I was now very anxious no longer to delay my marriage with Aveline, especially as Captain Radford was in England, and purposed shortly making another voyage to some distant part of the world. The spirit of adventure had increased on him, and he could with difficulty remain quietly in England without employment. I expressed my wishes to Sir Thomas.
“I am sorry to hear this,” he said, “because I was about to propose to you to go to Antwerp on important business. There is no one I would so willingly employ in it as yourself; and you will be conferring a favour on me if you will postpone your marriage to Mistress Aveline for another month or so. We will do our best to entertain Captain Radford in the meantime, and on your return I will invite that excellent minister, Master John Foxe, to leave his books and his parish for a time, and come up and perform the ceremony. Her uncle Overton must also be drawn forth from his quiet parish for a few days to assist in the ceremony.”
I, of course, could not decline so flattering an offer as that now made to me by my patron, though my dear Aveline, I must own, pouted her lips and looked about to cry when I told her of it.
“If I had you here, I should not so much mind,” she said; “but to let you go forth into that land where the cruel Duke practises his barbarities, and may perchance seize you and cast you into prison, I cannot bear to think of it!” and again she burst into tears.
I tried to console her, believing that her fears were vain, and that, under the protection of Sir Thomas Gresham and the English Government, no harm could possibly happen to me.
I travelled down on horseback to Harwich, and from thence crossed in a frigate, sailing for Ostend. From that city I travelled post, as Sir Thomas himself had often done, at a rapid rate to Antwerp. Here I took up my abode in the house of my patron’s old servant, Jacob Naas, who had been left in comfortable circumstances by the liberality of his master. He had held to his former principles of conforming outwardly to the Romish faith. I talked with him for some time before he knew who I was. He then received me most cordially, and gave me the best entertainment his house could afford. He shook his head when I asked how things went on at Antwerp. “Oh! Master Verner,” he said, “they are bad times. Our artisans have fled, the commerce of the place is ruined, grass is growing in many of our streets, springing up from the blood of the citizens shed on them. And then look at that frowning fortress. While that remains, how can we ever hope to regain our lost liberties? It is refreshing to be able to speak to you of these matters, but I dare not utter them aloud.”
I asked after many of my old acquaintances. Again he shook his head with a sorrowful look. Some were dead—broken-hearted; many had been executed; others had fled, and the rest were living in poverty. A few only were flourishing, and they were among those who had abandoned the Protestant faith.
“Then I suppose that that is a proof that they have acted wisely and rightly,” I observed.
“No, no, Master Verner, you do not think that,” he answered: “I know enough of the truth to know that it is not always those who flourish in this world who are most favoured by God. Look at me, Master Verner, I am not happy; and when I pass them, and observe their countenances, there is little contentment and cheerfulness to be seen in them.”
“And Dame Trond,” I asked, “is she still alive?”