s prisoner was of a different order from themselves. Those who
were not fallen into the depths, treated her with some respect; but the
lowest either held aloof from her or jeered at her--mostly the latter.
Alice took all meekly; did what she could for the one or two that were
ailing, and the three or four who had babies with them; spoke words of
Gospel truth and kindly sympathy to such as would let her speak them:
and when sleep closed the eyes and quieted the tongues of most,
meditated and communed with God. The gaoler opened the door a little
way, and just put his head into the women's room. The prisoners might
have been thankful that there were separate chambers for men and
women... Such luxuries were unknown in many gaols at that date.

"Alice Benden!" he said gruffly.

Alice rose, gave back to its mother a baby she had been holding, and
went towards the gaoler, who stood at the top of the stone steps which
led down from the door.

"Here I am, Master Gaoler: what would you with me?"

"Tie on your hood and follow me; you are to come afore my Lord of
Dover."

Alice's heart beat somewhat faster, as she took down her hood from one
of the pegs around the room, and followed the gaoler through a long
passage, up a flight of steps, across a courtyard, and into the hall
where the Bishop was holding his Court. She said nothing which the
gaoler could hear: but the God in whom Alice trusted heard an earnest
cry of--"Lord, I am Thine; save Thine handmaid that trusteth in Thee!"

The gaoler led her forward to the end of a long table which stood before
the Bishop, and announced her name to his Lordship.

"Alice Benden, of Briton's Mead, Staplehurst, an' it like your
Lordship."

"Ah!" said his Lordship, in an amiable tone; "she it is touching whom I
had letters. Come hither to me, I pray you, Mistress. Will you now go
home, and go to church in time coming?"

That meant, would she consent to worship images, and to do reverence to
the bread of the Lord's Supper as if Christ Himself were present? There
was no going to church in those days without that. And that, as Alice
Benden knew, was idolatry, forbidden by God in the First and Second
Commandments.

"If I would have so done," she said in a quiet, modest tone, "I needed
not have come hither."

"Wilt thou go home, and be shriven of thy parish priest?"

"No, I will not." Alice could not believe that a man could forgive
sins. Only God could do that; and He did