Chapter Thirty Four.

Once more at home.

Up and down his garden—or, to speak more accurately, his brother’s garden—strolled Mr Justice Roberts, his hands behind his back, on a mild afternoon at the beginning of December 1558. His thoughts, which of course we have the privilege of reading, ran somewhat in this fashion—

“Well, ’tis a mercy all is pretty well settled now. Nothing but joy and welcome for the Queen’s accession. Every man about, pretty nigh, looks as if he had been released from prison, and was so thankful he scarce knew how to express it. To be sure there be a few contradictious folks that would fain have had the old fashions tarry; but, well-a-day! they be but an handful. I’ll not say I’m not glad myself. I never did love committing those poor wretches that couldn’t believe to order. I believe in doing your duty and letting peaceable folks be. If they do reckon a piece of bread to be a piece of bread, I’d never burn them for it.”

By this reflection it will be seen that Mr Justice Roberts, in his heart, was neither a Papist nor a Protestant, but a good-natured Gallio, whose convictions were pliable when wanted so to be.

“I marvel how soon I shall hear of Tom,” the Justice’s meditations went on. “I cannot let him know anything, for I don’t know where he is; I rather guess at Shardeford, with his wife’s folks, but I had a care not to find out. He’ll hear, fast enough, that it is safe to come home. I shouldn’t wonder—”

The Justice wheeled round suddenly, and spoke aloud this time. “Saints alive! what’s that?”

Nothing either audible or visible appeared for a moment.

“What was that black thing?” said the Justice to himself. He was answered suddenly in loud tones of great gratification.

“Bow-wow! Bow-wow-wow! Bow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

“Whatever!” said the Justice to the “black thing” which was careering about him, apparently on every side of him at once, leaping into the air as high as his head, trying to lick his face, wagging not only a feathery tail, but a whole body, laughing all over a delighted face, and generally behaving itself in a rapturously ecstatic manner. “Art thou rejoicing for Queen Elizabeth too? and whose dog art thou? Didst come—tarry, I do think—nay—ay, it is—I verily believe ’tis old Jack himself!”

“Of course it is!” said Jack’s eyes and tail, and every bit of Jack, executing a fresh caper of intense satisfaction.

“Why, then they must be come!” exclaimed the Justice, and set off for the front door, pursued by Jack. It is needless to say that Jack won the race by considerable lengths.

“Oh, here’s Uncle Anthony!” cried Pandora’s voice, as he came in sight. “Jack, you’ve been and told him—good Jack!”

There is no need to describe the confused, heart-warm greetings on all sides—how kisses were exchanged, and hands were clasped, and sentences were begun that were never finished, and Jack assisted at all in turn. But when the first welcomes were over, and the travellers had changed their dress, and they sat down to supper, hastily got up by Margery’s willing hands, there was opportunity to exchange real information on both sides.

“And where have you been, now, all this while?” asked the Justice. “I never knew, and rather wished not to guess.”

“At Shardeford, for the first part; then some months with Frances, and lately in a farm-house under Ingleborough—folks that Frances knew, good Gospellers, but far from any priest. And how have matters gone here?”

“There’s nought, methinks, you’ll be sorry to hear of, save only the burnings at Canterbury. Seven from this part—Mistress Benden, and Mistress Final, Fishcock, White, Pardue, Emmet Wilson, and Sens Bradbridge. They all suffered a few weeks after your departing.”

All held their breath till the list was over. Pandora was the first to speak.

“Oh, my poor little Christie!”

“Your poor little Christie, Mistress Dorrie, is like to be less poor than she was. There is a doctor of medicine come to dwell in Cranbrook, that seems to have somewhat more skill, in her case at least, than our old apothecary; and you shall find the child going about the house now. He doth not despair, quoth he, that she may yet walk forth after a quiet fashion, though she is not like to be a strong woman at the best.”

“Oh, I am so glad, Uncle!” said Pandora, though the tears were still in her eyes.

“That Roger Hall is a grand fellow, Tom. He hath kept the works a-going as if you had been there every day. He saith not much, but he can do with the best.”

“Ay, he was ever a trustworthy servant,” answered Mr Roberts. “’Tis a marvel to me, though, that he was never arrest.”

“That cannot I conceive!” said the Justice warmly. “The man hath put his head into more lions’ mouths than should have stocked Daniel’s den; and I know Dick o’ Dover set forth warrants for his taking. It did seem as though he bare a charmed life, that no man could touch him.”

“He is not the first that hath so done,” said Mistress Grena. “Methinks, Master Justice, there was another warrant sent out first—‘I am with thee, and no man shall set on thee to hurt thee.’ There have been divers such, I count, during Queen Mary’s reign.”

“Maybe, Mistress Grena, maybe; I am not o’er good in such matters. But I do think, Brother Tom, you should do well to show your sense of Hall’s diligence and probity.”

“That will I do, if God permit. But there is another to whom I owe thanks, Anthony, and that is yourself, to have saved my lands and goods for me.”

“Well, Tom,” answered the Justice comically, “you do verily owe me thanks, to have eaten your game, and worn out your furniture, and spent your money, during an whole year and an half. Forsooth, I scarce know how you may fitly show your gratefulness toward me for conferring so great benefits upon you.”

