“Bongeor,” said its bearer. “Is my name wrong set down? Pray you, Mr Wastborowe, have it put right without delay, that I be not left out.”
“I should think you’d be uncommon glad if you were!” said he.
“Nay, but in very deed it should grieve me right sore,” she replied earnestly. “Let there not be no mistake, I do entreat you.”
“I’ll see to it,” said Wastborowe, as he left the prison.
The prisoners had few preparations to make. Each had a garment ready—a long robe of white linen, falling straight from the neck to the ankles, with sleeves which buttoned at the wrist. There were many such robes made during the reign of Mary—types of those fairer white robes which would be “given to every one of them,” when they should have crossed the dark valley, and come out into the light of the glory of God. Only Agnes Bongeor and Helen Ewring had something else to part with. With Agnes in her prison was a little baby only a few weeks old, and she must bid it good-bye, and commit it to the care of some friend. Helen Ewring had to say farewell to her husband, who came to see her about four in the morning; and to the surprise of Elizabeth Foulkes, she found herself summoned also to an interview with her widowed mother and her uncle Holt.
“Why, Mother!” exclaimed Elizabeth in astonishment, “I never knew you were any where nigh.”
“Didst thou think, my lass, that aught ’d keep thy mother away from thee when she knew? I’ve been here these six weeks, a-waiting to hear. Eh, my pretty mawther, (see note 1) but to see this day! I’ve looked for thee to be some good man’s wife, and a happy woman,—such a good maid as thou always wast!—and now! Well, well! the will of the Lord be done!”
“A happy woman, Mother!” said Elizabeth with her brightest smile. “In all my life I never was so happy as this day! This is my wedding day—nay, this is my crowning day! For ere the sun be high this day, I shall have seen the Face of Christ, and have been by Him presented faultless before the light of the glory of God. Mother, rejoice with me, and rejoice for me, for I can do nothing save rejoice. Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, good-will towards men!”
There was glory to God, but little good-will towards men, when the six prisoners were marched out into High Street, on their way to martyrdom. Yet only one sorrowful heart was in the dungeon of the Moot Hall, and that was Agnes Bongeor’s, who lamented bitterly that owing to the mis-spelling of her name in the writ, she was not allowed to make the seventh. She actually put on her robe of martyrdom, in the hope that she might be reckoned among the sufferers. Now, when she learned that she was not to be burned that day, her distress was poignant.
“Let me go with them!” she cried. “Let me go and give my life for Christ! Alack the day! The Lord counts me not worthy.”