“Marry, this—­that so soon as ever the college gates were open in the morning, at five o’clock, in comes Anthony Dalaber himself, his shoes and hosen all stained with mud, his face pale as though with watching and anxious thought, though his aspect was calm and resolute; and he came up the stairs without seeing me, and began to unlock his door.  But the lock had been twisted and bent, and he was still struggling with it when I came out to him and began to tell him what had happened.  He got his door opened, and the sight he saw before his eyes confirmed my tale, and he sat down and listened to all I had to say, very quietly, and without flinching.  He told me that he and certain of the brethren had passed the night together, in his old lodging at St. Alban Hall, in prayer for grace and guidance; but that, though they had prayed of him to fly, it had not seemed good to him to do so; and that he had resolved to return immediately to his own lodging, and to await there whatever might befall him.”

“My own brave, steadfast Anthony!” spoke Freda beneath her breath, her eyes shining like stars, but with a glint of tears behind their brightness.

“So I gave to him the prior’s message, and he said he would lose no time in going to see him.  But he knew not when or whether he might ever return to this place.  So he made up that little parcel, and he gave it into my hands; and in so doing he begged of me that when eight o’clock had sounded from the steeples, I would myself enter yonder door and present it to one of the two maidens I should find walking here, and say that it was a parting gift from Anthony Dalaber, who was like to be taken of his foes.”

The tears suddenly welled over and flowed down Freda’s cheeks.  It was Magdalen who found strength to ask: 

“What will they do to him?  Of what offence can they find him guilty?  All the world speak well of him.”

Robert Ferrar slowly shook his head, but made no reply; indeed, none could say what would befall next.  When a man stood in peril of a charge of heresy his friends could not bear to ask too closely what might be his ultimate fate.  Freda clasped her sister’s hands hard as the monk slowly turned to go.

“Peace be with you!  May the Lord help and sustain you,” he said, in his low, earnest voice, “and give to us all the strength to bear the cross which He may see good to lay upon us!”

He paced with bent head along the walk, and vanished through the door by which he had come.  Freda, with trembling hands, tore open the packet she had all this while been holding tightly clasped between them, and when she saw its contents the tears gushed forth.

She sank down upon the seat in the arbour, and the little, well-worn book fell open at a place where the page had been turned down.  It was that chapter in St. Matthew which Anthony had been reading after the departure of Garret, and the sisters devoured the words together, both deeply moved.