Mr Rose shook his head. "We have none," said he.

"Not my Lord Archbishop?"

"a.s.suredly not; he is by far too gentle and timid. We lack a man that could stand firm,--not that should give up all short of G.o.d's Throne for the sake of peace."

"Nor my Lord of London?"

"Dr Ridley is a bolder man than his superior; a fine, brave follow in every way: yet methinks he hath in him scantly all the gear we lack; and had we a command for him, I mis...o...b.. greatly if he should take it. He is a man of most keen feeling and delicate judgment."

"My Lord of Suss.e.x?"

"Gramercy, no! Nature never cut _him_ out for a general."

"Mr Latimer, _quondam_ of Worcester?"

"As fiery as Ned Underhill," answered Mr Rose, smiling; "indeed, somewhat too lacking in caution; but an old man, with too little strength or endurance of body--enough of soul."

"Nay, then, I see but one more," continued Avery, "and if you say nay to him also, I have done. What think you of my Lord's Grace of Suffolk?"

"'Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,'" he answered. "A man weak as any child, and as easily led astray. If he be your head, Avery, I would say it were scarce worth to turn out for the cause. You would have an halter round your neck in a week."

"Well," responded John, "I cannot see any other."

"I cannot see _any_," was Mr Rose's answer.

"Then we have no leader!" said Dr Thorpe, despondently.

Dr Thorpe was beginning to say "we" when he meant the Gospellers.

"We have no leader," said Mr Rose. "We had one--an Heaven-born one--the only man to whose standard (saving a faction) all England should have mustered, the only man whose trumpet should have reached every heart.

And but three months gone, his blood reddened the surfeited earth upon Tower Hill. Friends, men may come to look upon that loss as upon a loss never to be amended. Trust me, we have not seen the worst yet. If it should be as you guess--and that may well be--there shall yet be a bitterer wail of mourning, yet a cry of agony ringing to the Heaven, for the lack of Edward Seymour."

"Ay, I am afeard the black clouds be not done opening themselves yet,"

sadly replied John.

"I think they have scantly done gathering," answered he. "The breaking, the tempest, cometh on apace. But it is not yet come."

"When shall it come, think you?" said Dr Thorpe.

"Shortly," he answered. "A word in your ear: the King is more grievous sick than men wot of. He may tide over this his malady; very like he will. But he hath no power within him to do battle with such disorders.

His strength is worn out. He is scarce like to outlive an other."

"Nay, my master! Worn out at fourteen!" cried Dr Thorpe.

"Men reckon time by days; G.o.d by endurance," said Mr Rose, mournfully.

"And this boy hath borne, these three years, more than you or I wot of.

The sword is too sharp for the scabbard. It may be we have hardly known how to rate his true worth; or it may be that his work is over. Either way, it shall not be long now ere he enter into G.o.d's rest and his. Ay, I know it is a woeful saying, yet again I say it: King Edward is worn out at fourteen. We may not seek to keep him; but this I am a.s.sured-- the angel's call to him shall be the signal for a fearful contest in the realm he leaveth. G.o.d defend the right! and G.o.d strengthen and comfort us, for I warn you we shall need it."

"Alack! when shall all this end?" sighed Isoult.

"When Christ cometh again," answered Mr Rose.

"No sooner?" she cried.

"No sooner," said he. "There may be gleams of light before then; but there can be no full day ere the Sun arise. There may be long times of ease and exemption from persecution; but there can be no stable settlement, no lasting peace, till He appear who is our peace. He that is born after the flesh must persecute him that is born after the Spirit. 'If ye were of the world, the world would love his own.' It is because we are not of the world that the world hateth us. Sister, let us comfort ourselves and one another with these words. Christ will not fail us; see we that we fail not Him. We may yet be called to go with Him, both into prison and to death. It may be that 'the Lord hath need of us' after this manner. If it be so, let us march bravely in His martyr train. We must never allow His banner to fall unto the dust, nor tremble to give our worthless lives for Him that bought us with His own.

If we can keep our eyes steady on the glory that shall follow, the black river will be easier to cross, the chariot of fire less hard to mount. And remember, He can carry us over in His arms, that the cold waters touch not so much as our feet."

When Mr Rose was gone, John said, his voice a little broken,--"Will _he_ be a martyr?"

"G.o.d avert it!" cried Isoult.

"Child!" said Dr Thorpe, solemnly, "'tis of such stuff as his that martyrs be made."

But the King's work was not yet quite finished. He recovered from his double illness.

The Londoners were terrified in the beginning of June by what they regarded as a fearful sign from Heaven--a shower of what is commonly known as "red rain." In their eyes it was blood, and a presage of dreadful slaughter. The slaughter followed, whatever the shower might mean. The last year of rest was at hand.

"What say you to my Lord of Northampton?" suddenly inquired John Avery of Mr Rose, one morning when they met in the Strand.

It was an odd and abrupt beginning of conversation: but Mr Rose understood its meaning only too well. The thoughts of the Gospellers were running chiefly now on the dark future, and their own disorganised condition.

"What had Nehemiah said in the like accident to Sanballat?" was his suggestive answer.

The Papists, who were not disorganised, and had no reason to fear the future, were busy catching dolphins,--another portent--which made their appearance at London Bridge in August.

The new service-book, as its contemporaries called it--the second Prayer Book of Edward the Sixth, as we call it--was used for the first time in Saint Paul's Cathedral, on All Saints' Day, November 1, 1552. Bishop Ridley's voice was the first that read it, and he took the whole duty himself; and preached in the choir, habited only in his rochet. In the afternoon he preached at the Cross,--what was _then_ called a long sermon--about three hours. My Lord Mayor, who ought to have been present, was conspicuous by his absence. When remonstrated with, that dignitary observed that "Bishop Ridley's sermons were alway so long, that he would be at no more, for he was aweary of so long standing."

