The day which was spent by Thomas Garret in retracing his steps back to Oxford was passed not unhappily by Anthony Dalaber, who, after the lapse of two uneventful days, began to draw breath again, and make sure of the safety of his friend.

He had matters of his own which occupied much of his attention.  The store of forbidden books brought to Oxford by Garret had been divided pretty equally between him and Radley; and Dalaber had contrived a very ingenious hiding place just outside his lodging room in St. Alban Hall, where, by removing some planking of the floor, a cavity in the wall had been carefully excavated, and the books secreted there, where it would be difficult for any to find them who had not the clue to the hiding place.

It was safer to hide them outside the chamber, as, if discovered, their presence would not incriminate any one ­so Dalaber believed.  Even Fitzjames, though sharing his lodging and some of his views, did not know where he kept his store of books.  They formed such a dangerous possession that Dalaber spoke of them only to those who were heart and soul in the movement.  And he decided not to remove them with his other belongings to Gloucester College, as he had no safe repository there to hold them, and it seemed to him that for the present the time had gone by for any work of distribution.  It would he needful for the present to keep very quiet, until the suspicions which had evidently been aroused in the minds of the authorities should be laid to rest.

It was with a certain sense of relief that Dalaber definitely decided to quit the study of theology and divinity, and to throw himself into that of the law.  Religious controversy had become suddenly distasteful to him.  The Questions and other books of the theological faculty appeared to him futile and unsatisfactory.  He had definitely resolved upon the secular life for himself; and although that did not mean that his convictions were shaken, or that his faith was in any way less precious to him, it gave to him a certain sense of elasticity and freedom of thought and spirit.

He could take Dr. Langton as his standard of what a man should be.  He did not mix himself up with the burning and controverted questions of the day.  He followed his studies in medicine and Greek.  His house was a resort of learned men of all schools of thought.  Free discussion was carried on there on all sorts of subjects.  He favoured the liberality of mind which the church opposed; yet he did not embroil himself with the authorities, and led his own quiet scholarly life, respected and revered of all.

“That is the life for me,” spoke Dalaber, as he looked round his new lodging, and admired the fashion in which his belongings had been set up there.  “I will follow the secular calling, keeping my soul and spirit free to follow the promptings of the Spirit.  Whenever I see the opportunity to strike a blow in the cause of freedom, may God give me strength to strike boldly and fearlessly; but I will not thrust myself forward into needless peril.  Obedience has its place in the church as well as other virtues.  I will not be untrue to my conscience or my convictions, but without good cause I will not embroil myself in these hot controversies and perilous matters.  I have no quarrel with Holy Church, as Master Clarke expounds her, I would only see her cleansed and purged of her iniquity, shedding light ­the light of God ­upon the paths of her children.  Perchance, as he says, if we prayed more for her ­if we pleaded more with her in secret, interceding before God for her corruptions and unholiness ­He Himself would cleanse and purge her, and fit her for her high and holy calling.  Love is stronger than hate, for love is of God.  I would seek more of that spirit of love which shines and abides so firm in Him.  I have been in peril ­I am sure of it ­and the Lord has saved me from the mouth of the lion.  Let me show my gratitude to Him not by falling away from the narrow path which leads to life everlasting, but by treading it in meekness and humility, in His strength rather than mine own.”

Dalaber was not unconscious of the besetting faults and failings of his temperament ­an impulsive self confidence, followed by moments of revolt and lassitude and discouragement.  He knew that a quiet stability was the quality he lacked, and that the fire of enthusiasm and the revolt against abuses which blazed hot within him was not the holiest frame of mind in which to meet a crisis such as had lately threatened him.  He knew that he might have been tempted to speak dangerous words, to rail against those in authority, and to bring deeper trouble upon himself in consequence.

