Those Token-words drew me irresistibly after him. I felt no Fear, no Horror just then; only that our two Souls clave together, and that mine must keep near his till 'twas caught up. So I kept a little in advance, and eyed him now and then, that he might just see I stood by him; and I think it gave him Pleasure, for I once heard him say, "The Presence of a Friend, that cleaveth to us unto Death, how good is it!"

But Martyrs were forbidden to make long Speeches on Pain of having their Tongues cut out; and indeed, their Constancy preached enow. Wherefore this was the last Word I heard from his Lips, for he seemed entirely addressing himself to another Friend whom we could neither hear nor see. And, when he got to the Place, I saw him put his Arms affectionately about the Stake and kiss it, (they all did that,) and then lay aside his poor Weaver's Garments, prison-worn and tattered, and put on what seemed indeed the white Robe of Immortality, and then stand firm while they put the Chain about his Waist. Just then a Man pushed rudely past me with a Fagot; and there was a Rush and a Press of New-comers that jostled me from my Place and wanted to feed their greedy Appetites with a good Man's Pain as if 'twere a mere Show. I pushed at them again, and struggled forward, amid Blows and reviling, and gat Sight of a Puff of Smoke, and a bright Flame leaping up. Just then, the Sun, breaking forth from a stormy Cloud, shone full upon his Face, which, looking upward with a joyous Smile, seemed transfigured by it. I could see no more ... mine Eyes were blinded, my Throat choked. I pushed my Way through the Crowd and went Home to pray for—myself, not for him!

CHAPTER XII
A Snake among ye Flowers

I can give thee, Hew, no very connected Account of the Rest of that Season.... One Horror followed another—the Land was full of Blood, and Fire, and Vapour of Smoke. We went softly, and lived gloomy, and wretched, and desolate.

Sometimes I wished my Turn would come: then, dreaded it. Tomkins was continually before mine Eyes. At last, I suppose I altered so, that Master Hewet sent me down to my Mother, to keep quiet awhile in the Country.

Oh! what Happiness that was! The Tears we then shed together had Healing in them; and soon, away from all hateful Sounds and Sights, we gave over weeping altogether. My Mother, I found, had, in the first Instance, outwardly conformed; kissed Baal, in Fact; and then, like a good many other timid yet well-meaning Persons, found many Excuses to make for having so done, which yet failed to allay Self-disapprobation, and ended in Contrition and Resolutions of doing so no more. She was favourably placed for the keeping of such Resolves; having moved out of Ashford, to a remote Country-farm, too far from a Place of Worship for regular Attendance, wherefore she had set a-foot a little Church within her House, that was served, under the Rose, by a deprived Minister harbouring in the Neighbourhood. One of my younger Brothers, a goodly Lad, was at School; the other, a sickly Urchin, dwelt at Home, inactive but very happy.

So here I tarried, Thanks to good Master Hewet! till my Mind quite regained its Strength, as happy as a Rook on Sundays, as we say in Kent. The Change was so great, that my Absence seemed much longer than it really was. On my Return to London, as I rode along Kentstrete, my Heart seemed to fly forward to what, in Course of Years, had become my very Home. And, when we were all re-united beneath the same Roof, and I had fallen into my old Course, with very little Interference with the World without, I shortly began to be ware of a deep, new, inward Source of Happiness, that for a While I neither could nor would understand. Whatever I did, wherever I went, the very Air I breathed seemed to have a Glow, and Sweetness, and Freshness in it, whether my Errand led me through the Skinners' Yards in Budgerow, or the Butchers' Stalls in Eastchepe; 'twas all the same!—let the Stretes be ringing with Noises, there was a Song of Angels in my Head that made me deaf thereunto. And soon I was ware that this new Sweetness of Living, which was Serenity abroad, was Rapture at Home; and so all-satisfying was it, that I took no Care for the Morrow, nor aspired for Aught I had not, but only coveted to go on just as I was.

Master Hewet, about this Time, was full content with me, and reposed in me more and more Trust. Whereby I became aware that his Ventures were becoming more important, his Connexions more extended, his Credit higher, his Gains greater; and yet, withal, no Abatement of his old Rule of Simplicity and Plainness; unless with regard to Mistress Anne. No Money was in Sooth spared on her for Teaching or Dressing: her Chambers for Night and Day had, I believe, every Adornment that Money and Taste could procure: if her Ornaments were few, it was rather that she did not affect wearing many, than that there was Anything her Eye coveted that her Father would not buy for her. But she was one whom Indulgence could not spoil. Her Money, of which she had ample Allowance from an early Age, (it being one of Master Hewet's sage Maxims, that Children should be irresponsible Controulers of some regular Stipend, however small, to teach them Self-denial, Liberality, and Charity,) her Money, I say, was freely expended upon others, and employed in gratifying many an innocent Taste for Flowers, Birds, and such-like. Thus it fell, that I was now and then made Party to some little Mystery that gave me Pleasure she wist not she was bestowing, for I am persuaded she was at this Time living chiefly in a little Dream-land of her own, peopled with none but good Spirits and fair Prospects. It was, "Osborne, dost thou care to favour me so much as to step down to the Blanche Chapelton, and slip this into the Hand of the poor Basket-maker whose House was burned down last Night?"—or, Edward, I want to buy my Father an Inkstand I have seen in Lyme-strete; 'tis of rare Fancy, and, I think, a real Antique—a Hare in her Form, made of some glossy, brown Substance; and between the Hare's Ears is the Mouth of the Inkstand.—The Shop looks not like one I should care to enter, but 'tis over-against the Green-gate of Miguel Pistoy. Mind not the Price, but see thou tell not even Damaris."