ing gladly how short her time
of trial was growing, and how bright her future would be. It mattered
nothing to her that she would have to work as hard as ever; nothing,
that she must live in a single room of a crowded street in the heart of
the City; nothing, that John Laurence was a worn, gaunt man of more than
twice her years, and utterly unattractive in the eyes of the world;
nothing, that the day was bitterly cold, and her thin bed-gown a very
insufficient protection. Everything was rose-colour to her. Had she
not Christ in Heaven, and one honest heart that loved her upon earth?

When Agnes came in sight of the pump, she perceived a little child
sitting crouched upon the step of the trough, and evidently crying. Her
heart was not hard to touch, and setting down her pails she laid her
hand on the boy's shoulder. He had been too much absorbed in his grief
to notice her approach, but when she spoke he looked up, showing the now
tear-stained face of little Will Flint.

"Why, Will, my little lad!--what matter now?"

Will burst into a fresh paroxysm without answering.

"Metrusteth thou hast not been an ill lad?"

Will shook his curly head.

"Nay, what then? Is Mother sick?"

Another shake.

"Come, tell me what it is. Mayhap we shall find some remedy."

"O Mistress Agnes!" came with a multitude of sobs.

"Nay, then, tell me now!" pleaded Agnes.

"O Mistress Agnes, they have ta'en him!"

"Ta'en whom, my lad? Sure, thy little brother Dickon is not stole
away?"

"No!" sobbed Will. "But, O Mistress!--they've ta'en him to yon ugly
prison, afore those wicked folk, and they call him an here--heretic, and
they say he'll ne'er come out again--nay, never!"

This was manifestly something serious.

"But ta'en whom, Will, dear?--not thy father?"

"Oh nay, nay!--the Black Friar."

"What Black Friar, Will?" Agnes hardly knew her own voice.

"Why, our Black Friar--Father Laurence. There was only one."

For a minute there was dead silence in reply--a minute, during which the
rose-colour died out of sky and earth, and the glad music was changed to
funeral bells. Then Agnes rose from her stooping position.

"There was only one!" she repeated, with a far-away look in her eyes,
which were fixed on the tower of the Cathedral, but saw nothing.

"He was so good to me and Dickon!" sobbed Will.

"Child, wilt do thy best to find out whither they have ta'en him, and
when he is to be had afore the Bishops, and th