous to see her father, whom she thought sheshould never see in this world after, and also to have his finalblessing, gave attendance about the wharf where she knew he shouldpass before he could enter into the Tower. As soon as she saw him,after his blessing upon her knees reverently received, hasteningtoward him without care or consideration of herself, passing inamongst the throng and company of the guard, she ran to him and tookhim about the neck and kissed him; who, well liking her most naturaland dear daughterly affection toward him, gave her his fatherlyblessing and godly words of comfort beside; from whom, after she wasdeparted, not satisfied with the former sight of him, and like onethat had forgotten herself, being all ravished with the entire love ofher father, suddenly turned back again, ran to him as before, took himabout the neck, and divers times kissed him lovingly, till at last,with a full and heavy heart, she was fain to depart from him; thebeholding thereof was to many that were present so lamentable, andmostly so to me, that for very sorrow we could not forbear to weepwith her. The wife of John Harris, Sir Thomas's secretary, was movedto such a transport of grief, that she suddenly flew to his neck andkissed him, as he had reclined his head on his daughter's shoulder;and he who, in the midst of the greatest straits, had ever a merrymanner of speaking, cried, 'This is kind, albeit rather unpolitelydone.'"

  "And the day he suffered," I asked, "what was this good daughter'sbehavior?"

  "She went," quoth he, "to the different churches, and distributedabundant alms to the poor. When she had given all her money away, shewithdrew to pray in a certain church, where she on a sudden didremember she had no linen in which to wrap up her father's body. Shehad heard that the remains of the Bishop of Rochester had been throwninto the ground, without priest, cross, lights, or shroud, for thedread of the king had prevented his relations from attempting to buryhim. But Margaret resolved her father's body should not meet with suchunchristian treatment. Her maid advised her to buy some linen in thenext shop, albeit having given away all her money to the poor, therewas no likelihood she should get credit from strangers. She ventured,howsoever, and having agreed about the price, she put her hand in herpocket, which she knew was empty, to show she forgot the money, andask credit under that pretence. But to her surprise, she found in herpurse the exact price of the linen, neither more or less; and soburied the martyr of Christ with honor, nor was there any one soinhuman found as to hinder her."

  "Mr. Roper," I said, when he had ended his recital, "methinks thisangelic lady's trial was most hard: but how much harder should it yethave been if you, her husband, had been in a like peril at that timeas her father?"

  A half kind of melancholy, half smiling look came into the good oldman's face as he answered:

  "Her father was Sir Thomas More, and he so worthy of a daughter'spassionate love, and the affection betwixt them so entire andabsolute, compounded of filial love on her part, unmitigatedreverence, and unrestrained confidence, that there was left in herheart no great space for wifely doating. But to be moderatelyaffectioned by such a woman, and to stand next in her esteem to herincomparable father, was of greater honor and worth to her unworthyhusband, than should have been the undivided, yea idolatrous, love ofone not so perfect as herself."

  After a p
ause, during which his thoughts, I ween, reverted to thepast, and mine investigated mine own soul, I said to Mr. Roper:

  "Think you, sir, that love to be idolatrous which is indeed soabsolute that it should be no difficulty to die for him who dothinspire it; which would prefer a prison in his company, howsoever darkand loathsome (yea consider it a very paradise), to the beautifullestpalace in the world, which without him would seem nothing but a viledungeon; which should with a good-will suffer all the torments in theworld for to see the object of its affection enjoy good men's esteemon earth, and a noble place in heaven; but which should be,nevertheless, founded and so wholly built up on a high