A look of bright, almost angelic, joy had come upon Iola's countenance as he spoke; and she answered in a low but solemn tone:
"I have found it, Chartley--that truth which you mention."
"Where?" asked Chartley, eagerly.
"I will show you," she replied, "when, with my husband by my side, I can pour out to him, pledged and plighted to me for ever, all the thoughts of a heart which shall never be opened to any other mortal being. Your words, Chartley, have been to me a blessing and an assurance. Oh, God, I thank thee. My last fear and doubt are removed! Now let us talk of other things; for you must go indeed. Tell me where you will fix your abode for the next few days. Then I shall not need to watch you; for I have been obliged to place spies upon you, in order to know where to find you in case of need."
"I will fix my quarters at Atherston," answered Chartley. "But are you a little queen, that you have spies at will, and messengers over all the land, with castle gates flying open before you, and means of travelling invisible to human eyes. How was it, in Heaven's name, you escaped from Chidlow castle; for I have heard nothing more than the mere assurance which you sent Constance the day after, that you were in safety."
"I must not tell you all," answered Iola, gravely, "at least, not yet, Chartley; but this much I may say, though it will sound very strange to your ears, that there are many, very many--ay, thousands upon thousands--of people in this land, all linked together by ties the most sacred, who have been forced, by long and bitter persecutions, to establish means of communicating with each other, and of aiding and assisting each other in time of need. They are to be found in the courts of princes, in the mart, the church, and the camp; but they are known only to each other, and not always even that. They are innocent of all offence, peaceable, blameless; yet, if they be discovered, death is the punishment for the mere thoughts of the mind. I tell you they are many, Chartley. They are increasing daily, in silence and in secret; but the time will come, and that ere long, when their voice will be heard, aloud and strong; and no man shall dare to bid it cease. To them I owe much help. But now indeed we must part."
The parting lasted well nigh as long as the interview; and, though it had its pain, yet Chartley went with a happier heart, and with hope and expectation once more burning as bright as ever.
CHAPTER XLI.
In a large room, of the convent of Black Nuns, near Tewksbury, with a vaulted roof and one window at the farther end, seated at a small table, and with an open parchment book upon it, was the Princess Mary or Margaret of Scotland--for she is occasionally called in history by both those names. She was diligently examining the pages of the volume, in which seemed to be written a number of names, with comments attached to them, in the margin, in a different coloured ink. On the opposite side of the table stood an elderly man in the garb of a monk, who remained without speaking, and with his eyes fixed calmly upon the princess, apparently not at all comprehending the object of her search.
At length, when she had run her eye and her finger down the whole line of names upon every page, pausing for a moment here and there, to examine the observations attached to some particular entry, the princess raised her eyes to the old man's face, saying--