Mr Roberts laughed.

“Ah, it pleaseth you to jest, Anthony,” he replied, “but I know full well that had you refused my request, ’tis a mighty likelihood I had had neither house nor furniture to come to.”

“Nay, I was not such a dolt! I marvel who would, when asked to spend another man’s money, and pluck his fruit, and lie of his best bed! But I tell thee one thing, Tom—I’ll pay thee never a stiver of rent for mine house that I hold of thee—the rather since I let it to this new doctor for two pound more, by the year, than I have paid to thee. I’m none so sure that he’ll be ready to turn forth; and if no, happy man be my dole, for I must go and sing in the gutter, without Jack will give me a corner of his kennel.”

“Jack’s owner will be heartily glad to give you a corner of his kennel, Brother Anthony, for so long time as it shall please you to occupy it. Never think on turning forth, I pray you, until you desire to go, at the least while I live.”

“I thank you right truly, Brother Tom, and will take my advantage of your kindliness at least for this present. But, my young mistresses, I pray you remember that you must needs be of good conditions an’ you dwell in the same house with a Justice of Peace, else shall I be forced to commit you unto gaol.”

“Oh, we’ll keep on the windy side of you and the law, Uncle Anthony,” said Gertrude, laughing. “I suppose teasing the life out of one’s uncle is not a criminal offence?”

“I shall do my best to make it so, my lady,” was the reply, in tones of mock severity.

The rest of the day was devoted to unpacking and settling down, and much of the next morning was spent in a similar manner. But when the afternoon came Pandora rode down, escorted by old Osmund, to Roger Hall’s cottage. She was too familiar there now for the ceremony of waiting to ring; and she went forward and opened the door of the little parlour.

Christabel was standing at the table arranging some floss silk—“slea-silk” she would have called it—in graduated shades for working. It was the first time Pandora had ever seen her stand. Down went the delicate pale green skein in Christie’s hand, and where it might go was evidently of no moment.

“Mistress Pandora! O dear Mistress Pandora! You’ve come back! I hadn’t heard a word about it. And look you, I can stand! and I can walk!” cried Christie, in tones of happy excitement.

“My dear little Christabel!” said Pandora, clasping the child in her arms. “I am surely glad for thy betterment—very, very glad. Ay, sweet heart, we have come home, all of us, thank God!”

“And you’ll never go away again, will you, Mistress Pandora?”

“‘Never’ is a big word, Christie. But I hope we shall not go again for a great while.”

“Oh, and did anybody tell you, Mistress—about—poor Aunt Alice?” said Christie, with a sudden and total change of tone.

“No, Christie,” answered Pandora significantly. “But somebody told me touching thy rich Aunt Alice, that she was richer now and higher than even the Queen Elizabeth, and that she should never again lose her riches, nor come down from her throne any more.”

“We didn’t know, Mistress—Father and me, we never knew when it should be—we only heard when all was over!”

“Thou mightest well bless God for that, my dear heart. That hour would have been sore hard for thee to live through, hadst thou known it afore.”

The parlour door opened, and they saw Roger Hall standing in the doorway.

“Mistress Pandora!” he said. “Thanks be unto God for all His mercies!”

“Amen!” answered both the girls.

“Methinks, Mr Hall, under God, some thanks be due to you also,” remarked Pandora, with a smile. “Mine aunt and I had fared ill without your pots and pans that time you wot of, and mine uncle hath been ringing your praises in my Father’s ears touching your good management at the cloth-works.”

“I did but my duty, Mistress,” said Roger, modestly.

“I would we all did the same, Mr Hall, so well as you have done,” added Pandora. “Christie, my sister Gertrude saith she will come and see thee.”

“Oh!” answered Christie, with an intonation of pleasure. “Please, Mistress Pandora, is she as good as you?”

Both Roger and Pandora laughed.

“How must I answer, Christie?” said the latter. “For, if I say ‘ay,’ that shall be to own myself to be good; and if ‘no,’ then were it to speak evil of my sister. She is brighter and cheerier than I, and loveth laughter and mirth. Most folks judge her to be the fairer and sweeter of the twain.”

“I shall not,” said Christie, with a shake of her head; “of that am I very certain.”

Roger privately thought he should not either.

“Well,” said Christie, “I do hope any way, now, all our troubles be over! Please, Mistress Pandora, think you not they shall be?”

“My dear little maid!” answered Pandora, laughing.

“Not without we be in Heaven, Christie,” replied her Father, “and methinks we have scarce won thither yet.”

Christabel looked extremely disappointed.

“Oh, dear!” she said, “I made sure we should have no more, now Queen Elizabeth was come in. Must we wait, then, till we get to Heaven, Father?”

“Wait till we reach Heaven, sweet heart, for the land where we shall no more say, ‘I am sick,’ either in health or heart. It were not good for us to walk ever in the plains of ease; we should be yet more apt than we be to build our nests here, and forget to stretch our wings upward toward Him who is the first cause and the last end of all hope and goodness. ’Tis only when we wake up after His likeness, to be with Him for ever, that we shall be satisfied with it.”

The End.