“It never will be, never will be,” said Cuthbert, with sinking heart.
And how that young heart beat, as they approached the “Cross Keys,” and as a line of men, forming across the road, stopped the cavalcade.
“My Lord Abbot, we arrest you in the King’s name.”
“On what charge?”
“Robbery of the Abbey Church.”
“This is a base pretence, to deprive me of the credit of martyrdom for my convictions: but there was One who suffered more for me.”
And the Abbot yielded himself peacefully to those who sought his life.
