Roger Hall had naturally all the contempt of a trueborn man of Kent for the dwellers in “the shires,” which practically meant everybody in England who was not a native of Kent. But he knew that God had said, “He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth;” so he said in his heart, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” to the bad feeling, and went on to wonder who the good man might be. Had Pandora told the name of that man, half Roger’s doubts and terrors would have taken flight. The name of Master John Bradford of Manchester—the martyr who eighteen months before had glorified the Lord in the fires—would have been an immediate passport to his confidence. But Pandora knew the danger of saying more than was needful, and silently suppressed the name of her good counsellor.
Some days elapsed before Roger was again able to visit Canterbury. They were very busy just then at the cloth-works, and his constant presence was required. But when February began, the pressure was past, and on the first holy-day in that month, which was Candlemas Day, he rode to the metropolitan city of his county on another visit to Alice. On his arm he carried a basket, which held a bottle of thick cream, a dozen new-laid eggs, and a roll of butter; and as he came through Canterbury, he added to these country luxuries the town dainties of a bag of dates and half a pound each of those costly spices, much used and liked at that time—cloves, nutmeg, and cinnamon. On these articles he spent 7 shillings 8 pence—8 pence for the dates, 3 shillings for cinnamon, 2 shillings 6 pence for cloves, and 1 shilling 6 pence for nutmegs. Lastly, he bought a sugarloaf, then an unusual luxury, which cost him 7 pence. The basket was now quite full, and leaving his horse at the Star Inn, he went up to the prison, and struck with his dagger on the great bell, which was then the general mode of ringing it. Every man, except labourers, carried a dagger. The porter had become so accustomed to the sight of Roger, that he usually opened the door for him at once, with a nod of greeting. But this morning, when he looked from the wicket to see who it was, he did not open the door, but stood silently behind it. Roger wondered what this new style of conduct meant.
“May I within, by your good leave, to see my sister?” he asked.
“You may within, if you desire to tarry here, by my Lord’s good leave,” said the porter; “but you’ll not see your sister.”
“Why, what’s ado?” asked Roger in consternation.
“Removed,” answered the porter shortly.
“Whither?”
“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” was the proverbial reply.
“Lack-a-day! Can I find out?”
The porter elevated his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders.