The hush of a Sabbath was upon the land.  The sounds of life and industry were no longer heard around Chad.  Within and without the house a calm stillness prevailed, and the hot summer sunshine lay broad upon the quiet fields and the garden upon which so much loving care had of late years been spent.

The white and red roses, no longer the symbols of party strife, were blooming in their midsummer glory.  The air was sweet with their fragrance, and bees hummed drowsily from flower to flower.  In the deep shadow cast by a huge cedar tree, that reared its stately head as high as the battlements of the turret, a small group had gathered this hot afternoon.  The young monk was there in the black cassock, hood, and girdle that formed the usual dress of the Benedictine in this country, and around him were grouped his three pupils, to whom he was reading out of the great Latin Bible that was one of the treasures of Sir Oliver’s library.

All the boys were Latin scholars, and had made much progress in their knowledge of that language since the advent of the young monk into the household.  They had likewise greatly increased in their knowledge of the Scriptures; for Brother Emmanuel was a sound believer in the doctrine preached by the Dean of St. Paul’s, and of the maxims laid down by him ­that the Scriptures were not to be pulled to fragments, and each fragment explained without reference to the context, but to be studied and examined as a whole, and so explained, one portion illuminating and illustrating another.  After such a fashion had Brother Emmanuel long been studying the Word of God, and after such a method did he explain it to his pupils.

All three boys were possessed of clear heads and quick intelligence, and their minds had expanded beneath the influence of the young monk’s teaching.  They all loved a quiet hour spent with him in reading and expounding the Bible narrative, and today a larger portion than usual had been read; for the heat made exertion unwelcome even to the active lads, and it was pleasanter here beneath the cedar tree than anywhere else besides.

“Now, I would fain know,” began Julian, after a pause in the reading, “why it is that it is thought such a vile thing for men to possess copies of God’s Word in their own tongue that they may read it to themselves.  It seems to me that men would be better and not worse for knowing the will of God in all things; and here it is set down clearly for every man to understand.  Yet, if I understand not amiss, it is made a cause of death for any to possess the Scriptures in his own tongue.”

“Yea, that is what the heretic Lollards do ­read and expound the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue and after their own fashion,” said Bertram.  “Have a care, Julian, how thou seemest to approve their methods; for there is a great determination in high places to put down at once and for all the vile doctrines which are corrupting all the land.”

“I approve no heresy,” cried Julian eagerly.  “I do but ask why it be heresy to read the Word of God, and to have in possession a portion of it in the language of one’s country.”

“Marry, dost thou not know that one reason is the many errors the translators have fallen into, which deceive the unwary and lead the flock astray?” cried Edred eagerly.  “Brother Emmanuel has told me some amongst these, and there are doubtless many others of which he may not have heard.  A man may not drink with impunity of poisoned waters; neither is it safe to take as the Word of God a book which may have many perversions of His truth.”

Edred looked up at Brother Emmanuel for confirmation of this explanation.  It was the monk’s habit to encourage the boys to discuss any question of interest freely amongst themselves, he listening in silence the while, and later on giving them the benefit of his opinion.  All the three turned to him now to see what he would say upon a point that was already agitating the country, and was preparing the way for a shaking that should lead to an altogether new state of existence both in Church and State.  Even out here in the garden, in the sanctuary of their own home, with only their friend and spiritual pastor to hear them, the boys spoke with bated breath, as though fearful of uttering words which might have within them some germ of that dreaded sin of heresy.

