ore than three hundred years have rolled away since the events narrated
in the following pages stirred the souls of men; since John Bradford sat
down to his "merry supper with the Lord;" since Lawrence Saunders slept
peacefully at the stake, lifted over the dark river in the arms of God;
since Ridley and Latimer, on that autumn morning at Oxford, lighted that
candle in England which they trusted by God's grace should never be put
out.

And how stands it with England now? For forty-three years, like a bird
fascinated by the serpent, she has been creeping gradually closer to the
outstretched arms of the great enchantress. Is she blind and deaf? Has
she utterly forgotten all her history, all the traditions of her
greatness? It is not quite too late to halt in her path of destruction;
but how soon may it become so? How soon may the dying scream of the
bird be hushed in the jaws of the serpent?

The candle which was lighted on that autumn morning is burning dim. It
burns dimmer every year, as England yields more and more to Rome. And
every living soul of us all is responsible to God for the preservation
of its blessed light. O sons and daughters of England, shall it be put
out?

CHAPTER ONE.

THE FOLDING OF THE LAMB.

"And then she fell asleep; but God
Knew that His Heaven was better far,
Where little children angels are;
And so, for paths she should have trod
Through thorns and flowers, gave her this sod.

"He gave her rest for troublousness,
And a calm sleep for fitful dreams
Of what is, and of more that seems
For tossings upon earth and seas
Gave her to see Him where He is."

W.M. Rossetti.

"Arbel, look forth and see if thy father and Robin be at hand. I fear
the pie shall be overbaken."

The speaker was a woman of about forty years of age, of that quiet and
placid demeanour which indicates that great provocation would be needed
to evoke any disturbance of temper. Gathering up the garment on which
she was at work, Arbel [Note 1] crossed the long, low room to a wide
casement, on the outer mullions of which sundry leafless boughs were
tapping as if to ask shelter from the cold; and after standing there for
two or three minutes, announced that the missing members of the family
were approaching.

"And a third party withal," added she; "that seemeth me, so far as I may
hence discern, to be Doctor Thorpe."

"He is very welcome, an' it be he," returned her mo