"Thank you; how good that is! I feel stronger now, and I would like to talk with you both. Sit close to me, Geoffrey, and wrap my cloak around you; you are shivering."
Geoffrey was shivering, but not with bodily cold--it was that chill that creeps over us when Death suddenly appears, and dropping all disguise, shows us his stern features. He had long felt that this great sorrow was approaching, but since he had had so strong a hope of restoration to liberty, he had imagined the fresh air and bright sunshine bringing back a healthy glow to those pale cheeks and vigor to that wasted frame. But now he saw, all at once, his mistake. Death would not thus be robbed of its victim. The bolts and bars through which he was to break were such as no man could fasten; the sunshine in which he was to bask would be the light of his much-loved Saviour's face.
"Do you remember, Geoffrey, that day before we left dear old Forest Tower, how Lord Cobham told me I might have to die for the truth's sake? I am very glad to go. I did not think it would be so easy; but I would have liked to be able to preach Christ before I went. I am sorry to leave you, brother, but perhaps when I am gone they will take pity on you, and let you go. When you are free, you will go away together, you and Kate--I have prayed God for that. And when you are happy together, you will think often, won't you, of the days we have passed together in our prison? See, I have made these for you; they are not much, but it is all I could do, and father will like to see them, and you will tell him about to-night, and how I loved you both." He drew out from under the straw two little bags, or flat cases, made of plaited straw, and placed them in Kate's and Geoffrey's hands.
"There are some texts written on parchment in each; I wrote them last summer because they are so beautiful. I wanted to tell you more, but I am very sleepy now. Good night!"
The low, faint voice had grown fainter from exhaustion, and he sank down in a deep sleep on Kate's shoulder as he finished. She laid him carefully down, for the convent-bell was warning her that it was time to go. Wrapped in her sheet again, she passed, with Geoffrey's aid, through the narrow window, and as he stood and watched her by the white gleam of her drapery among the leafless trees, it seemed as though all the light that was left for him in this world had departed with the bright words and kindly smile of Lady Katharine Hyde.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Free Again.
Very much surprised was dame Redwood when, the week after Easter, she received a message that the abbess of the convent of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows wished to see her on particular business, that very morning.
"I have been at no tricks, mother," said poor frightened Phoebe, who was the messenger, "unless it might be about the key, but that has been hanging on its nail ever since. Do you think she means about me, mother?"
"And why should she not be meaning you, you heedless thing?" replied her mother, though in her inmost heart she believed it was for her own tricks she was to be called before that high dignitary, and foresaw nothing but the loss of her farm, if not something worse. But she would not let her daughter see this; so she went on scolding her with all the breath she could spare while running round to get ready for her departure.