The influence of the fiery Garret upon him was always of this character.  Now that he had gone, Dalaber was able to review the situation much more calmly and quietly, and to see that the Lord and His apostles were not advocates of violence and disruption, that they inculcated reverence to governors, spiritual and temporal, as well as patience, long suffering, meekness, gentleness, and forbearance.  The sword of the Spirit was not a carnal weapon.  Its work was of a higher and holier nature.  It might have to be drawn forth in battle; but it must be wielded in obedience, and not in irresponsible rebellion.  Faithful steadfastness was asked of all God’s children; but not all were called on to go forth as champions of even a righteous cause.  Their duty might be to stand and wait for what the Lord would bid them do.

Dalaber had a strong conviction that alone, and acting upon his own impulses only, he would do harm rather than good.  He was not the stuff of which leaders are made.  He knelt down suddenly, and prayed for grace and guidance; and scarcely had he risen from his knees before a step upon the stairs and a knock at the door warned him of the approach of a visitor.

The next minute Arthur Cole stood before him.  He was followed by a servant, who laid down a bulky parcel and departed.

“Ah, friend Dalaber,” spoke Cole, with a kindly grip of the hand, “it was told me you were moving into fresh quarters here, and methought a few plenishings might not come amiss to your lodgings.  You are something of an anchorite in your method of living, Anthony; but this chamber deserves a little adornment, if you are not averse to such.”

So speaking, Arthur unfastened the package, and there was a soft skin rug to lay before the hearth, where a small fire of wood and fir cones was burning; a gaily striped quilt for the truckle bed covered it up and gave it an air of elegance; and a few books ­in those days a costly and valued possession ­completed the kindly bequest.

“They tell me you are to prosecute your studies in the law,” he said, as he ranged the volumes beside Dalaber’s own sparse collection on the shelf; “and since I have trodden the path before you, you are welcome to these volumes, which I seldom refer to now, and can always borrow from you if need should arise.”

“You are a true friend, Arthur,” answered Dalaber, much gratified and delighted.  “I thank you heartily.  You are a friend to all, and we owe you much.  It is the more kindly and welcome because you are not one of us in other matters, and might very well have withdrawn from all companionship with those upon whom the wrath of the cardinal is like soon to fall.”

“I would speak somewhat anent that same matter, Anthony,” said Arthur, suddenly turning upon his friend, and signing him to take the seat opposite.  “It is in some sort on that account I have come.  But first tell me ­is Thomas Garret safely away?”

Yes; on his way ­”

“Nay, tell me not that.  I have no wish to learn his whereabouts ­only that he is safe outside the city, and not likely to be taken.”

“He has been away these two days; and if not taken already, I trow he will escape altogether.”

Arthur heaved a sigh of satisfaction and relief.

“I am right glad to hear that, Anthony ­for your sake almost more than for his, since you are my friend.”

“And why for my sake, Arthur?”

“Marry, thus that had Garret been found in the place, they would not have stopped short with laying hands upon him.  They would have seized also those who had consorted with him.  Not finding him, they begin to doubt whether the cardinal was right in tracing him hither, and whether he and his books have indeed been brought here.  But let them once lay hands upon him, and not he alone, but also his comrades and associates, will stand in much peril.  So have a care, friend Anthony.”

Dalaber felt the thrill of what was half relief, half fear, run through him; but his glance did not quail.

“He is gone,” he answered quietly, “and no man has sought to lay hands upon me.”

“No, and right glad am I of it.  I have spoken up for you as one of my friends, and a young man of promise and integrity.  But I beg you to have a care for the future, Anthony, and especially during these Lenten weeks upon which we have just entered.  For a strict watch will be kept over all suspected men; and if you are found with forbidden books in your possession ­”

Arthur’s eyes roved keenly round the pleasant chamber as he left his sentence unfinished.

“I have none here,” answered Dalaber.  “I have nothing but mine own little copy of the Gospels, which I carry ever on my own person.  There are no books here to bring danger upon me or any.”

