too little
strength or endurance of body--enough of soul."

"Nay, then, I see but one more," continued Avery, "and if you say nay to
him also, I have done. What think you of my Lord's Grace of Suffolk?"

"`Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel,'" he answered. "A man weak
as any child, and as easily led astray. If he be your head, Avery, I
would say it were scarce worth to turn out for the cause. You would
have an halter round your neck in a week."

"Well," responded John, "I cannot see any other."

"I cannot see _any_," was Mr Rose's answer.

"Then we have no leader!" said Dr Thorpe, despondently.

Dr Thorpe was beginning to say "we" when he meant the Gospellers.

"We have no leader," said Mr Rose. "We had one--an Heaven-born one--the
only man to whose standard (saving a faction) all England should have
mustered, the only man whose trumpet should have reached every heart.
And but three months gone, his blood reddened the surfeited earth upon
Tower Hill. Friends, men may come to look upon that loss as upon a loss
never to be amended. Trust me, we have not seen the worst yet. If it
should be as you guess--and that may well be--there shall yet be a
bitterer wail of mourning, yet a cry of agony ringing to the Heaven, for
the lack of Edward Seymour."

"Ay, I am afeard the black clouds be not done opening themselves yet,"
sadly replied John.

"I think they have scantly done gathering," answered he. "The breaking,
the tempest, cometh on apace. But it is not yet come."

"When shall it come, think you?" said Dr Thorpe.

"Shortly," he answered. "A word in your ear: the King is more grievous
sick than men wot of. He may tide over this his malady; very like he
will. But he hath no power within him to do battle with such disorders.
His strength is worn out. He is scarce like to outlive an other."

"Nay, my master! Worn out at fourteen!" cried Dr Thorpe.

"Men reckon time by days; God by endurance," said Mr Rose, mournfully.
"And this boy hath borne, these three years, more than you or I wot of.
The sword is too sharp for the scabbard. It may be we have hardly known
how to rate his true worth; or it may be that his work is over. Either
way, it shall not be long now ere he enter into God's rest and his. Ay,
I know it is a woeful saying, yet again I say it: King Edward is worn
out at fourteen. We may not seek to keep him; but this I am assured--
the angel's call to him shall be the signal for a fearf