Sad Tidings.
“But of all sad words by tongue or pen,
The saddest are these—‘It might have been!’”
Though the majority of the nation were comparatively indifferent to the religious changes that had been effected, there were certain political occurrences which they viewed with less equanimity. One of these was the vast number of Spaniards brought over by Philip. It was reckoned—doubtless with some exaggeration—that in September, 1554, three Spaniards might be seen in London to every Englishman. The rumour ran that five thousand more were on the way. The nation was both vexed and alarmed. Was England to be reduced, like the Netherlands, to the condition of a mere outlying province of Spain?
Before eight weeks had run out from the day of Philip’s arrival in London, his hand upon the reins was plainly visible. He had been heard to say that if he believed a member of his own body to be tainted with heresy, he would amputate it immediately and without remorse. The Gospellers were not left quite ignorant of what they might reasonably expect.
It was on a quiet morning in October that Agnes was on her way to Horsepool, when she was overtaken by Cicely Marvell, carrying a yoke of water-pails like herself.
“Good morrow, Mistress Marvell!” said the former. “Dear heart! but you look something troubled belike. Is any sick with you?”
Cicely and Agnes were quite aware that their religious sentiments were alike. It is in the cloudy and dark day that those who fear the Lord speak often one to another.
“Heavy news, my maid!” said Cicely in a low voice, and shaking her head. “Yesternight sixty folk were arrest in London for reading of Lutheran books.”
“Poor folk, trow?”
“All manner, as I do hear.”