“I am right glad to hear it, and I trust you will have no more to do with that perilous traffic.  For sooner or later it will bring all men into trouble who mix themselves up with it.  And for you who can read the Scriptures in the tongues in which they were written there is the less excuse.  I warn you to have a care, friend Anthony, in your walk and conversation.  I trust that the storm will pass by without breaking; but there is no telling.  There is peril abroad, suspicion, anger, and distrust.  A spark might fire a mighty blaze.  The cardinal’s warning and rebuke to the heads of colleges has wrought great consternation and anger.  They are eager to purge themselves of the taint of heresy, and to clear themselves in his eyes.”

“I misdoubt me they will ever succeed there,” muttered Dalaber, with a slight smile.  “Thought will not be chained.”

“No; but men can think in silence and act with prudence,” spoke Arthur, with a touch of sharpness in his tone.  “I would that you thinkers, who stand in peril of being excommunicated as heretics, had a little more of the wisdom of the serpent which the Scriptures enjoin upon the devout.”

“Excommunicated!” exclaimed Dalaber, and said no more.

To a devout young student, who had all his life through regularly attended the office of the Mass, and had communicated frequently, and prepared himself with confession and fasting and prayer, the idea of excommunication was terrible.  That the Mass was overlaid and corrupted in some of its rites and ceremonies Dalaber and others were beginning openly to admit; but that it was based upon the one sacrifice of the atonement, and was showing forth the Lord’s death according to His own command, none doubted for a moment; and to be debarred from sharing in that act of worship was not a thought easily to be contemplated.

Arthur saw his advantage and pressed it.

“Yes, my friend ­excommunicated.  That is the fate of those who mix themselves up in these matters, and draw down upon their heads the wrath of such men as the cardinal.  Believe me, there is such a thing as straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel.  And that is what you might chance to find you had done, were you cast out from the fold of the church for a few rash acts of ill-advised rebellion and disobedience, when all the while you might have lived in peace and safety, waiting till a better time shall come.  If this movement is of God, will He not show it and fight for it Himself?”

“Yes; but He must use men in the strife, as He uses men in His Holy Church for their offices there.  Yet, believe me, I do not desire strife.  I would rather live at peace with all men.  I have taken up a secular calling, that I may not be embroiled, and that I may be free to marry a wife when the time comes.  Always shall I love and revere those who stand for truth and righteousness; always, I pray, shall I have strength to aid them when occasion serves:  but I shall not embark on any crusade upon mine own account.  You may make your mind easy on that score, my friend.  I do not desire strife and controversy.”

Arthur looked relieved, and smiled his approval.

“Then I trust that on your account, friend Anthony, my fears are needless.  I would that I were not anxious also for our beloved friend and master, John Clarke.”

“Is he in peril?” asked Dalaber, with a startled look.  “He had no great dealings with Master Garret.”

“No; and for that I am thankful.  But there are other causes for fear.  The cardinal wrote to the chancellor that he had been told how that Oxford was becoming deeply tainted with heresy, that Garret was selling his books by scores to the clerks and students and masters, and that teaching and lectures were being held contrary to the spirit of the church.  This has stirred the hearts of the authorities deeply; they have been making close investigation, and have sent word back to the cardinal what they have found here.”

“And what have they found?” asked Dalaber, breathlessly.

“I know not all; but mine uncle told me this much ­that they have reported to the cardinal how that the very men chosen and sent by him to ‘his most towardly college,’ as they call it, are those amongst whom the ‘unrighteous leaven’ is working most freely, and they specially mention Clarke and Sumner and the singing man Radley as examples of danger to others.  What will come of this letter God alone may tell.  It has been dispatched, together with the intimation that Garret is not to be found in or near Oxford.  We await in fear and trembling the cardinal’s reply.  Heaven grant that he do not order the arrest of our good friends and godly companions!  I am no lover of heresy, as thou dost know, friend Anthony; but from Master Clarke’s lips there have never fallen words save those of love and light and purity.  To call him a heretic would bring disgrace upon the Church of Christ.  Even mine uncle, to whom I spoke as much, said he had never heard aught but good spoken of these men.”

