“No doubt, Hall, no doubt!” replied the easy-tempered Justice. “Shut that further door an instant. Have you heard aught of late touching your sister?”
“Nought different, Mr Justice. She is yet in the Castle, but I cannot hear of any further examination, nor sentence.”
“Well, well! ’Tis sore pity folks cannot believe as they should, and keep out of trouble.”
Roger Hall was unable to help thinking that if Mr Justice Roberts had spoken his real thoughts, and had dared to do it, what he might have said would rather have been—“’Tis sore pity folks cannot let others alone to believe as they like, and not trouble them.”
That afternoon, the Lord Bishop of Dover held his Court in Canterbury Castle, and a string of prisoners were brought up for judgment. Among them came our friends from Staplehurst—Alice Benden, who was helped into Court by her fellow-prisoners, White and Pardue, for she could scarcely walk; Fishcock, Mrs Final, Emmet Wilson, and Sens Bradbridge. For the last time they were asked if they would recant. The same answer came from all—
“By the grace of God, we will not.”
Then the awful sentence was passed—to be handed over to the secular arm—the State, which the Church prayed to punish these malefactors according to their merits. By a peculiarly base and hypocritical fiction, it was made to appear that the Church never put any heretic to death—she only handed them over to the State, with a touching request that they might be gently handled! What that gentle handling meant, every man knew. If the State had treated a convicted heretic to any penalty less than death, it would soon have been found out what the Church understood by gentle handling!
Then the second sentence, that of the State, was read by the Sheriff. On Saturday, the nineteenth of June, the condemned criminals were to be taken to the field beyond the Dane John, and in the hollow at the end thereof to be burned at the stake till they were dead, for the safety of the Queen and her realm, and to the glory of God Almighty. God save the Queen!
None of the accused spoke, saving two. Most bowed their heads as if in acceptance of the sentence. Alice Benden, turning to Nicholas Pardue, said with a light in her eyes—
“Then shall we keep our Trinity octave in Heaven!”