ght; I'll go with you till then."

"I've only to go four doors past Saint Peter's, so that'll do well. You
were at the preaching, weren't you, this even?"

"Ay, and I thought I saw you."

"Yes, I was there. He talked full bravely. I marvel if he'd stand if
it came to it. I don't think many would."

"I misdoubt if any would, without God held them up."

"Margaret says she's sure she would," said the other woman.

"Oh, ay, I don't doubt myself," said Margaret.

"Then I cry you mercy, but I doubt you," replied Elizabeth.

"I'm sure you needn't! I'd never flinch for pope nor priest."

"Maybe not; but you might for rack or stake."

"It'll ne'er come to that here. Queen Mary's not like to forget how
Colchester folk all stood with her against Lady Jane."

"She mayn't; but think you the priests shall tarry at that? and she'll
do as the priests bid her."

"Ay, they say my Lord of Winchester, when he lived, had but to hold up
his finger, and she'd have followed him, if it were over London Bridge
into the Thames," said the other woman. "And the like with my Lord
Cardinal, that now is."

By "my Lord of Winchester" she meant Bishop Gardiner, who had been dead
rather more than a year. The Cardinal was Reginald Pole, the Queen's
third cousin, who had lately been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, in
the room of the martyred Cranmer, "Why, the Queen and my Lord Cardinal
were ever friends, from the time they were little children," answered
Margaret.

"Ay, there was talk once of her wedding with him, if he'd not become a
priest. But I rather reckon you're right, my maid: a priest's a priest,
without he's a Gospeller; and there's few of them will think more of
goodness and charity than of their own order and of the Church."

"Goodness and charity? Marry, there's none in 'em!" cried Margaret.
"Howbeit, here's the Green Sleeves, where I'm bound, and I'm beholden to
you, Bessy, for coming with me. Good even."

Elizabeth returned the greeting, and set off to walk back at a quick
pace to Balcon Lane. She had not gone many steps when she was once more
stopped, this time by a young man, named Robert Purcas, a fuller, who
lived in the neighbouring village of Booking.

"Bessy," said he. "It is thou, I know well, for I heard thee bid
Margaret Thurston good den, and I should know thy voice among a
thousand."

"I cannot 'bide, Robin. I'm late, even now."

"Tarry but one minute, Bessy. Trust me, thou wouldst if--"