Dalaber looked very anxious and troubled.  The friends sat silent awhile, and then Arthur suddenly rose to his feet, saying: 

“Let us go and see Master Clarke and have speech of him.  I have not been able to get near to him alone since I knew of this matter ­so many flock to his rooms for teaching or counsel.  But let us to St. Frideswyde for evensong.  He will certainly be in his place there, and afterwards he will accompany us, or let us accompany him, to his chamber, where we can talk of these things in peace.  I have much that I would fain say to him.”

“And for my part, I have promised to sing in the choir at the evensong service there as ofttimes as I can spare the time,” said Dalaber, rising and throwing on his gown.  “I have not seen Master Clarke these past two days.  I would tell him of the safe escape of Master Garret; for the twain are sincere friends, and belong both to the brotherhood, though they agree not in all things, and have diverse views how the church is to be made more pure ­”

“Peace, peace, good Anthony!” spoke Arthur, with a half laugh.  “Thou must have a care how thou dost talk rank heresy, and to whom.  Such words are safe enow with me; but they say that even walls have ears.”

“It is my weakness that I speak too freely,” answered Dalaber, who had already opened the door.  “But in sooth I trow we are safe here, for yonder chamber belongs to the monk Robert Ferrar, who ­But no matter.  I will say no more.  My tongue is something over fond of running away with me, when I am with friends.”

Evensong at St. Frideswyde’s was always a well-attended service.  Although it was now the chapel of Cardinal College, the old name still clung to it.  The cardinal had removed much of the former priory and chapel of St. Frideswyde to carry out the plans for his college; but though the collegiate buildings were called by his name, the chapel generally retained its older and more familiar title.  The daily services were better performed there than in any other college chapel; and many men, like Dalaber himself, possessed of good voices, sang in the choir as often as their other duties permitted them.

Service over, the two friends passed out together, and waited for Clarke, who came quietly forth, his face alight with the shining of the Spirit, which was so noticeable in him after any religious exercise.

He greeted them both in brotherly fashion, and gladly welcomed them to his lodging.

There was something very characteristic of the man in the big, bare room he inhabited.  It was spotlessly clean ­more clean than any servant would keep it, though the canons of Cardinal College were permitted a certain amount of service from paid menials.  The scanty furniture was of the plainest.  There was nothing on the floor to cover the bare boards.  Two shelves of books displayed his most precious possessions; the rest of his household goods were ranged in a small cupboard in a recess.  His bed was a pallet, covered by one blanket.  There was no fire burning on his hearth.  Several benches ranged along the walls, and a rather large table, upon which a number of books and papers lay, stood in the middle of the room.  One corner had been partitioned off, and was very plainly fitted up as an oratory.  A beautiful crucifix in ivory was the only object of value in all the room.

Arthur and Anthony both knew the place well, but neither entered it without a renewed sensation impossible to define.

“It is the abode of peace and of prayer,” Dalaber had once said to Freda, describing the lodging to her.  “You seem to feel it and to breathe it in the very air.  However worn and anxious, fretful or irate, you are when you enter, a hush of peace descends upon your spirit, like the soft fluttering of the wings of a dove.  Your burden falls away; you know not how.  You go forth refreshed and strengthened in the inner man.  Your darkness of spirit is flooded by a great light.”

They sat down in the failing gleams of the setting sun, and Dalaber told of Garret’s night and the errand on which he was bound.  Arthur smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders; but the confidence his friend unconsciously put in him by these revelations was sacred to him.  He had not desired to know; but at least the secret was safe with him.

“He will not go there,” said Clarke, as he heard the tale.

“Not go to my brother?” questioned Dalaber quickly.

“No, he will not go there.  I know the man too well to believe it.  The impulse for flight came upon him, and he was persuaded that it might be an open door.  But he will not carry the plan through.  His conscience will not permit him to hire himself under a false name to a man who believes him an orthodox priest holding his own views.  Garret will never do that, and he will be right not to do it.  It would be a false step.  One may not tamper with the truth, nor act deceitfully in holy things.”

