"Then don't mention Ermine's name."

"I'll mention n.o.body's name. I shall only say that I and a friend of mine were having a chat, and talking of one thing and another, we fell a-wondering what would happen if a man were to survive a punishment intended to kill him."

"That might serve. I don't mind if you do."

The law, in 1174, was much more dependent on the personal will of the sovereign than it is now. The lawyer looked a little doubtful when asked the question.

"Why," said he, "if the prisoner had survived by apparent miracle, the chances are that he would be pardoned, as the probability would be that his innocence was thus proved by visitation of G.o.d. I once knew of such a case, where a woman was accused of murdering her husband; she held her mute of malice at her trial, and was adjudged to suffer _peine forte et dure_."

When a prisoner refused to plead, he was held to be "mute of malice."

The _peine forte et dure_, which was the recognised punishment for this misdemeanour, was practically starvation to death. In earlier days it seems to have been pure starvation; but at a later period, the more refined torture was subst.i.tuted of allowing the unhappy man on alternate days three mouthfuls of bread with no liquid, and three sips of water with no food, for a term which the sufferer could not be expected to survive. At a later time again, this was exchanged for heavyweights, under which he was pressed to death.

"Strange to say," the lawyer went on, "the woman survived her sentence; and this being an undoubted miracle, she received pardon to the laud of G.o.d and the honour of His glorious mother, Dame Mary. [Such a case really happened at Nottingham in 1357.] But if you were supposing a case without any such miraculous intervention--"

"Oh, we weren't thinking of miracles, any way," answered Roscius.

"Then I should say the sentence would remain in force. There is of course a faint possibility that it might not be put in force; but if the man came to me for advice, I should not counsel him to build much upon that. Especially if he happened to have an enemy."

"Well, it does not seem just, to my thinking, that a man should suffer a penalty twice over."

"Just!" repeated the lawyer, with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Were you under the impression, Cousin Roscius, that law and justice were interchangeable terms?"

"I certainly was," said Roscius.

"Then, you'd better get out of it," was the retort.

"I daren't take Ermine, after that," said Stephen, rather sorrowfully, "The only hope would be that she might be so changed, n.o.body would know her; and then, as my wife, she might pa.s.s unharmed But the risk seems too great."

"She's scarcely changed enough for that," replied Leuesa. "Very likely she would not be recognised by those to whom she was a comparative stranger; but such as had known her well would guess in a moment.

Otherwise--"

"Then her name would tell tales," suggested Stephen.

"Oh, you might change that," said Roscius. "Call her Emma or Aymeria-- folks would never think."

"And tell lies?" responded Stephen.

"Why, you'd never call that telling lies, surely?"

"It's a bit too like it to please me. Is Father Dolfin still at Saint Frideswide's?"

"Ay, he's still there, but he's growing an old man, and does not get outside much now. He has resigned Saint Aldate's."

"Then that settles it. He'd know."

"But he's not an unkindly man, Stephen."

"No, he isn't. But he's a priest. And maybe the priest might be stronger than the man. Let's keep on the safe side."

"Let us wait," said Ermine quietly.

"I don't see how waiting is to help you, unless you wait till every body is dead and buried--and it won't be much good going then."

"Perhaps we may have to wait for the Better Country. There will be no sumners and sentences there."

"But are you sure of knowing folks there?"

"Saint Paul would scarcely have antic.i.p.ated meeting his friends with joy in the resurrection if they were not to know each other when they met.

There are many pa.s.sages in Scripture which make it very plain that we shall know each other."

"Are you so sure of getting there yourself?" was the query put by Roscius, with raised eyebrows.

"I am quite sure," was Ermine's calm answer, "because Christ is there, and I am a part of Christ. He wills that His people shall be with Him where He is."

"But does not holy Church teach rather different?" [Note 3.]

Stephen would fain have turned off the question. But it was answered as calmly as before.

"Holy Church is built on Christ our Lord. She cannot therefore teach contrary to Him, though we may misunderstand either."

Roscius was satisfied. He had not, however, the least idea that by that vague term "holy Church," while he meant a handful of priests and bishops, Ermine meant the elect of G.o.d, for whom His words settle every question, and who are not apt to trouble themselves for the contradictions either of priests or critics. "For the world pa.s.seth away, and the l.u.s.t thereof"--the pleasures, the opinions, the prejudices of the world--"but he that doeth the will of G.o.d abideth for ever."

The times of Henry Second knew neither post-offices nor carriers. When a man wanted to send a parcel anywhere, he was obliged to carry it himself or send a servant to do so, if he could not find some acquaintance journeying in that direction who would save him the trouble.

A few weeks after Stephen had come to the conclusion that he could not take Ermine to Oxford, he was pa.s.sing down Bread Street to his shop early one morning, when Odinel hailed him from the door.

"Hi, Stephen! Just turn in here a minute, will you?--you don't happen to be going or sending up into the shires, do you, these next few days?"

"Which of the shires?" inquired Stephen, without committing himself.

"Well, it's Abingdon I want to send to--but if I could get my goods carried as far as Wallingford, I dare say I could make shift to have them forwarded."

"Would Oxford suit you equally well?"

"Ay, as well or better."

Stephen stood softly whistling for a moment. He might work the two things together--might at least pay a visit to Derette, and learn from her how far it was safe to go on. He felt that Anania was the chief danger; Osbert would placidly accept as much or as little as he chose to tell, and Isel, if she asked questions, might be easily turned aside from the path. Could he be sure that Anania was out of the way, he thought he would not hesitate to go himself, though he no longer dared to contemplate taking Ermine.

"Well, I might, mayhap, be going in that direction afore long,--I can't just say till I see how things shape themselves. If I can, I'll let you know in a few days."

"All right! I'm in no hurry to a week or two."

Stephen meditated on the subject in the intervals of superintendence of his oven, and serving out wa.s.sel and c.o.c.ket, with the result that when evening came, he was almost determined to go, if Ermine found no good reasons to the contrary. He consulted her when he went home, for she was not at the shop that day. She looked grave at first, but her confidence in Stephen's discretion was great, and she made no serious objection. No sooner, however, did the children hear of such a possibility as their father's visiting the country, than they all, down to three-year-old Edild, sent in pet.i.tions to be allowed to accompany him.

"Couldn't be thought of!" was Stephen's decided though good-tempered answer: and the pet.i.tioners succ.u.mbed with a look of disappointment.

"I might perchance have taken Gerard," Stephen allowed to his wife, out of the boy's hearing: "but to tell truth, I'm afraid of Anania's hearing his name--though, as like as not, she'll question me on the names of all the children, and who they were called after, and why we selected them, and if each were your choice or mine."