than his
own to Hubert, because of a certain Mistress Margaret who lived there
with her father. The bookseller was old, narrow-minded, and stiff for
presbytery; he approved of no people but Englishmen, and had a special
prejudice against German Lutherans. His daughter believed firmly in
his wisdom, and had been from infancy the old man's darling. She was
fair, good, and clever; but the girl had a wayward pride, and a wit
that was too ready for her judgment. Nevertheless, Hubert had found
favour in her eyes as well as in those of her father, perhaps because
he endeavoured earnestly to win it; while Christopher was composing
tender verses, addressed to a young and very pious Catholic widow in
the neighbourhood, who held fast her then persecuted faith.

The bookseller hesitated on giving his daughter to a Lutheran, and the
widow remained undecided; but under their influence, Christopher and
Hubert learned to contemn each other's choice, and dispute over creeds
which neither acknowledged. Thus the controversies of the age, with
all their bigotry and uncharitableness, found entrance to their home.
Christopher lost no opportunity of throwing scorn on the Puritans, on
account of the bookseller; and Hubert never spared to testify against
Popish errors, by way of reflection on the widow. The loving
brotherhood, which had been to them a rampart against the world's sins
and follies, was broken down, and all manner of petty jealousies,
vanities, and mistakes, flowed in to swell the flood of strife. There
had been fierce debates and bitter words between them, wrath that
overcame the friendship of years, hard misjudging of each other's
motives, and mighty magnifying of small offences. One evening they sat
in sullen pride and anger by the fire. It was the same hearth at which
for ten years they had met when the work of the day was done. Their
early difficulties in the great, strange city had been debated there.
The gains of their prosperous days had been reckoned, their risks and
speculations discussed, but now their seats were pushed to the most
distant corners, and between them stood a table covered with papers
and account-books; for they had at last determined to divide their
possessions to the uttermost farthing, and part company for ever. With
merchant-like exactness, every tittle was reckoned up and shared. The
old house was to be sold to a Jew for a sum already agreed on, and one
item only remained which they could not divide,