ophets
had prophesied falsely, and the priests borne rule, but the people had
not loved to have it so, as they very plainly showed. Colchester had
declared for Mary five years before, because she was the true heir who
had the right to reign, and rebellion was not right because her religion
was wrong: but now that God delivered them from her awful tyranny,
Colchester was not behind the rest of England in giving thanks to Him.

We are worse off now. The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests
bear rule by their means. It has not reached to the point it did then;
but how soon will it do so?--for, last and worst of all, the people love
to have it so. May God awake the people of England! For His mercies'
sake, let us not have to say, England flung off the chains of bondage
and the sin of idolatry under Queen Elizabeth; but she bound them tight
again, of her own will, under Queen Victoria!

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

A BLESSED DAY.

"Dorothy! Dorothy Denny! Wherever can the woman have got to?"

Mr Ewring had already tapped several times with his stick on the brick
floor of the King's Head kitchen, and had not heard a sound in answer.
The clock ticked to and fro, and the tabby cat purred softly as she sat
before the fire, and the wood now and then gave a little crackle as it
burned gently away, and those were all the signs of life to be seen on
the premises.

Getting tired at last, Mr Ewring went out into the courtyard, and
called in his loudest tones--"Do-ro-thy!"

He thought he heard a faint answer of "Coming!" which sounded high up
and a long way off: so he went back to the kitchen, and took a seat on
the hearth opposite the cat. In a few minutes the sound of running down
stairs was audible, and at last Dorothy appeared--her gown pinned up
behind, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her entire aspect that
of a woman who had just come off hard and dirty work.

"Eh, Master Ewring! but I'm sorry to have kept you a-waiting. Look you,
I was mopping out the--Dear heart, but what is come to you? Has the
resurrection happened? for your face looks nigh too glad for aught
else."

The gladness died suddenly away, as those words brought to Mr Ewring
the thought of something which could not happen--the memory of the
beloved face which for thirty years had been the light of his home, and
which he should behold in this world never any more.

"Nay, Dorothy--nay, not that! Yet it will be, one day, thank God! And