It was the following afternoon ­Saturday ­and Anthony Dalaber sat in his new quarters with an open book before him.  He was beginning to feel at home there, and to lay aside some of those pressing anxieties which had beset him ever since the flight of Master Garret upon Arthur Cole’s warning.

Notwithstanding even the grave talk which had taken place the day previously in the room of John Clarke, Dalaber did not find himself seriously uneasy at present.  He had been going to and fro in the town for the past two days, and no one had molested him, or had appeared to take any special note of him.  He had attended lecture that morning, and had walked through the streets afterwards in company with several other students of his own standing, and not a word had been breathed about any stir going on, or any alarm of heresy being raised by those in authority.  He began to think that Arthur Cole had taken somewhat too seriously some words he had heard on the subject from his relative the proctor.  Upon his own spirit a sense of calm was settling down.  He trusted and hoped that he was not in personal danger; but he also resolved that, should peril arise, he would meet it calmly and fearlessly, as Clarke was prepared to do should it touch him.

On returning to his room he had paid a visit to the monk Robert Ferrar, who lived on the same staircase, and was a friend of Garret’s, and had ofttimes made purchases from him of forbidden books.  As they sat and talked in Ferrar’s room, Anthony espied a copy of Francis Lambert on St. Luke, and eagerly pounced upon it.  Although he had left behind him all dangerous books, and had resolved to give himself up to the study of the law, his heart felt hungry and unsatisfied, and he begged leave to carry the volume to his own chamber, that he might indulge himself in its study and in pious meditation thereupon, preparatory to the exercises of the Lord’s day, so close at hand.

Ferrar made no objection, only remarking that he himself was going out, and should not return until after compline, and asking Dalaber to take care of the book and keep it safe till he should come and claim it, for it was dangerous to leave such volumes where any prying eyes might find them.

So now Dalaber was sitting in his own lodging, with the door locked upon him, reading greedily from the open page, and drinking in, as it were, refreshment and strength, when he was roused from his reverie by the sound, first of voices, and then by a sharp rap upon the panels of his door.

His heart gave a great throb, and then stood still.  He sat mute and motionless, giving no sign of his presence.  Something seemed to warn him that this visit, whatsoever it might be, boded him no good.  The knock was repeated more loudly.  But he still gave no answer, sitting very still, and listening with all his might.  He heard no more the sound of voices.  Nobody spoke or called his name.  But after a very brief pause the knock was repeated a third time, and with that fierce energy which bespoke some strong emotion; and suddenly it came over Dalaber that perhaps it was some one who was in trouble, or was in need of him or his help.  Were not the brethren likely to be brought into sudden peril or distress?  Might it not even be a friend come to warn him of approaching danger?  At least it seemed to him that he must open the door and inquire; and so rapid was the passage of these thoughts that the reverberation of the third summons had scarcely died away before he had turned the key and flung open the door.

Then he started back in startled amazement.

“Master Garret!” he gasped.

“Shelter me, friend Anthony,” gasped Garret, whose face was white as paper, “for I am a man undone.  They have captured me once.  I have escaped them.  But they will have me again if I make me not away with all speed.”

Dalaber dragged him almost roughly within the room, and closed the door with a bang, for he had seen on the staircase the eager face of one of the college servants; and the young man, immediately upon hearing Garret’s words, had slipped downstairs ­Dalaber guessed only too well upon what errand.

“Alas! why have you spoken such words?” he cried, almost fiercely.  “Know you not that by so doing in the hearing of that young man, and by such uncircumspect fashion of coming hither, you have disclosed yourself and utterly undone me?”

Garret looked fearfully over his shoulder.  He seemed completely unnerved and unstrung.

“Was the young man following?  Alas!  I knew it not.  I came hither to seek Robert Ferrar, but he was out; and knowing that you had planned to move hither, and thinking it likely you might already have done so, I asked the servant where you were to be found, and he pointed out the place, and said he knew that you were within; but I knew not he had followed me.  Could he have known who I am?”

“Nay, that I know not; but he heard you declare how you had been taken and had escaped.  Alack, Master Garret, we are in a sore strait!  How comes it that you are not safe in Dorsetshire, as I have been happily picturing you?”

Garret burst into tears.  He was utterly broken down.  He had not tasted food during the whole day, and was worn out with anxiety and apprehension.  Dalaber set bread before him, and he fell upon it eagerly, meantime telling, with tears and sighs, the story of his wanderings, his resolution to return, and his apprehension in the middle of the previous night by the proctors.

