ildren
come home to their father's house from afar, I trow they fall not
a-bewailing that they had not leave to come in company. And if only we
may clasp hands at the gate of the _Urbs Beata_, I trow well that we
shall count it no great matter, good friend, that we saw but little the
one of the other on the journey!"

Richard kissed her hand, and then she drew it from him, and softly
passed into her darkened nursery. For a moment he stood looking after
her. "Please God, we will, Margery!" he said to himself, at length.
Then he ran lightly down the stairs, and old Christopher rose at the
sound of his step to open the door for him.

And so Richard Pynson and Margery Marnell parted, never more to speak to
each other on this side of the Happy City.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. Any reader acquainted with mediaeval hymns will recognise in
this--

"Urbs coelestis! urbs beata! Super petram collocata."

I have translated a few lines of the hymn for the benefit of the English
reader; but my heroine must be supposed to sing it in the original
Latin.

Note 2. "Sweetening" was a process to which our forefathers were
compelled by their want of drains, and consisted in leaving a house
entirely empty for a time, to have the windows opened, the rushes
renewed, and to adroit of a general purification. Families who had the
means generally "went to sweeten" at least every summer.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BEREAVEMENT, BUT NOT DEATH.

"Take from me anything Thou wilt,
But go not _Thou_ away!"

Little Geoffrey slowly recovered from the illness which had brought him
to death's door, and though able to run about the house, he was still
far from perfect health, when Margery received orders to prepare for
another interview with Abbot Bilson. She rightly divined that this
would be more stormy than the last. Abbot Bilson came now fully
prepared, and not alone. He was accompanied by Archbishop Arundel, a
man of violent passions, and a bitter persecutor of all whom he
conceived to lean to the opinions of Wycliffe. When Margery entered the
room, and saw the Archbishop, she trembled, as well she might. She
meekly knelt and asked their blessing--the manner in which priests were
commonly greeted. The Abbot gave his, saying, "May God bless thee, and
lead thee unto the truth!"

"Amen!" responded Margery. Arundel, however, refused his benediction
until he had inquired into