Wherein my Lord Mayor antic.i.p.ated the nineteenth century, though it sits out the sermon on cushions, and rarely is called upon to lend its ears for one-third of the time which he was expected to do. Dr Thorpe was not far wrong in the conclusion at which he arrived:--that "my Lord Mayor's heart pa.s.sed his legs for stiffness."

The early winter of 1552 brought the first letter from Annis Holland.

"To the hands of my right worthy Mistress and most singular dear friend, Mistress Avery, dwelling at the sign of the Lamb in the Minories, without Aldgate, by London, give these.

"My right dearly beloved Isoult,--After my most loving commendations remembered, this shall be to advertise thee of my safe landing in the city of Santander, in Spain, and my coming unto the Queen's Highness'

Court at Tordesillas. So much as to set down the names of all the towns I have pa.s.sed, betwixt the two, will I not essay. It hath been a wearyful journey and a long, yet should have been a pleasant one, but for the lack of victual. The strangest land ever I did see, or think to see, is this. The poor men hereaway dwell in good houses, and lack meat: the rich dwell in yet fairer, and eat very trumpery. I saw not in all my life in England so much olive oil as in one week sithence I came into Spain. What I am for to live upon here I do marvel. Cheese they have, and onions by the cartload; but they eat not but little meat, and that all strings (a tender piece thereof have I not yet seen); and for ale they drink red wine. Such messes as they do make in their cooking like me very ill, but I trow I shall be seasoned thereto in due time.

"The first night we came to this city, which is sixteen days gone.

Master Jeronymo (that hath showed me much courtesy, and had a very great care of me) brought me into the house of a gentleman his kinsman, whose name is Don Diego de Mendoza [fict.i.tious person], (which is to say, Master James Mendoza). This Don Diego is a rare courtier, all bows, smiles, and courtesies; and Madam Isabel his wife [fict.i.tious person]

cometh not far behind. And (which I cannot away with), she is not called Dona Isabel de Mendoza, after the name of her husband but cleaveth to her own, as though she were yet a maid, and is called of all men Dona Isabel de Alameda. Methought this marvellous strange; but this (Master Jeronymo telleth me) is the custom of his country, and our fashion of names is to the full as strange to them. So when we came into the house (which is builded with pillars around the court, and a fountain in the midst, right fair to see) Master Jeronymo leadeth me forward, and courtesieth well-nigh down to the ground. Quoth he to Don Diego,--'Senor and my cousin, I beseech the high favour of kissing your hand.' And to Dona Isabel,--'Senora and my cousin, I entreat you to bestow upon me the soles of your feet.' [Note 5.] Verily, I marvelled at such words; but Dona Isabel in return louteth down to the earth, with--'Senor, I am your entirely undeserving scullion. I beg of you the unspeakable honour to present me to the serenity of the most highly-born lady beside you.' Marry (thought I) how shall I ever dwell in a land where they talk thus! But I was not yet at the end of mine amaze.

Master Jeronymo answers,--'Senora, this English damsel, which hath the great happiness to kiss your feet, is the most excellent Senora Dona Ines [Note 6] de Olanda (marry, I never thought to see my name cut up after such a fashion!) that shall have the weight of honour to be writer of the English tongue unto our most serene Lady the Queen Dona Juana.'

Then Madam Isabel louteth down again to the floor, saying,--'Senora, I have the delightsomeness to be your most humble and lowly serving-maid.

This your house is wholly at your disposal'--'Master Jeronymo (quoth I in English), I pray you tell me what I must say?'--'Say (answereth he) that you are the Senora's highly favoured slave, and are not worthy to stand at the threshold of her door.'

"Eh, Isoult, dear heart, what a land is this!

"Master Jeronymo said unto me afterward that this his cousin would be very good unto me in her meaning; for the Spaniards say not that of their house being yours, without they mean much grace and kindness unto you.

"Well, after this, Madam Isabel took me away with her into an other chamber, where she gave me a cup of red wine and some cakes, that were not ill to take. And in this chamber were great cushions spread all about the floor, like unto the mattress of a bed; the cushions of velvet and verder [a species of tapestry], and the floor of marble. Upon these she desired me to repose me for a season; and (saith she) 'At seven of the clock, mine excellent cousin Don Jeronymo and my lord Don Diego, and I your servant, shall take you up to the Castle, into the most ineffable presence of the most glorious Lord Marquis of Denia.' O rare! (thought I.) If the Queen's Comptroller be so glorious and of so ineffable a presence, what shall his mistress be? So when even came (my Senora Madam Isabel having meantime reposed and slumbered on the cushions), I shifted me into my best and richest apparel for to enter this ineffable presence, and went up unto the Castle, Don Diego leading me by the hand, and Madam Isabel coming after with Master Jeronymo. This was but across the court; for no sooner had I reached the door, than what should I see but two mules, richly-caparisoned, there standing. I was somewhat surprised, for the Castle is but a stone's throw from the house; but Master Jeronymo, seeing my look, whispereth unto me that in Spain, ladies of any sort [ladies of rank] do ride when they go of a journey, be it but ten yards. Methought it scarce worth the trouble to mount the mule for to 'light off him again so soon: howbeit, I did as I was bid.

Madam Isabel suffered her lord to lift her upon the other; and away hied we for the Castle, our cavaliers a-walking behind. When we 'light, and the portcullis was drawn up, Master Jeronymo prayeth the porter to send word unto the ineffable Lord Comptroller that the English damsel sent hither by the most n.o.ble Lady, Dona Catalina (so they call my Lady of Suffolk's Grace) doth entreat for leave to kiss the dust under his feet.