EDITH. 
O holy martyrs!

WHARTON. 
             When they tried to speak,
Their voices by the roll of drums were drowned. 
When they were dead they still looked fresh and fair,
The terror of death was not upon their faces. 
Our sister Mary, likewise, the meek woman,
Has passed through martyrdom to her reward;
Exclaiming, as they led her to her death,
“These many days I’ve been in Paradise.” 
And, when she died, Priest Wilson threw the hangman
His handkerchief, to cover the pale face
He dared not look upon.

EDITH. 
                       As persecuted,
Yet not forsaken; as unknown, yet known;
As dying, and behold we are alive;
As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing always;
As having nothing, yet possessing all!

WHARTON. 
And Leddra, too, is dead.  But from his prison,
The day before his death, he sent these words
Unto the little flock of Christ:  “What ever
May come upon the followers of the Light,—­
Distress, affliction, famine, nakedness,
Or perils in the city or the sea,
Or persecution, or even death itself,—­
I am persuaded that God’s armor of Light,
As it is loved and lived in, will preserve you. 
Yea, death itself; through which you will find entrance
Into the pleasant pastures of the fold,
Where you shall feed forever as the herds
That roam at large in the low valleys of Achor. 
And as the flowing of the ocean fills
Each creek and branch thereof, and then retires,
Leaving behind a sweet and wholesome savor;
So doth the virtue and the life of God
Flow evermore into the hearts of those
Whom He hath made partakers of His nature;
And, when it but withdraws itself a little,
Leaves a sweet savor after it, that many
Can say they are made clean by every word
That He hath spoken to them in their silence.”

EDITH (rising and breaking into a kind of chant). 
Truly we do but grope here in the dark,
Near the partition-wall of Life and Death,
At every moment dreading or desiring
To lay our hands upon the unseen door! 
Let us, then, labor for an inward stillness,—­
An inward stillness and an inward healing;
That perfect silence where the lips and heart
Are still, and we no longer entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
But God alone speaks in us, and we wait
In singleness of heart, that we may know
His will, and in the silence of our spirits,
That we may do His will, and do that only!

A long pause, interrupted by the sound of a drum approaching; then shouts in the street, and a loud knocking at the door.

MARSHAL. 
Within there!  Open the door!

MERRY. 
              Will no one answer?

MARSHAL. 
In the King’s name!  Within there!

MERRY. 
                      Open the door!

UPSALL (from the window). 
It is not barred.  Come in.  Nothing prevents you. 
The poor man’s door is ever on the latch. 
He needs no bolt nor bar to shut out thieves;
He fears no enemies, and has no friends
Importunate enough to need a key.