"An' you so do, Mrs Philippa," said Isoult with a smile, "metrusteth you shall come the first to Bradmond, after the which you shall need to go no further."

Last came Lady Lisle's secrets. Her complaint was short and decided, like most things she said.

"Frank is a born fool to set her against Mr Monke. He would make her a jointure of eighty pounds by the year, and he spendeth two hundred by the year and more. And is a gentleman born, and hath a fair house, and ne father ne mother to gainsay her in whatsoever she would. Doth the jade look for a Duke or a Prince, trow? Methinks she may await long ere she find them."

Isoult thought, but she did not say, that in all probability what Frances wished was only to be let alone. The result of these repeated confidences was that Isoult began to want a confidante also; and as Dr Thorpe had asked her to find out what was distressing Lady Frances, she laid the whole matter before him. When he was put in possession of as much as Isoult knew, he said thoughtfully--

"'Tis my Lady Lisle, then, that doth chiefly urge her?"

"I think so much," she replied. "Methinks Mrs Philippa doth but follow my Lady her mother; and should trouble her but little an' she did cease."

"She will cease ere long," he answered sadly.

"You think so, Dr Thorpe?" said Isoult, mistaking his meaning. "I shall verily be of good cheer when she doth so."

"You do misconceive me, Mrs Avery," said he. "I do not signify that she shall leave it of her good will; nay, nor perchance ere death take her.

But that will be ere long."

"Dr Thorpe!" cried Isoult. "You would say--"

"I would say," answered he, "that my Lady Lisle's life is scantly worth twelve months' purchase. Methought it better to let you know so much, Mrs Avery, for I would not give you but Scarborough warning." [Note 7.]

"Woe worth the day!" said Isoult.

"The Lady Frances is but ill off touching her health," replied he, "but with her 'tis rather the soul than the body that doth suffer. Rest from sorrow and vexations might yet avail for her. But neither rest, nor physic, nor aught save a miracle from G.o.d, can avail, as methinks, for the Lady Lisle."

When Isoult came down into the little parlour the day after, she was surprised to find there a stranger, in close conversation with Lady Lisle and Philippa. She hesitated a moment whether to enter, but Lady Lisle desired her to come in; so she sat down and began to work. Little of the conversation reached her, for it was conducted almost in whispers; until the door opened, and Lady Frances came slowly into the room. A quick colour rose to her cheek, and she slightly compressed her lips; but she came forward, the stranger, a dark good-looking man, kissing her hand before she sat down.

"Is there aught new, Mr Monke?" asked Philippa, changing the conversation.

"I have heard but one thing," said he, "yet is that somewhat strange.

My Lord's Grace of Canterbury is become a Gospeller."

"Wherefore, gramercy?" inquired Lady Lisle, scornfully.

"Wherefore not, I can say," said Philippa. "'Twill scarce serve to curry Favelle." [Note 8.]

"Very little, as I think," answered Mr Monke. "As to the wherefore, Madam, mecounteth my Lord Archbishop is gone according unto his conscience. 'Tis his wont, as men do know."

"Humph!" was all Lady Lisle said.

"Men's consciences do lead them by mighty diverse ways now o' days,"

observed Philippa. "I little wis wherefore all men cannot be of one fashion of belief, as they were aforetime. Thirty years gone, all was peace in religion."

"The dead are at peace ever, Sister," said Frances, softly. "The living it is that differ."

"'Living,' quotha!" exclaimed Lady Lisle. "Thy fashion of talk is aside of me, Frank.--But what think you, Mr Monke? Hath every man the born right to do that which is good in his eyes, or should he bow and submit his conscience and will unto holy Church and the King's Highness'

pleasure?"

Lady Lisle spoke scornfully; but Frances turned and looked earnestly at Mr Monke. Isoult did the same, and she wondered to see his face change and his eyes kindle.

"Madam," said he, "maybe your Ladyship doth but set a trap for to hear what I shall say touching this matter. But verily, if I must tell mine opinion, in matters so near to a man's heart and conscience as are his soul and her affinity with G.o.d, methinks neither the King's Highness'

pleasure, neither the teaching of the Church, hath much ado. I would say that a man should submit his will to G.o.d's will, and his conscience to G.o.d's Word, and no otherwise."

Lady Frances' eyes were radiant, and a quick flush was kindled on her cheeks. Her mother rose from her chair.

"Are you a Gospeller?" she said, yet in a tone from which no one could have guessed whether she were one herself or not.

"I am so, Madam," answered Mr Monke, his colour deepening, but his voice as firm as ever.

"Then get you gone out of mine house," cried she in a rage, "and come hither no more a-tempting of my daughter!"

Mr Monke rose, and endeavoured to kiss her Ladyship's hand; but she drew it from him as if he had been a snake. He came over to where Isoult sat, and held out his hand.

"Farewell, Mrs Avery," he said, in a low voice, which trembled a little.

"I have made an end of all mine hopes in this quarter. Yet how could I have done other?"

"Forgive me, Mr Monke, I pray you," she said, glancing at Frances' face, whence the light and the colour had not yet died away. "I think rather, you have but now made a beginning."