“They took me to the house of the commissary,” added Garret, “and they shut me up in a bare room, with naught save a pitcher of water beside me.  I trow they sought to break my spirit with fasting, for none came nigh me when the day dawned, and I was left in cold and hunger, not knowing what would befall me.  But when the afternoon came, and a hush fell upon the place, and no sound of coming or going was to be heard, I made shift, after much labour, to slip the bolt of my prison, and to steal forth silently and unobserved; and surely the Lord must have been with me, for I met no living soul as I quitted the college, and I drew my hood over my face and walked softly through the narrowest streets and lanes, and so forth and hither, thinking myself safest without the walls.  And now I pray you, my dear young friend and brother, give me a coat with sleeves instead of this gown, and a hat, if you have one that smacks not of the priest; for from henceforth I will stand as a free man amongst men, and will serve no longer in the priest’s office.  To the Lord I am a priest for ever.  I will serve Him with the best that I have; but I will no longer hold any charge or living, since I may not deny my Lord, and thus am called heretic and outcast by those in high places.  I will away.  I will get me to Germany.  I will join the labours of the brethren there.  Son Anthony, wilt thou go with me? for I love thee even as mine own soul.  Think what we might accomplish together, were we to throw in our lot one with the other, and with the brethren yonder!”

Garret looked eagerly in Dalaber’s face, and the tears started to the young man’s eyes.  He had been much moved by Garret’s emotion, and for a brief space a wild impulse came over him to share his flight and his future life.  What lay before him in Oxford if he stayed?  Would he not be betrayed by the servant as Garret’s accomplice?  Would he not certainly be arrested and examined, and perhaps thrown into prison ­perhaps led to the stake?  Who could tell?  And here was a chance of life and liberty and active service in the cause.  Should he not take it?  Would he not be wise to fly whilst he had still the chance?  Who could say how soon the authorities might come to lay hands on him?  Then it would be too late.

He had well-nigh made his decision, when the thought of Freda came over him, and his heart stood still.  If he fled from Oxford and from her, would he ever see her again?  What would she think of him and his flight?  Would that be keeping “faithful unto death”?  If he left her now, would he ever see her again?  And then there was Master Clarke, another father in God.  Could he bear to leave him, too ­leave him in peril from which he had refused to fly?  The struggle was sharp, but it was brief, and with the tears running down his face, Dalaber embraced Master Garret with sincere affection, but told him that he could not be his companion.  It seemed to him that the Lord had work for him here; and here he would stay, come what might.

“Then, my son, let us kneel down together upon our knees, and lift up our hearts unto the Lord,” spoke Garret with broken voice, “praying of Him that He will help and strengthen us; that He will prosper me, His servant, upon my journey, and give me grace to escape the wiles of all enemies, both carnal and spiritual; and that He will strengthen and uphold you, my son, in all trials and temptations, and bring us together in peace and prosperity at last, in this world, if it be His good pleasure, but at least in the blessed kingdom of His dear Son, which, let us pray, may quickly come.”

They prayed and wept together, for both were deeply moved; and then Garret, having donned a coat of Dalaber’s, and having filled his wallet with bread, embraced his young friend many times with great fervour; and after invoking blessings upon him from above, he watched his opportunity, and stole softly away from the college, Dalaber watching till his slight figure disappeared altogether from view.

Then with a heavy heart he went up to his room again, and locked his door.  Opening his New Testament, which lay on the table beside the borrowed book of the monk, he kneeled down and read very slowly aloud to himself the tenth chapter of St. Matthew’s Gospel.

“Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves.  But beware of men, for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues; and ye shall be brought before governors and kings.  But when they deliver you up, take no thought what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak.  And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake, but he that endureth to the end shall be saved.  Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.  He that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me.  He that findeth his life shall lose it, and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Long did Dalaber kneel in prayer, his reading being over, asking that God would endue His tender and newly-born little flock in Oxford with heavenly strength from above, and with the anointing of the Spirit, that they might patiently bear the heavy cross of Christ, which was presently, as he well saw, to be laid upon them, and that their young, weak backs might be strengthened to meet the burden and the cruel yoke.

Calmed and soothed by prayer, for others as much as for himself, Dalaber rose, and carefully wrapped together Garret’s gown and hood with the monk’s book, and hid them carefully beneath his bedding, that none entering the room might see them; and then he robed himself and started forth to warn the brethren of what had happened, for were there any who desired to flee the coming tempest, they must needs lose no more time.

He walked rapidly towards the city gate, when he was met by Arthur Cole, who came hastily towards him, a look of great anxiety and vexation on his face.  With him was a student of his own college, Eden by name, one of the little band of brethren; and as soon as he saw Dalaber he quickly ran forward.

