serted it."

Thus saying, he pressed our hands, and hurried away along the banks of
the river. We slowly returned homewards, afraid of exchanging our
thoughts, lest we should be overheard.

The next day was a holiday, for it was the festival of some saint in the
Romish Calendar. A'Dale and I were on foot early. Finding a large
concourse of people going in the direction of the northern part of the
City outside the gates, known as Smithfield, we followed them. On one
side were some high and ancient houses, but on the other the ground was
entirely open, with meadows and woods beyond.

"It is to be the grandest burning we have had yet," I heard a person
remark. "There is a priest to be burnt, and two women, besides a knight
and two other laymen."

My heart sickened when I heard this, for I had no wish to see the
burning, but A'Dale urged me on. "He liked to be in a crowd," he said,
"and we might come away before the fire was set to the piles." We found
that none of the prisoners had as yet passed. At length we saw them
coming along from Newgate, the Fleet, and other prisons. They walked on
with their hands bound, and a few guards only, and priests on either
side. I wondered that none of the crowd attempted to rescue them. It
might have been done with great ease, though, perchance, to escape
afterwards might have been more difficult.

Occasionally the friends of the prisoners came up and spoke to them, and
received their farewells. Some, indeed, kept by their side the whole
way, the guards not interfering. Among them, nearly the last, walked a
lady. Her figure was tall and graceful, though she stooped somewhat,
bowed down by sickness or sorrow. Her features were deadly pale, their
whiteness increased by the black dress she wore, her raven hair flowing
over her shoulders, for her head was bare. People looked on her with a
pitying eye, but no one came up to her. She alone of all the victims
appeared to have no friends in that vast crowd. Yet every now and then
she lifted up her eyes, and glanced round as if in search of some one.
As she passed near where A'Dale and I were standing, it struck me she
looked earnestly at me. Fearless of consequences, I darted forward, and
took my place by her side.

"Can I be of any service to you?" I said.

She looked at me with an inquiring glance. Her lips opened. "Who are
you?" she asked.

"My parents died for the truth at Antwerp, as you are about to die,
lady