Then Arthur Cole began to speak, and to tell Clarke what had happened with regard to the cardinal and the heads of various houses, and how his own name had been set down as one who was suspected of the taint of heresy.

“They know that men come to your rooms to read the Scriptures and discourse thereon,” he concluded, “and in these times that is almost enough to brand a man a heretic.  And yet I know that you are not one.  I would that the cardinal himself were half so true a servant of God.”

A slight smile passed over Clarke’s beautiful face.  The light seemed to deepen within his eyes.

“Take heed, my kindly young friend, or men will call thee heretic next,” he said.  “It is hard to know sometimes what they mean by the word.  Let it be enough for us to know that we are all members of the mystical body of Christ, and that none can sever us from our union with Him, save He Himself; and His word, even to the erring and the feeble and the sinner, is, ’Come unto me.  Him that cometh I will in no wise cast out.’”

“I know, I know ­if that were only enough!” cried Arthur, in perplexity and distress.

“It is enough for me,” answered Clarke, with his illuminating smile.

“But will you not have a greater care for yourself ­for our sakes who love you, if not for your own?” urged the other.

“What would you have me to do, or not to do?” asked Clarke.

“I would have you abandon your reading and discussions ­for a time.  I would have you, perhaps, even quit Oxford till this storm sweeps by.  Why should you not visit your friends in Cambridge?  It would excite no great wonderment that you should do so.  We cannot spare you to the malice of enemies; and Garret being escaped from the snare, there is no knowing upon whom they may next lay hands.  It would break my heart if mischance happened to you, Master Clarke; wherefore I pray you have a care for yourself.”

Clarke regarded both young men with a very tender smile.

“I think I will not go; and how can I refuse to speak with those who come to me?  The reading of the Scriptures in any tongue has not been forbidden by the Holy Catholic Church.  I will maintain that against all adversaries.  What I say here in my room I will maintain before all men, and will show that the Lord Himself, by His holy apostles and prophets, has taught the same.  If any are in peril through words which I have spoken, shall I flee away and leave them to do battle alone?  Nay; but I will remain here and be found at my post.  My conscience is clear before God and man.  I have not disobeyed His voice nor yet that of the Catholic Church.  Let Him judge betwixt us.  I am in His hands.  I am not afraid what man can do unto me.”

Dalaber’s face kindled at the sound of these words, and the flame of his enthusiasm for this man blazed up afresh.  There had been times when he had fancied that Garret possessed the stronger spirit, because his words were more full of fire, and he was ever a man of action and strife.  But when Garret had been brought face to face with peril his nerve had given way.  He had struggled after courage, but all the while he had been ready to fly.  He had spoken of coming martyrdom with loftiness of resolution; but he had wavered, and had been persuaded that the time had not yet come.

Something in Clarke’s gentle steadfastness seemed loftier to Anthony Dalaber than what he had witnessed in Garret a few days back.  Yet he would have said that Garret would have flown in the face of danger without a fear, whilst Clarke would have hung back and sought to find a middle course.

“But if these meetings be perilous,” urged Arthur, “why will you not let them drop ­for the sake of others, if not your own?”

He looked calmly in the questioner’s eyes as he answered: 

“I invite no man to come to me to read or discourse.  If any so come, I warn them that there may be peril for them; and many I have thus sent away, for they have not desired to run into any peril.  Those who gather round me here are my children in the Lord.  I may not refuse to receive them.  But I will speak earnestly to them of the danger which menaces them and us; and if any be faint hearted, let them draw back.  I would not willingly bring or lead any into peril.  But I may not shut my door nor my heart against my children who come to me.  The chariots of God are thousands of angels.  They are round and about us, though we see them not.  Let us not fear in the hour of darkness and perplexity, but wait patiently on the Lord, and doubt not that in His time and in His way He will give us our heart’s desire.”

Clarke’s face was uplifted; in the gathering gloom they could scarcely see it, and yet to both it appeared at that moment as the face of an angel.