nces.

"Softly!" said Lady Ashley, withdrawing her head. "Let us not disturb
her--she is so sweetly sleeping."

Sleeping! ay, a sleep that should have no waking, From that sleep not
the roaring of the winds, not the thunder of the tempest, not even the
anguished voices of her children, should ever arouse her again.

"She had no priest, after all," said Frances under her breath to Isoult,
the same evening.

Lady Ashley added very softly, "She said we should find her asleep, if
all went well. We found her asleep. Is it an omen that all did go
well?"

Isoult could make no answer.

Where Honor Plantagenet was buried, no record remains to tell us, unless
it be some early entry in a parish register of Cornwall or Devon. It
might be in the family burying-place of her own kindred, the Grenvilles
of Stow; or it might be with her first husband, Sir John Basset, at
Umberleigh. Only it may be asserted without fear of contradiction, that
it was not with the royal lord whom she had so bitterly lamented, and
whose coffin lay, with many another as illustrious as his own, in the
old Norman Chapel of the Tower. No stranger admixture can there be on
earth, than among those coffins crowding that Norman Chapel,--from
traitors of the blackest dye, up to saints and martyrs.

The first news which the Averys heard after their return home, was not
encouraging to that religious party to which they belonged. Bishop
Gardiner had been set free, and had gone back to his Palace at Farnham,
Mr James Basset accompanying him. This was an evil augury; for wherever
Gardiner was, there was mischief. But it soon appeared that Somerset
kept his eye upon the wolf, and on his first renewed attempt upon the
fold, he was quietly placed again in durance. Meanwhile the leaven of
reformation was working slowly and surely. On Candlemas Day there were
no candles in the Chapel Royal; no ashes on Ash Wednesday; no palms on
Palm Sunday. At Paul's Cross, after eight years' silence, the earnest
voice of Hugh Latimer was heard ringing: and to its sound flocked such a
concourse, that the space round the Cross could not hold them, and a
pulpit was set up in the King's garden at Westminster Palace, where four
times the number of those at the Cross might assemble. For eight years
there had been "a famine of the word of the Lord" in England, and now
men and women came hungering and ready to be fed. Perhaps, if we had
borne eight years' famine, we should not