They were hushed; no sound was heard, save the gentle crackle and hiss of the logs on the hearth; they saw--the little white form lying on its pillows, with the red firelight beaming on opened, sightless eyes, parted breathless lips.
He hearkened, and heard 'the angels' song of welcome--he looked, and beheld the face of his Saviour!
CHAPTER XXI.
Father Paul.
There was no noisy grief, no boisterous lamentation when, one lovely spring morning, the small funeral-train left the soldier's cottage, and passed through the forest-paths toward the last resting-place of the little Lollard martyr. Dick and Bertrand had dug the grave in just such a spot as a child might choose to rest in after a long day of happiness--a glade with a southern slope, purpled with violets, and enlivened by a little brook, which leaped out of a thicket of wild roses, and, after dancing awhile in the sunshine, and hugging the worn rocks as though it loved them, plunged again into obscurity, under the arms of a great overspreading willow, and went dancing on to the sea.
There were no chanting monks with flaming tapers, but the returning sun spoke to them of nature--awake again after its long sleep--and of little brown seeds, hidden away in the ground all winter, now bursting forth into beauty and fragrance, every seed having its own body. "I am the resurrection and the life"--how glorious those words sounded as echoed by a thousand voices in that grand cathedral of God's own handiwork! Every budding branch, every flower, every tiny blade of grass the mourners crushed beneath their feet was to them a witness of that fact.
We, who have all our lives been used to the consolation which the pure gospel gives to all thoughts connected with death, can hardly imagine what were the Benedictine's feelings when he stood by that little grave, and read that glorious funeral anthem, the fifteenth chapter of Corinthians, for the first time in his mother tongue. It was all new and striking to him. He had now no need to let his mind dwell on a fearful purgatory, from which the departed soul could only be released by the prayers and penances of living friends. He now knew that all connection had ceased between the disembodied spirit and those it had left behind. In due time they might go to it, but it was at that very moment safe in its Saviour's bosom, whence none could pluck it away.
The soothing effect of the scene and the simple service was felt in every heart; and when at last they saw Bertrand arrange the last sod that covered the dear one from their eyes, there were no outbursts of grief; for the peace which is not of this world, and therefore over which the prince of this world has no power, was upon them, and rested in each soul.
No tombstone marked the spot; they did not even dare to raise a mound, lest the precious remains should be desecrated; but each, as he passed by, laid on it a handful of the sweet spring flowers. Those who loved him knew where he lay, and God would guard the ashes of his saint.
Their preparations must now be made speedily, for only two days remained of the time granted them by the abbess. While they were looking for a fishing-boat, the master of which might be induced, by the promise of a large reward, to convey them to London, they were also busy contriving how they might best take Lady Katharine Hyde without endangering the safety of any who had aided them in their flight. Fortunately, the abbess had never seen her young charge hold any communication with her other prisoners; she was also entirely unaware that the young lady possessed means of access to the garden, and indeed to the outer world, whenever she was pleased to avail herself of them. The ghost also had never been laid, but remained as great a mystery as ghosts generally do. All this greatly favored their plans. It was at last arranged that she should come down to the garden at as early an hour as possible in the evening, locking the door behind her; that she should then enter the little room under the tower, where Bertrand would meet her with her disguise, which was to be that of a monk of Father Paul's order. They were then to fasten up the entrance to the secret passage, and meet the others at the designated spot on the coast. The others were to pretend to start at sunset, that afterward, when Lady Katharine should be missed, the abbess would not imagine that she had joined them. It would be very easy for them, when it was dark, to turn back and take up the rest of their load.