Isoult Avery returned home in anything but a happy frame of mind. Lady Lisle had turned completely against Mr Monke, and now taunted Frances with "caring nought for him save for his Gospelling;" while Philippa took part, first with one side, and then with the other. In all this turmoil Isoult could see but one bright spot, which was the hope of an approaching visit from Sir Henry and Lady Ashley. Lady Ashley (_nee_ Katherine Ba.s.set) was Lady Lisle's second daughter, and there was some reason to expect, from the gentleness of her disposition, that her influence would be exerted on the side of peace.

A letter was waiting for Isoult Avery at Bradmond, from an old friend and mistress whom she had not seen since her marriage. It ran thus:--

"My Good Isoult,--But shall I call you _so_, now you be Mistress Avery?

Choose you if you will not have it so, for until you deny it I shall call you so.

"Annis fareth right well, and is a maid of most sweet conditions. Now I see your brow to wrinkle, and that you shall say, How cometh my Lady of Suffolk to wit any thing of Annis? If all riddles were as readily solute as this, it were scantly worth the trouble to make them. But have here mine explication of the mystery. Three months gone, certain of my kin writ unto me from Spain, to desire me to search and find a discreet maiden of good degree, that should be apt at the tongues, and that she should be reader of English unto the Queen's Grace of Spain, the Emperor Charles his mother. Truly I slept not on the matter, but endeavoured myself to serve them with all the haste in my power: but though maids be many, discreet maids be few, and discreet maids of good degree be fewer yet. Hereon writ I unto Mistress Anne Ba.s.set, the discreetest maid I know, to ask at her if she were ware of an other as discreet maid as herself, that would of her good will learn the Spanish tongue, and dwell in Spain. And what doth Mrs Anne but write me word in answer that there is in all this world no maid to compare for discretion with Annis Holland, which hath learned the French from her, and the Latin from Mr Hungerford, of the King's house, and can chatter like a pie in both the one and the other. Wherefore I, being aweary of searching for discreet maids, did lay hands with all quickness and pleasure on this maid, and she is now in mine house a-learning of the Spanish from Father Alonso, and Don Jeronymo, and me. And so, being weary, I commend you and Mr Avery to G.o.d. From Grimsthorpe, this Wednesday, at six of the clock in the morning; and like a sluggard [Note 9], in my bed.

"Your a.s.sured loving friend,--

"K. Suffolk."

The reader will need more explanation of this lively epistle than did Isoult. Anne Ba.s.set, the third of Lady Lisle's four daughters, had been successively Maid of Honour to the four latter Queens of Henry the Eighth; during much of which period (with an interval for her Calais experience) Isoult Barry had been her bower-woman. When Isoult quitted Anne's service for that of the d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk, she begged that her old friend Annis Holland might be promoted to the vacant place,--a request readily granted by Anne. Since Isoult Barry became Isoult Avery, she had seen little of either Anne or Annis; and the transference of the latter to the d.u.c.h.ess's service was no little wonder to her.

Meanwhile public news poured in on all sides. Mr Tremayne, who had occasion to journey to Exeter, came back armed at all points with fresh tidings of what was doing in the world; and as such live newspapers supplied all that was to be had, every body in Bodmin immediately asked him to dinner. Mr Tremayne declined the majority of the invitations; but he accepted that from Bradmond, which included his family also. So he, in a brown velvet suit, and Custance in the gravest drab, and Arbel with some bright blue ribbons neutralising her sober "sad-coloured"

dress, and Robin, whose cap bore a white feather stuck in it in a style not suggestive of Quakerism, walked up to Bradmond one Thursday afternoon, to four-hours.

It is scarcely needful to explain that four-hours was a meal taken at four p.m., and in style and custom corresponding to the "afternoon tea"

now in vogue. It may be more desirable to indicate of what it consisted, seeing that tea and coffee were yet mysteries of the future.

There were cakes of all varieties; there was clotted cream; and of course there was junket. There were apple puffs, and syllabubs, and half-a-dozen different kinds of preserves. In the place which is now occupied by the tea-pot was a gallon of sack, flanked by a flagon of Gascon wine; beside which stood large jugs of new milk and home-brewed ale. One thing at least was evident, there was no fear of starvation.

When the ladies had finished a little private conference, and all the party were gathered round the table, Mr Tremayne was requested to open his budget of news.

It was glad news for the Gospellers, for the grand item which in their eyes overwhelmed every other, was that Bishop Gardiner had left Court-- not exactly in disgrace, yet with a tacit understanding that his stay was no longer welcome--and that the King's uncle, the Earl of Hertford, now created Duke of Somerset, was placed at the head of public affairs.

Somerset was a Lutheran, but just emerging from the twilight of Lutheranism into the full Gospel day.

After the great subject came the smaller ones. The knighting of the young King by his uncle Somerset; the creation of a large batch of peers,--Somerset himself and his brother, the brother of Queen Katherine (made Marquis of Northampton), the half-brother of Lady Frances Ba.s.set (created Earl of Warwick), and Wriothesley the persecutor, who was made Earl of Southampton. These were only a few of the number, but of them we shall hear again. Then came the account of the coronation on Shrove Sunday: how that grave, blue-eyed child of nine years old, had been crowned and anointed in the venerable Abbey, by Archbishop Cranmer, in the presence of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal; and how he had sat in the throne at the coronation-feast in the Hall, with the crown of England on the little head, and all the n.o.bles at separate tables below.

[Note 10.] And throughout England rang the cry, "G.o.d bless him!" for England's hope was all in G.o.d and him.