ld hardly speak: for when
restrained, self-contained natures like hers break down, they often do
it utterly. "O Tom! God bless thee, and help me to keep by thee, and
both of us to be faithful to the end! I too have sinned and done
foolishly, and set evil ensample. Forgive me, my brother, and God
forgive us both!"

Mr Roberts passed his arm round her, and gave her the kiss of peace.

"Methinks we had best forgive each the other, Grena; and I say Amen to
thy `God forgive us both!'"

When Mr Bastian arrived at Canterbury a little after daybreak the next
morning, he found, as he had expected, that while the message had been
sent in the name of Cardinal Pole, it was really the Bishop of Dover who
required his attendance. The Bishop wanted to talk with the parish
priest concerning the accused persons from his parish. He read their
names from a paper whereon he had them noted down--"John Fishcock,
butcher; Nicholas White, ironmonger; Nicholas Pardue, cloth-worker;
Alice Benden, gentlewoman; Barbara Final, widow, innkeeper; Sens
Bradbridge, widow; Emmet Wilson, cloth-worker's wife."

"Touching Alice Benden," said the Bishop, "I require no note at your
hands; I have divers times spoken with her, and know her to be a right
obstinate heretic, glorying in her errors. 'Tis the other concerning
whom I would have some discourse with you. First, this John Fishcock,
the butcher: is he like to be persuaded or no?"

"Methinks, nay, my Lord: yet am I not so full sure of him as of some
other. The two Nicholases, trow, are surer of the twain. You should as
soon shake an ancient oak as White; and Pardue, though he be a man of
few words, is of stubborn conditions."

"Those men of few words oft-times are thus. And how for the women,
Brother? Barbara Final--what is she?"

"A pleasant, well-humoured, kindly fashion of woman; yet methinks not
one to be readily moved."

"Sens Bradbridge?"

"A poor creature--weakly, with few wits. I should say she were most
like of any to recant, save that she hath so little wit, it were scarce
to our credit if she so did."

The Bishop laughed. "Emmet Wilson?"

"A plain woman, past middle age, of small learning, yet good wit by
nature. You shall not move her, holy Father, or I mistake."

"These heretics, what labour they give us!" said Dick of Dover, rather
testily. "'Tis passing strange they cannot conform and have done with
it, and be content to enjoy their lives and liberties in pea