o more summer walks to
Clerkenwell,--no more readings from the Cathedral lectern! Instead of
that, for him the chariot of fire, and then the King's welcome home, the
white robe, and the palm of victory, and the crown of life. And for
her,--ah! what? It might be a forty years' wandering in the Wilderness
of Sinai, with the River of Jordan at its close, ere she could come to
the shore of the Promised Land. Yet the Promised Land was sure, as was
the Promiser.

A strange specimen of human nature was Alexander, the keeper of Newgate
prison: a man who could request Bishop Bonner to burn some more heretics
because the cells were inconveniently crowded, and then, after a good
supper, sit down and play the fiddle. He was extremely fond of music,
though it scarcely exercised a soothing influence in his exceedingly
savage breast.

Happily for Agnes, this gentleman happened to be in a good temper when
she presented herself at his gates. He admitted her into the great
hall, and after a short delay took her down to the low damp cell where
condemned prisoners were confined. There she found John Laurence.

They were both very calm,--these two, to each of whom in that hour's
last meeting the bitterness of death was passing. Each tried to be
brave for the other's sake; each strengthened the other's hand in God.

"This is scarce what we looked for, sweet-heart," said the Black Friar.
"We had gathered a fair dish of honey, but our good Master saw it should
harm us, and appointed us in the stead thereof a dish of wormwood.
Neither is all the honey gone from us, for it is sweet to suffer for His
sake."

"I am glad thou hast stood firm," said Agnes quietly.

"Thou shalt have the bitterer portion, my poor heart! Yet it is for no
long season. We must meet soon, in our Father's House."

"Truly. And the time may be very short," she answered.

"And canst thou give me up, mine Agnes, for Christ's sake? For mark
thou, that which is wrenched away is not given."

She looked up with fixed, tearless eyes.

"Ay, John. I can give thee up for Christ's sake. But I could not for
any other."

So they parted--for the last time. For when they should meet again in
the Father's House, they would part no more for ever.

"Not for any other!" Is there no special tenderness in the heart of the
loving Saviour, for those who have given up that one thing which would
not, could not, be resigned for any sake but His?

The next day there was