As for Brother Emmanuel, he sat with his hands folded in his sleeves, the great book upon his knees, a slight and thoughtful smile playing around the corners of his finely-cut mouth.  His whole face was intensely spiritual in expression.  The features were delicately cut, and bore the impress of an ascetic life, as well as of gentle birth and noble blood.  He was, in fact, a scion of an ancient and powerful house; but it was one of those houses that had suffered sorely in the recent strife, and whose members had been scattered and cut off.  He had no powerful relatives and friends to turn to now for promotion to rich benefice or high ecclesiastical preferment, and he had certainly never lamented this fact.  In heart and soul he was a follower of the rules of poverty laid down by the founder of his order, and would have thought himself untrue to his calling had he suffered himself to be endowed with worldly wealth.  Even such moneys as he received from Sir Oliver for the instruction given to his sons were never kept by himself.  All were given either to the poor by his hands direct, or placed at the disposal of the Prior of Chadwater, where he had been an inmate for a short time previous to his installation as chaplain at Chad.  He had not sought this office; he would rather have remained beneath the priory walls.  He thought that it was something contrary to the will of the founders for monks to become parochial priests, or to hold offices and bénéfices which took them from the shelter of their monastery walls.  But such things were of daily occurrence now, and were causing bitter jealousy to arise betwixt the parochial clergy and the monks, sowing seeds of strife which played a considerable part in the struggle this same century was to see.  But it was useless to try to stem the current single-handed, and the rule of obedience was as strong within him as that of poverty and chastity.

When sent forth by his prior (who secretly thought that this young monk was too strict and ascetic and too keen-witted to be a safe inmate of a house which had long fallen from its high estate, and was becoming luxurious and wealthy and lax), he had gone unmurmuringly to Chad, and since then had become so much interested in his pupils and in his round of daily duties there that he had not greatly missed the life of the cloister.

He had leisure for thought and for study.  He had access to a library which, although not large, held many treasures of book making, and was sufficient for the requirements of the young monk.  He could keep the hours of the Church in the little chantry attached to the house, and he was taken out of the atmosphere of jealousy and bickering which, to his own great astonishment and dismay, he had found to be the prevailing one at Chadwater.

On the whole, he had benefited by the change, and was very happy in his daily duties.  He rejoiced to watch the unfolding minds of his three pupils, and especially to train Edred for the life of the cloister, to which already he had been partially dedicated, and towards which he seemed to incline.

And now, eagerly questioned by the boys upon that vexed point of the translated Scriptures and their possession by the common people, he looked thoughtfully out before him, and gave his answer in his own poetic fashion.

“The Word of God, my children, is as a fountain of life.  Those who drink of it drink immortality and joy and peace passing all understanding.  The Saviour of mankind ­Himself the Word of God ­has given Himself freely, that all men may come to Him, and, drinking of the living water, may find within their hearts a living fountain which shall cause that they never thirst again.  But the question before us is not whether men shall drink of this fountain ­we know that they must do so to live ­but how they shall drink of it; how and in what manner the waters of life shall be dispensed to them.”

The boys fixed their eyes eagerly upon him.  Julian nodded his head, and Edred’s eyes grew deep with the intensity of his wish to follow the workings of the mind of his instructor.

“For that we must look back to the days of our Lord, when He was here upon earth.  How did He give forth the Word of Life?  How did He rule that it was from that time forward to be given to men?”

“He preached to the people who came to Him,” answered Edred, “and He directed His apostles and disciples to do likewise ­to go forth into all lands and preach the gospel to every creature.”

“Just so,” answered Brother Emmanuel, with an other of his slight peculiar smiles.  “In other words, he intrusted the Word ­Himself, the news of Himself ­to a living ministry, to men, that through the mouths of His apostles and those disciples who had received regular instruction from Him and from them the world might be enlightened with the truth.”

The boys listened eagerly, with mute attention.

“Go on,” said Edred breathlessly.  “Prithee tell us more.”

“Our blessed Lord and Master laid no charge upon His apostles to write of Him ­to send forth into the world a written testimony.  We know that the inspired Word is written from end to end by the will of God.  It was necessary for the preservation of the truth in its purity that its doctrines should be thus set down ­that there should be in existence some standard by which in generations to come the learned ones of the earth might be able to judge of the purity of the doctrines preached, and refute hérésies and errors that might and would creep in; but it was to men, to a living ministry, that our Saviour intrusted the precious truths of His gospel, and to a living ministry men should look to have those truths unfolded.”

“I see that point,” cried Edred eagerly.  “I had never thought of it quite in that way before.  Does it so state the matter anywhere in the Holy Book?  I love to gather the truth from its pages.  Thou hast not told us that we are wrong in that.”

