the lord of
which claims from the owner of this place a pair of gilt spurs annually;
and, by a very singular and inconvenient custom, the unlimited use of
the cellars at Smethells for a week in every year."[16]

At the close of a cold, keen day, about the early part of spring, in
the year 1554, there came two men across a bleak and barren tract of
land called Dean Moor, near to Bolton-in-the-Moors. When at some
distance from the main path, and far from the many by-roads intersecting
this dreary common, they--first looking cautiously around, as though
fearing intruders--fell on each other's neck and wept. The sun's light
beamed suddenly through a cleft in the heavy clouds near the horizon,
along the stunted grass and rushes, stretching far away to many a green
knoll in the distance, behind which the dark hills and lowering sky
looked in wild and terrific blackness over the scene. The sun,
descending fast below the hills towards Blackrode, beamed forth as if to
cast one short ray of gladness on the world of sorrow he was just
quitting. Rivington Pike, and the dark chill moors stretching from it
eastward, were bathed in a wide and stormy burst, of light, like the
wild and unnatural brightness that sometimes irradiates even the dim
shadows of despair. A heavy mist lay at their feet, hiding most of the
intermediate space from the eye of the observer, so that the long line
of barren hills seemed to start out at once from a sea of vapour, like
the grim barriers of some gigantic lake. The clouds were following hard
upon the sun's flight, so that by the time he had disappeared the sky
was covered with a dense and impervious curtain, rendered darker by the
rapidity of the change. Chill and eddying gusts rustled over the dreary
heath; the voice of nature only responding to the chords of sadness and
of sorrow. The hollow roar of the wind was like the moaning of a
troubled ocean; a few big drops from the hurrying scud seeming to
presage an approaching tempest.

The two friends had crept behind a stone wall, built up in a hollow, by
a stagnant pool, taking but little heed of the darkness and the storm,
so intent were they upon the subject which engrossed their thoughts.

"I might flee, Ralph, but it would straightway be said, not that I had
left my country and my kin alone, but rather that I had deserted the
faith and doctrine I profess, after having unworthily ministered
hereabout for a season, which might be an occasion of much