It was Freda who, after a pause, made answer: 

“He knew that men would not distinguish between the burning of books by men and the burning of the precious Word of God.  It was this that held him back.”

“Yea, verily,” cried Dalaber, with a blaze of his old excitement, “he was true to his conscience, and we were not.  He knew that those who saw that procession would regard it as an admission of heresy.  He was no heretic, and he would have neither part nor lot with it.  He has ever stood firm in this—­that the church of the living God is pure and holy, and that she asks no such acts of submission and recantation from her sons, when their only desire has been to extol Him and to make His way clear upon earth.  How could his pure and holy spirit make confession of evil?  He could not, and he would not.  He will lay down his life for the gospel’s sake; but he will not be deceived, as we were.

“I can see it now as I could not when the walls of prison and the mists of fever were closing me in.  We have, as it were, admitted that to read the Word of God and to give it to others to read is a sin against the church.  He has stood on the ground he adopted from the first—­that the church has never forbidden it, and that those who do so are not her true and faithful stewards and ministers; and for that conviction he is ready to die.  He will not let himself be deceived or cajoled.  His light is the light from above, and it will shine upon his path to the very end.”

Ferrar and Garret had no intention of lingering long.  They were about to go forth together into the world—­probably to make their way to Germany—­and Garret had had some thought that Dalaber might possibly accompany them on their journey.  But they saw that he had other views for himself, and did not even ask him.

The spell which Garret had once exercised upon him was broken now.  They would ever be as friends and brothers in a good cause, but the special tie had snapped.  Garret was no longer a hero in the eyes of Dalaber, and he felt the subtle change which had come over his ex-pupil.

So they clasped hands warmly, exchanged farewells, and the two companions passed out into the darkening night, whilst young Fitzjames lingered wistfully, and brightened as Freda bade him take up his old quarters in that pleasant house.

“And on the morrow we will all travel to Poghley together; and you, Fitzjames, shall take word to others who have suffered imprisonment, and whose friends, perchance, may look coldly upon them, that they are welcome to Arthur’s house, if they desire a brief space for rest and refreshment.  It is open to all who have suffered, but are now ‘reconciled,’ as it is termed.  Anthony and I go thither early in the day, and any who desire may come with or follow after us.”

“I feel as though I never wished to set eyes on Oxford again, once I get free from it!” cried the youth, who felt bitterly the ignominy and hardships through which he had passed.