“Nay, under guidance all men should seek to those holy truths; but will they find the priceless jewel if they seek it without those aids our blessed Lord Himself has appointed?  Wouldst thou know more of His will in this matter?  Then thou shalt.”

The monk turned the leaves of the book awhile, and then paused at an open page.

“On earth, as we have seen, the blessed Saviour intrusted His truth to the care of chosen men.  Now let us see how He acted when, ascended into the heavens, He looked down upon earth, and directed from thence the affairs of this world.  Did He then ordain that a written testimony was to be prepared and sent forth into all lands?  No.  What we learn then is that when He ascended into the heavens and received and gave gifts to men, He gave to them apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers ­a living ministry again, a fourfold living ministry ­that by this living ministry, surely typified in the vision of St. John by the four living creatures with the fourfold head, the saints were to be perfected, the unity of the faith preserved, and the body of Christ edified and kept in its full growth and perfection till He come Himself to claim the Bride.”

Edred’s eyes were full of vivid intelligence.  He followed in the Latin tongue the words as Brother Emmanuel spoke them, and looking up he asked wistfully: 

“But where are they now, the apostles and prophets, the evangelists and pastors?  Have we got them with us yet?”

“We have at least the semblance of them; doubtless but for our own sins and shortcomings we should have a fuller ministry ­a fuller outpouring of the water of life through those four God-given channels by which the Church is to be fed.  We have the apostolic office ever in exercise in our spiritual head at Rome.  St. Peter has left us a successor, and his throne shall never be empty so long as the world lasts.  Now and again the prophetic fire bursts forth in some holy man who has fasted and prayed until the veil betwixt the seen and the unseen has grown thin.  Would to God there was more light of prophecy in the earth!  Perchance in His grace and mercy He will outpour His Spirit once again upon the earth, and gather about his Holiness a band of men lighted by fire from above.  In our wandering friars, ever going forth to the people with the word of the gospel, we have the office of evangelist in exercise; and the priest who guides the flock and dwells in the midst of the people of the land, surely he is the pastor, the keeper of the sheep.  And thus we see that our blessed Saviour’s gifts to men have been preserved all through these long centuries, and are still amongst us in greater or less degree; and we can well understand that having given us these channels, by which His vineyard is to be watered, by which the living waters are to flow forth, it is not His will that every man should be his own evangelist or pastor, feeding himself at will, drinking, perhaps to surfeit, of the precious waters which should be conveyed to him through the appointed channel, but that he should be under dutiful obedience and submission, and that thus and thus only may unity and peace be preserved, and the body grow together into its perfect stature and fullness.”

“I see all that exactly,” cried Bertram, “and I will strive to keep it in mind.  I mislike the very name of Lollard, and I well know that they be a mischievous and pernicious brood, whom it were well to see exterminated root and branch.  Yet no man can fail to see that they love the Scriptures, and I felt they were in the right there.  Now I well see that they may love the Word as much as they will, but that they must still seek to be taught and fed by those who are over them in the Church, and not seek to eat and drink (in the spiritual sense of the word) at their own will and pleasure.  That is truly what the Church has ever taught, but I never heard it so clearly explained before.

“Come, Julian; the sun is losing much of its power now.  Let us stroll along the margin of the stream, and see where best we may fish upon the morrow.

“Edred, wilt thou come?  No; I thought not.  Thou art half a monk already.  We will leave thee with Brother Emmanuel to talk more on these hard matters.  I have heard enough to satisfy me, I shall never want to turn Lollard now.  The name was always enough, but now I see more and more clearly how wrong-headed and wilful they be.”

Julian, too, had got an answer that completely satisfied him, and he readily rose to go with his brother.  Those two found an hour or two of thought and study as much at a time as they cared for.  They called their dogs and sallied forth over the fields towards the shady, well-fringed river banks, and Brother Emmanuel was left alone with his second pupil, Edred, whose eyes were still fixed upon the black lettering of the great Bible open at the last passage under discussion.