“We are undone!” he exclaimed.  “They have taken Master Garret.  He is in prison in Lincoln College.  He is to be strictly examined after evensong today.  If he refuse to give up the names of all to whom he has sold his books, and who have listened to his teachings, they declare he will be sent to the Tower to be examined by the rack.”

The young lad was quivering all over in excitement and fear.  Arthur, coming up at the same minute, spoke almost fiercely.

“What possessed the man to return to Oxford, once he was safe away?  It seems he came back after dark last night, and was seen and followed and reported on.  They found him at midnight, and will use sharp methods with him.  I have no love for Garret and his firebrand doctrines; but he will be the means of betraying the whole brotherhood, an he be not steadfast; and who knows how such an one will meet the trials which will beset him?  If he should betray thee, Dalaber, or our good master and friend John Clarke, I should find it hard indeed to forgive him.”

“He will betray none ­” began Dalaber; but Cole broke in with a scornful snort.

“I would not answer for him.  He is a strange mixture of strength and weakness, devotion, constancy, and nervous fear.  He ­”

“He will not betray any, for he is no longer a prisoner.  He has escaped from the commissary’s house.  He is miles away from Oxford by this time.  Heaven send he quickly escape beyond the seas!”

Dalaber then related what had passed during the afternoon; and Eden, with great joy, volunteered to take the news to some of the brethren, who were suffering great anxiety on his behalf.  As for Dalaber himself, he desired above all things to see and speak with Clarke; and Arthur being of the same mind, they proceeded arm in arm along the street in the direction of St. Frideswyde, where evensong would soon be in course of proceeding.

“It seems to me, friend Anthony,” spoke Arthur gravely, “that if Master Garret has escaped, you are the person most in peril now.  If that young man betrays that he fled to you in your lodging in Gloucester College, they will not be long in calling upon you to answer to them for it.”

“I trust I shall be ready to do so,” answered Dalaber, with grave steadfastness.

Arthur looked at him with a mixture of admiration and uneasiness.  He hesitated awhile, and then said: 

“What think you of an instant flight?  I would help you with the best will in the world.  There is my house at Poghley open to you.  There is an excellent hiding place there.”

Again Dalaber hesitated just for a moment; but this time the hesitation lasted scarce more.

“Master Garret desired that I should fly with him, but I refused.  It came to me that I have been set here, and here will I remain.  It may be that the Lord has a testimony for us to deliver.  I am ready to leave myself in His hands.”

Arthur looked thoughtfully at him.

“I will do what I can for you, Dalaber; you may be certain of that.  But it may not be much.”

“There is one thing you can do,” cried the other quickly, with a lightening of the eyes.  “You can tell Freda all the tale, and ask her prayers for me.  Now that I am like to be a suspected person, I will no more go to her.  But tell her that, come what may, my heart will ever be hers, and that I will seek to remember her words to me.  I will strive to be faithful unto death.”

“I will tell her,” answered Arthur, not unmoved.  “But we will not think or speak of death.  Whatever may be done elsewhere, we men at Oxford have always set our faces against any bitter persecution for conscience’ sake.  Students are sent here to read, and study, and think; and if here and there be some whose speculations have led them somewhat astray, I doubt not that, when the consensus of opinion is taken, the greater number will be for using mild and gentle methods with them.  Only be not too stiff necked, good Anthony.  Do not fall into the delusion of thinking that none can be true Christians save your brethren.  Bear an open mind as well as a bold front, and I doubt not we shall weather this storm without great hurt or loss.”

“We?” questioned Dalaber, with a slight smile.  “You are not one of us, Arthur, though you show yourself the kindest of friends, and that in the days of adversity rather than of prosperity, for which the Lord will reward you.”

“I spoke the ‘we’ in the sense of another brotherhood, Anthony,” said the other, with a slightly heightened colour; “for thou art the plighted husband of Frideswyde Langton, whilst I hope soon to win the troth plight of the beauteous Magdalen.  Then shall we be brothers, thou and I, and I will play a brother’s part by thee now if thou art in danger.”

The two comrades clasped hands.  Dalaber had long known that his friend was paying court to Magdalen, though he did not know how far that suit had progressed.  But evidently Arthur did not think the time far distant when he might look upon her as his own, and his friend rejoiced with him.

Evensong at St. Frideswyde had already begun before the two friends reached the chapel, so they did not go in, but stood at the choir door, from whence they could see the dean and canons in their robes, and hear the singing, in which Dalaber had so often joined; but there was little of song in his heart just now ­only a sense of coming woe and peril.  They had scarce been there a few minutes before they beheld Dr. Cottisford coming hastily towards the place, bareheaded, and with a face pale and disturbed, so that Dalaber caught Arthur by the arm and whispered: 

“Sure, he hath discovered the escape of Master Garret!”

