--the last day, when they
would be sentenced or acquitted--was appointed to be the 23rd of June.
On the previous day the Commissioners called Elizabeth Foulkes before
them. She came, accompanied by Mr Ashby and her uncle; and they asked
her only one question.

"Dost thou believe in a Catholic Church of Christ, or no?"

Of course Elizabeth replied "Yes," for the Bible has plenty to say of
the Church of Christ, though it never identifies it with the Church of
Rome. They asked her no more, for Boswell, the scribe, interposed, and
begged that she might be consigned to the keeping of her uncle. The
Commissioners assented, and Holt took her away. It looks very much as
if Boswell had wanted her to escape. She was much more carelessly
guarded in her uncle's house than in Mr Ashby's, and could have got
away easily enough if she had chosen. She was more than once sent to
open the front door, whence she might have slipped out after dark with
almost a certainty of escape. It was quite dark when she answered the
last rap.

"Pray you," asked an old man's voice, "is here a certain young maid, by
name Elizabeth Foulkes?"

"I am she, master. What would you with me?"

"A word apart," he answered in a whisper. "Be any ears about that
should not be?"

Elizabeth glanced back into the kitchen where her aunt was sewing, and
her two cousins gauffering the large ruffs which both men and women then
wore.

"None that can harm. Say on, my master."

"Bessy, dost know my voice?"

"I do somewhat, yet I can scarce put a name thereto."

"I am Walter Purcas, of Booking."

"Robin's father! Ay, I know you well now, and I cry you mercy that I
did no sooner."

"Come away with me, Bessy!" he said, in a loud whisper. "I have walked
all the way from Booking to see if I might save thee, for Robin's sake,
for he loves thee as he loveth nought else save me. Mistress Wade shall
lend me an horse, and we can be safe ere night be o'er, in the house of
a good man that I know in a place unsuspect. O Bessy, my dear lass,
save thyself and come with me!"

"Save thyself!" The words had been addressed once before, fifteen
hundred years back, to One who did not save Himself, because He came to
save the world. Before the eyes of Elizabeth rose two visions--one fair
and sweet enough, a vision of safety and comfort, of life and happiness,
which might be yet in state for her. But it was blotted out by the
other--a vision of three crosses reared