The monk bent an earnest glance upon the boy’s face.  He saw that an argument which had completely satisfied the other two had not satisfied this other keener mind.  But he asked no questions, leaving the boy to speak or not as he chose.  These were days in which too much questioning was a dangerous thing.  Many men felt as though they were treading the crust of a volcano, and that a single unwary step might plunge them headlong into the burning gulf.

When even such a man as Bishop Peacock had been threatened with the stake, and sent into perpetual imprisonment, even after having “recanted” his errors, no wonder that all men holding broad or enlightened opinions trembled for themselves.  And yet, as thought will not be bound, and the young are ever the most ardent in the pursuit of truth, and the most impatient under the yoke of fetters unwillingly worn, so neither this young monk nor his still more youthful companion could be content to drift on without looking into the stirring questions of the day for themselves.

Edred’s mind at this moment was working rapidly and following up a train of thought as fascinating as it was new.  He suddenly turned back to the very beginning of the book, and began reading to himself some words he found there.  Presently he looked up quickly into his instructor’s face.

“Thy words about four channels put me in mind of the four streams we read of in the beginning, that watered the garden of the Lord.  It seemed to me as if perchance there was some connection betwixt them ­that the Lord’s plan has ever been the same.  Surely He led forth the children of Israel through the wilderness beneath four standards.  And here the four streams are all given.  But we hear no more of any of them later, do we, save the river Euphrates.  Out of the four three seem to have been lost,” and the boy raised his eyes with a perplexed expression and looked earnestly at his teacher.

Between those two existed one of those keen bonds of sympathy that often enable persons to communicate their thoughts without the medium of words.  In a moment the monk had read what was in the boy’s mind, and in a fashion he answered as though Edred had spoken.

“Thou thinkest that even as some of God’s watering rivers ran dry, so some of His channels of grace, whereby He meant all men to be replenished with heavenly light and grace, may perchance have become choked and useless.  Is not that thy thought, my son?”

“My father, is it sin thus to think?” asked Edred, almost beneath his breath.  “I cannot shut mine eyes and mine ears.  I have heard whispers of terrible corruption in high places even at Rome itself.  I try not to hear or to think too much, but I cannot help my burning desire to know more of what passes in the world.  It was but a short year ago that a godly man coming from foreign lands told us fearful tales of the corruption even of the papal court.  O my father, I fear to whisper it even to thee; but I cannot but ask in my heart, can the popes be truly apostles?  And if not, can we say that the channel of grace once given to men is open yet for us to drink from?  Ah, pardon me if I err!  I will do penance for my evil thoughts.  But where may we find now those four life-giving streams by which Christ purposed to keep His body, the Church, nourished and sustained?  Prophets there be none, save here and there a spark of the old fire.  Those travelling friars are sometimes holy men; but, alas! they are bitter foes of the very Church from which they profess to be sent out, and are oft laid under the papal ban.  We have our pastor priests; but do they feed the flock?  O my father, how can I walk with closed eyes through this world of sin and strife?  If the channels run dry, if the pastors refuse food to the hungry people, can it be sin if they strive to feed themselves, even though they be something too ignorant to do it wisely and well?”

A very grave, thoughtful, and austere look was stamped upon the face towards which Edred directed his gaze.  It was long before he received any answer, and then it was but a sorrowful one.

“My son, I will not blame thee for these thoughts, albeit they be charged with peril in these days.  It is human nature thus to question and thus to doubt.  We may not blind our eyes, though we must ever strive to chasten our hearts, that we fall not into the condemnation of those who speak evil of dignities, and bring a railing accusation against those set over them.  I, too, have had my period of storm-tossed doubts and fears; but I have learned to fix mine eyes upon the Holy One of Israel, who never slumbers nor sleeps ­upon the crucified Saviour, who has suffered that death of agony and shame that He may draw all men unto Himself.  How He will do it I know not.  How He will open up again the closed channels, and make ready His Church to meet Him and receive Him, I can not even conjecture.  But His word cannot fail; and in His own appointed time, and in His own appointed way, I verily believe that He will draw unto Himself all men who have ever called upon His name, and all those unto whom His name has never been proclaimed, and who, therefore, have never rejected Him.  In that hope and that belief I try to rest; and fixing my eyes and thoughts upon Him and Him alone, I strive to forget the chaos and the strife of earth, and to look upon all men as brothers in Christ, if they will but bow the knee at that thrice holy name.”

