, she found the
wretch in question still seated at the table, his head buried in his
hands. A gruffer voice than ever bade her "Let be! Keep away!" Mary
withdrew quietly, and found it a shade easier to keep her hands off Mr
Benden after that incident.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

ONE SUMMER DAY.

The nineteenth of June was the loveliest of summer days, even in the
Martyrs' Field at Canterbury, in the hollow at the end of which the
seven stakes were set up. The field is nearly covered now by the
station of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, but the hollow can
still be traced whence the souls of His faithful witnesses went up to
God.

John Banks was early on the ground, and so secured a front place. The
crowd grew apace, until half the field was covered. Not only residents
of the city, but casual sight-seers, made up the bulk of it, the rather
since it was somewhat dangerous to be absent, especially for a suspected
person. From the neighbouring villages, too, many came in--the village
squire and his dame in rustling silks, the parish priest in his cassock,
the labourers and their wives in holiday garb.

Then the Castle gates opened, and the Wincheap Gate; and forth from them
came a slow, solemn procession, preceded by a crucifer bearing a silver
cross, a long array of black-robed priests, and then the Lord Bishop of
Dover, in his episcopal robes, followed by two scarlet-cassocked
acolytes swinging thuribles, from which ascended a cloud of incense
between his Lordship's sacred person and the wicked heretics who were to
follow. Two and two they came, John Fishcock the butcher, led like one
of his own sheep to the slaughter, and Nicholas White the ironmonger;
Nicholas Pardue and Sens Bradbridge; Mrs Final and Emmet Wilson. After
all the rest came Alice Benden, on the last painful journey that she
should ever take. She would mount next upon wings as an eagle, and
there should for her be no more pain.

The martyrs recognised their friend John Banks, and each greeted him by
a smile. Then they took off their outer garments--which were the
perquisites of the executioners--and stood arrayed every one in that
white robe of martyrdom, of which so many were worn in Mary's reign; a
long plain garment, falling from the throat to the feet, with long loose
sleeves buttoned at the wrists. Thus prepared, they knelt down to pray,
while the executioners heaped the faggots in the manner best suited for
quick burning. Ri