e, I do entreat you."

"I'll see to it," said Wastborowe, as he left the prison.

The prisoners had few preparations to make. Each had a garment ready--a
long robe of white linen, falling straight from the neck to the ankles,
with sleeves which buttoned at the wrist. There were many such robes
made during the reign of Mary--types of those fairer white robes which
would be "given to every one of them," when they should have crossed the
dark valley, and come out into the light of the glory of God. Only
Agnes Bongeor and Helen Ewring had something else to part with. With
Agnes in her prison was a little baby only a few weeks old, and she must
bid it good-bye, and commit it to the care of some friend. Helen Ewring
had to say farewell to her husband, who came to see her about four in
the morning; and to the surprise of Elizabeth Foulkes, she found herself
summoned also to an interview with her widowed mother and her uncle
Holt.

"Why, Mother!" exclaimed Elizabeth in astonishment, "I never knew you
were any where nigh."

"Didst thou think, my lass, that aught 'd keep thy mother away from thee
when she knew? I've been here these six weeks, a-waiting to hear. Eh,
my pretty mawther, [see note 1] but to see this day! I've looked for
thee to be some good man's wife, and a happy woman,--such a good maid as
thou always wast!--and now! Well, well! the will of the Lord be done!"

"A happy woman, Mother!" said Elizabeth with her brightest smile. "In
all my life I never was so happy as this day! This is my wedding day--
nay, this is my crowning day! For ere the sun be high this day, I shall
have seen the Face of Christ, and have been by Him presented faultless
before the light of the glory of God. Mother, rejoice with me, and
rejoice for me, for I can do nothing save rejoice. Glory be to God on
high, and on earth peace, good-will towards men!"

There was glory to God, but little good-will towards men, when the six
prisoners were marched out into High Street, on their way to martyrdom.
Yet only one sorrowful heart was in the dungeon of the Moot Hall, and
that was Agnes Bongeor's, who lamented bitterly that owing to the
mis-spelling of her name in the writ, she was not allowed to make the
seventh. She actually put on her robe of martyrdom, in the _hope_ that
she might be reckoned among the sufferers. Now, when she learned that
she was not to be burned that day, her distress was poignant.

"Let me go with them!" she