Whether or no they be witting of such matters, I wis not,
for this Book saith nought thereupon; but ye see, friends, that if they
wit it, it doth anger them; and if they wit it not, what are ye the
better for praying unto them? Moreover, meseemeth for the same reason,
that the blessed Virgin Saint Mary, who is now in heaven with her Son
and Lord, Christ, would not be in any wise over well pleased if she wist
how men do worship unto her on the earth. And the like, I trow, may be
said of all God's saints."

At the conclusion of his sermon, Sastre leaned forward over the pulpit
and spoke in a low, earnest, loving tone. "Who is here, good friends,"
asked he, "that loveth this blessed Lord Jesu, the Lamb that was slain?
Who is here who will give up this vile and wretched world for His sake?
Who that will sue [follow] this blessed Lamb whithersoever He goeth,
even though He lead along the sharp way called tribulation, or the weary
way called prison, or the bitter way called poverty, or even verily
through the low and dark door called death? Who is here? Is there none
I beseech you, good friends, hath Christ no souls in this place? When
the blessed angels count up the number of the purchased ones, will ye
have them leave Bostock out of their reckoning? Shall it be worse than
Sodom and Gomorrah, wherein there was _one_ soul that was saved? Is
there not _one_ here? Nay, brethren, I trust it is not so. I trust ye
will come, yea in numbers, yea in throngs, yea in multitudes, and crowd
on Christ to touch the hem of His blessed garment, that is the power of
His great mercy. Christ loveth to have folk crowd on Him to cry Him
mercy. I read not that ever He complained of the crowding of the
multitude. I read not that ever He turned away so much as one poor
caitiff [sinner] who came unto Him. I read not that His lips plained
ever of aught but that they came not--that they lacked faith. I am an
old man, friends, and in all likelihood shall I never come here again;
but I say unto you that I shall scan well the multitude in the white
apparel for the faces which be upturned unto me this day. I pray you
that I miss them not. I pray God that ye--yea, that every man and woman
of you, may be clothed in yon glistering and shene [bright] raiment, and
may lift up your voices to cry, `The Lamb is worthy' in the city of
God!"

That sermon was a strange thing to Margery Lovell. Never, from the day
of her birth to that day, had she