Edred looked at him with wide-open eyes.

“Heretics call upon the name of Jesus.  Thinkest thou that heretics will be saved?  I thought they were doomed to hellfire forever!”

The boy spoke in a voice that was little more than a whisper.  He was almost afraid to hear the answer, lest it should convey a germ of the dreaded heresy, and yet how eager he was to know what Brother Emmanuel really thought.

“It is not for me to say who will and who will not be saved,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully; “and we are expressly told that there will be punishment for those who fall away from the faith.  Yet we are not told that error will be punished with everlasting death.  And there be places in Holy Scripture which tell us that ‘whoso believeth and is baptized shall be saved;’ and heretics believe that Christ died for the world.  It says, again, that those who love the Lord are born of God; and shall they perish everlastingly?  My son, the mercies of God are very great; from end to end of this book we are told that.  Knowing so much, need we ask more?  With Him rests the judgment of all mankind.  He alone can read the heart.  Let that thought be enough for us.  Whether the sin of heresy is as vile in His eyes as in those of man, He alone knows; we do not.  Let us strive for our own part to keep the unity of the faith in the bond of peace, and leave all else to Him.”

As he spoke, Brother Emmanuel gently closed the book, as though to close the discussion likewise; and Edred, looking up and round about him, drawing a long breath meantime, suddenly gave a start, which attracted the attention of his preceptor.

A short distance away ­how he had got there neither of the pair knew; they had been too much engrossed in their talk to take much heed of external impressions ­was an elderly monk, clad in the same gown and hood as Brother Emmanuel, betokening that he too was of the Benedictine order; and his face, shrouded in its cowl, was turned towards the pair with a very peculiar expression upon it.  A sinister smile was in the narrow beady eyes; the features, which were coarse and somewhat bloated from luxurious living, were set in a look of ill-concealed malice; and the salutation addressed to the pair when he saw himself perceived had in it something of an incongruous sound.

“Pax vobiscum!” said the newcomer, lifting his hand as if to impart a blessing.

Edred instinctively bent the knee, but Brother Emmanuel’s face did not move a muscle.

“Hast thou come with a message for me from the reverend father?” he asked quietly.

“Nay, not for thee.  My message was to Sir Oliver; but I will report to the father how excellently I found thee employed ­training thy pupils in all godliness and honesty, and in that hatred of heresy which it behoves all true sons of the Church to cherish.”

There was a spiteful gleam in the man’s eyes as he spoke these words that made Edred shiver; but the calm regard of the younger monk did not waver.

“I have taught him nothing but what I have heard our good Dean of St. Paul’s speak before princes and prelates in the pulpit,” answered Brother Emmanuel, not pretending to misunderstand the innuendo conveyed.  “Methinks it would profit many of our brothers in country places to hear what is being thought and taught in Oxford and London, in all the great centres of the country.  The reverend father knows well what I hold and what I teach.”

So clear and steadfast was the light in the young monk’s eyes, that the regard of the other fell before it.  He made a gesture, as if to repudiate the defence as a thing quite superfluous.

“The piety and orthodoxy of Brother Emmanuel are known far and wide,” he answered, in a tone that was half cringing, half spiteful; “no truer son of the Church than he lives in all the land.”

And then with another salutation he turned and glided away in the lengthening shadows, whilst Edred turned to Brother Emmanuel with rather a scared face, and asked: 

“Dost think he heard what we were saying?”

“Belike he caught a phrase or two,” was the answer, spoken gravely but quite calmly.  “I would not speak words of which I am ashamed; at the same time, it is well in these perilous days to use all caution, for an enemy can well distort and magnify the words he hears, till they sound like rank heresy.  For myself I have no fear.  I prize not my life greatly, though to die as a heretic, cut off from the Church of Christ, is a fearful thing to think of.  Yet even that might be better than denying the truth ­if indeed one believes the truth to lie without, which assuredly I do not.  But thou, my son, would do well to think something less of these matters.  Thou art but a child in years, and ­”

“I am quickly rising to man’s estate,” answered the boy, rather impetuously, “and my thoughts will not be chained.  I must give them liberty to rove where they will.  All men are talking and thinking of these things, and wherefore not I?  But, Brother Emmanuel, tell me, who was yon black-browed brother?  Methinks I have seen his face before; but beneath the cowl many faces look alike.  Who was he? and wherefore looked he so askance at thee?”