The young men drew back behind a buttress to let him pass, and he was too disturbed in mind to mark them.  They looked after him as he went up the church, and saw him go to the dean and enter into a whispered colloquy with him.  Then both came forth again, looking greatly disturbed; and at that moment up came Dr. London, the Warden of New College, all out of breath with his hurry, so that Arthur whispered from his nook of concealment to Dalaber: 

“He hath the air of a hungry lion ravening after his prey.”

The three then stood together talking in excited fashion.

“You are to blame, sir, much to blame!  How came you to leave him for so many hours unguarded, and only one bolt to the door?  These men are as artful as the devil their master.  It may be that he gives them powers ­”

“Tush!” answered Dr. Cottisford angrily; “he got out by his own craft.  I had thought that fasting and loneliness would be a profitable discipline for him.  But I bid my servants keep an eye to the outer doors, which they omitted to do.”

“You have done wrong, very wrong.  I know not what the cardinal will say,” spoke the dean of the college, thrusting out his lips and looking very wise.  “It was his command that this pestilent fellow should be taken; and when he hears that he was laid by the heels, and then escaped, being so carelessly guarded, I know not what he will say.  You will have to answer for it, Dr. Cottisford.  The cardinal’s anger is not good to brook.”

Tears of mortification and anger stood in the eyes of the commissary.  He felt that fate had been very unkind to him.

“He cannot have got far.  He shall be taken.  We will haste to send servants and spies everywhere abroad.  He got out in full daylight.  He must have been seen.  We shall get upon his tracks, and then we will hunt him down as bloodhounds hunt their quarry.  He shall not escape us long, and then shall he answer for his sins.  He will not find that he bath profited aught by the trouble he hath given us.”

The voices died away in the distance, and the two young men came slowly forth, looking gravely into each other’s eyes.

“Will they indeed take him?” spoke Dalaber beneath his breath.

“They will try, and they will be close on his heels; yet men have escaped such odds before this.  But here comes Master Clarke.  Heaven be praised that they have not spoken of him in this matter.  Perchance the hunt after Garret will divert their minds from the question they have raised about the lectures and readings in his room.”

Clarke greeted his friends with a smile, but saw that they were troubled; and when they reached his room and told the tale, his own face was serious.

They talked awhile together, and then he prayed with them earnestly, for Arthur would not be excluded from joining in this exercise.  He prayed that if trial and trouble overtook them, they might have needful strength and faith to meet it; might have grace to follow the Lord’s injunction to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves; and might never be tempted to think themselves forgotten or forsaken of the Lord, even though the clouds might hang dark in the sky, and the tempest rage long and furiously about them.

After Dalaber had left Clarke’s presence, refreshed and strengthened, and had parted from Arthur, who was going back to his own rooms at Magdalen, promising to keep a sharp outlook on all that passed, and do anything he could for his comrades, he went direct to Corpus Christi, where his friends Diet and Udel were generally to be found at this hour; and not only were they in their chamber, but Eden and Fitzjames and several others of the brethren were gathered together in great anxiety, having heard first of the arrest and then of the escape of Garret, and not knowing what to believe in the matter without further testimony.

Dalaber’s story was listened to, with breathless interest.  The escape of Garret was assured thereby, but there was no knowing when he might be captured.  In any case Dalaber’s position seemed full of peril.  But he expressed no fear.

“Let them take me if they will,” he said; “I will betray none other.  Let them do to me what they will; the Lord will give me strength.  Have no fear, my friends; I will not betray you.  And I trow that there be few, save Master Garret and myself, who could give all the names of the brotherhood, even were they willing.”

They crowded round him and pressed his hands.  Some shed tears, for they all loved the warm-hearted and impetuous Dalaber, and knew that at any moment now he might be arrested.

“At least you shall not go back to Gloucester College tonight,” spoke Fitzjames eagerly.  “They shall not take you there, like a rat in a trap.  Come to your old lodging for the night.  It may be we shall have thought out a plan by the morning.  We will not let you go without a struggle, Anthony.  Come with me as of old, and we will watch what betides in the city.”

Dalaber consented, with a smile, to the entreaties of his friends.  He knew that it would make little difference whether he were taken in one place or the other; but he loved Fitzjames, and was ready to go with him.

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” he said to himself, whilst his friends escorted him in a body to his old lodging, and left him there with every expression of affection and good will.

“I shall not be without comfort in the days to come,” said Anthony, “be they never so dark and drear.”