d then, especially among the
labouring class, so that, except on these occasions, the poorer
Gospellers had no hope of hearing the words of the Lord.

The reading was over, and one after another of the guests stole silently
out into the night--black, noiseless shadows, going up the lane into the
village, or down it on the way to Thorpe. At length the last was gone
except the Thurstons, who offered to stay for the night. John Thurston
lay down in the kitchen, and Margaret, finding Alice Mount apparently
better, said she would share Rose's bed.

Alice Mount's malady was what we call a bad feverish cold, and generally
we do not expect it to do anything more than make the patient very
uncomfortable for a week. But in Queen Mary's days they knew very much
less about colds than we do, and they were much more afraid of them. It
was only six years since the last attack of the terrible sweating
sickness--the last ever to be, but they did not know that--and people
were always frightened of anything like a cold turning to that dreadful
epidemic wherein, as King Edward the Sixth writes in his diary, "if one
took cold he died within three hours, and if he escaped, it held him but
nine hours, or ten at the most." It was, therefore, a relief to hear
Alice say that she felt better, and urge Rose to go to bed.

"Well, it scarce seems worth while going to bed," said Margaret. "What
time is it? Can you see the church clock, Rose?"

"We can when it's light," said Rose; "but I think you'll not see it
now."

Margaret drew back the little curtain, but all was dark, and she let it
drop again.

"It'll be past one, I reckon," said she.

"Oh, ay; a good way on toward two," was Rose's answer.

"Rose, have you heard aught of Bessy Foulkes of late?"

"Nought. I've tried to see her, but they keep hot so close at Master
Ashby's there's no getting to her."

"And those poor little children of Johnson's. They're yet in prison,
trow?"

"Oh, ay. I wish they'd have let us have the baby Jane Hiltoft has it.
She'll care it well enough for the body: but for the soul--"

"Oh, when Johnson's burned--as he will be, I reckon--the children 'll be
bred up in convents, be sure," was Margaret's answer.

"Nay! I'll be sure of nought so bad as that, as long as God's in
heaven."

"There's no miracles now o' days, Rose."

"There's God's care, just as much as in Elijah's days. And, Margaret,
they've burned little children afore now."

"Eh,