“Brother Fabian loves me not,” answered the monk with a slight smile.  “I scarce know how it began; it seemed to commence from the day I entered the priory.  I had looked to find things there somewhat different.  Perchance I spoke more than I should, being young and ardent, and fresh from places where a different order reigned.  Brother Fabian holds various offices in the priory.  He liked not my words.  Methinks he has never forgotten or forgiven.  He has always sour looks for me, and ofttimes sneering words.  But I heed them not greatly; they do not touch me near.”

Edred was looking straight out before him, with a gaze in which there was much of shrinking and surprise.

“Brothers in the same monastery at enmity one with the other!” he said slowly, grasping more than had been spoken, with that quick intuition which existed between tutor and pupil.  “Some, leading lives of luxury, indignant with those who would protest against them.  Brother Emmanuel, my father, my friend, when these things come before me, I turn with loathing from the thought of entering the life of the cloister; and yet how I long to give myself wholly to the cause of God!  How can I judge? how can I choose aright?”

“Thou must not try to choose,” answered the young monk, with a touch of austerity in his tone; “thou must await that leading and that guiding which never fail those who truly wait upon the blessed Son of God, and strive to do not their will but the will of Him who pleased not Himself.  At the foot of His Cross ­before the altar, where His precious body and blood are ever abiding in memorial of His one sacrifice for sin ­there is the place to seek grace and guidance; there is the place where peace may be found.  Because man is frail, shall we despise the ordinances of God?  Because men are able to make (if such be their will) a hell upon earth even of holy places, is that any reason why we shall think scorn of those sanctuaries, provided by the merciful goodness of God, where men may flee for shelter from the world, and lead a life of devotion and fasting and prayer?  My son, beware of the manifold snares of the devil.  The young are ever ready to condemn and to revolt.  It is the nature of the unchastened will of man.  Be patient, and watch unto prayer.  The day will surely come when (if thou wilt but listen for it) the voice will speak in thine heart, and tell thee what thou art called upon to do, even as it spoke in mine, and called me from the snares and enticements of the world to the haven of the cloister.  I know not yet what my work in this world will be; but it is enough that my Lord and Master knows.  I am here, abiding in my place and awaiting my call.  May He grant that whensoever and howsoever that call may come, I may hear it and be ready for it, and may follow the guiding voice even to the end.”

A rapt look was in the dark eyes.  Edred caught the enthusiasm of that look, and half unconsciously sank down upon his knee.

“Bless me, even me also, O my father!” he cried, scarce knowing what words he chose; and the thin, strong hand was laid upon his head.

“God be with thee and bless thee, my son,” said the monk, in grave, steadfast tones; “and may He be thy guide and thy portion henceforth and forever.  May He show thee the way in which He would have thee to go, and give thee grace and strength to follow it unto the end.”

For a moment deep silence prevailed.  Both were rapidly reviewing the words that day spoken, and the thoughts suggested by the bare discussion of such subjects; and Edred, rising and looking with a strange smile into the monk’s face, said softly: 

“Methinks it would not be hard to die in a righteous cause; but to be hunted to death through the spite and malice of a treacherous foe, that would be an evil fate.  I would fight with the best member I possess against such an one, were he to be mine own enemy or thine.”

A smile crossed Brother Emmanuel’s face.

“Go to, boy! thou art more soldier than monk yet.  Methinks thou wouldst fight bravely and well in a good cause.  Perchance that would be the best and happiest lot for thee ­

“There be thy brothers coming up from the water.  Go join them, and think not too much for thy years.  Be a youth as long as thou mayest.  Manhood’s cares will come all too fast.”

With that he turned and went quietly towards the house, whilst Edred went forth to meet his brothers.