[CHAPTER XX.]
THE BREAKING OF THE STORM.
Jack went to his room, where his lamp was already lighted, and taking his beloved books from their usual hiding-place, he began to think what he should do with them. They were not many. There was first and dearest of all, the New Testament with Tyndale's notes, which had been given him by Master Fleming; then his Greek Testament; the Prophecy of Isaiah which he had brought from Mary Brent's house, and two or three small tracts and treatises. These last he read carefully through, once more, and then burned; but he could not bring his mind to burn his Bible.
There was a certain little cupboard in the wall, concealed by a sliding panel, which Jack had discovered by accident some few years before, and of the existence of which he had never heard any one speak. He had concealed his discovery with a boy's fancy for mystery, and now it was to serve a good purpose. He opened it and placed his books therein, all but his Greek Testament, which he thought he might safely reserve. He then closed the panel, and pushed his desk against it, and he had just finished these arrangements when he heard some one open his door.
He looked hastily and angrily round.
There stood Anne with a lamp in her hand.
"What now?" said he, trying to speak indifferently. "What brings you here so late?"
"I might ask what keeps you up so late," returned Anne. "You seem to have little regard to the repose of your guest, that you make such a noise."
"No fear of disturbing him, honest man," said Jack. "He is snoring like a porpoise, this minute, and I dare say he sleeps all the better for his unwonted exercise. He is a kind, good-natured man, though he may have his little infirmities, like the rest of us."
"It skills not talking of him," said Anne, entering the room, and closing the door. "Jack, what have you been doing, this night?"