CHAPTER XXIV.

CONCLUSION.

Four or five days after the events recorded in the last chapter, Master Lucas came down into his shop while it was yet early, and sending little Peter, the 'prentice boy, out on an errand, began setting certain matters in order. Master Lucas, had, of course, heard the story of Jack's disappearance, and while he was as much at a loss as any one else to understand how it had come about, he could not help hoping that his son had escaped and was in safety. But the suspense was terribly trying; and the usually cheerful and equable spirit of the master baker was heavily oppressed.

He had another cause of anxiety. Anne had never spoken or shown signs of consciousness since the day she had sunk down in the council chamber of the convent. Excitement and grief had been too much for a constitution already enfeebled by watching and fasting. It was hard to say what was her disease, but whatever might be its nature, it yielded to no remedies, and the patient was evidently growing weaker every hour. Cicely was untiring in her attendance on the poor girl, and she found a faithful and wise assistant in Mary Brent, who left the care of her house and lodger to her sister, and came to help her old friends in their trouble.

Master Lucas finished his arrangements in the shop and sent Simon to eat his breakfast. He was thus left alone, and was sitting leaning his head on his hands, when a gentleman entered the shop, whom he recognized at a glance as one of the young Harlands, though the stranger had his hat pulled down and his face well muffled in his cloak.

"You are Master Lucas, if I mistake not, the owner of this place?" said the stranger, addressing him with marked courtesy.

"The same, at your service," returned the baker, rising. "Can I do aught for you?"

"I desire to purchase certain matters for my lady which you will find set down in this paper," said the stranger, giving him one with a meaning glance and a slight pressure of the hand. "I or my servant will call for them in an hour." So saying he turned and left the shop.

Master Lucas opened the paper and saw at a glance that it contained another on which was written, in a hand he well knew, "Read and burn quickly."

Putting it into his bosom, he called Simon into the shop, and locking himself into his own room, he read the following letter:

"I doubt not, dearest father, you have heard ere this of what chanced in Warton wood. I write now from the cabin of a vessel to tell you of my safety thus far, and that I have good hope of escaping to Germany along with Paul. I have had the kindest and most hospitable treatment at the house where I have been before I came on board this vessel, which waited for me at a place near at hand. I name no names for fear of trouble. Dear father, I pray you be very kind to Mary Brent's family, and, so far as may be, discharge the debt I owe to young Mr. Harland and his brother. Also, if it lies in your way, do something to pleasure the bishop's sumner, who treated me courteously and kindly while I was in his hands. I shall write again when I can do so safely. My love to all at home, especially dearest Anne, and also my duty to Father John, who exerted himself greatly in my behalf. I cannot now write more, for we are about to sail. Dear father and sister, pray for me."

The letter was not signed. Master Lucas read it again and again, and then going down to the bakehouse, he put it into the hottest fire. He then returned to the shop and busied himself in doing up the goods named in Lady Harland's list, and a little relieving his heart by adding thereto a large packet of sugar candy and some rare and precious spices and perfumes which he had obtained from London through the agency of Master Fleming. He had hardly finished when the stranger entered the shop once more.

"What, all these!" he exclaimed, as he saw the packages. "My mother must intend to set up a shop. And how much am I to pay?"

"Nothing," answered the baker. "Not one penny will I take from your father's son. I pray you present these matters to your lady mother with my humble duty, and if it were not presuming too far—"

"Well," said the stranger, laughing, "the younger son of a poor lord is no such great person, Master Lucas, that you should use so much ceremony, besides that we are, so to speak, in the same boat just now. In what can I pleasure you?"

"Only by breaking your fast with me," returned the baker, smiling in his turn. "My household is something disordered by these troubles, and by the serious illness of my daughter, but I will do what I can for your entertainment."

"Good faith, Master Lucas, that is a presumption easily pardoned by a hungry man as I am," returned the stranger good-humoredly; "but I fear I shall put you to inconvenience. I trust your daughter is not dangerously ill. She must be a brave maiden. I hear she confounded the priest finely the other day."

"She hath never spoken or known any of us since that time," said the baker mournfully. "I fear she will never speak again."

"You are indeed greatly afflicted," said the stranger, in a sympathizing tone; "but I hope all may yet be well, and that you may once more have your son in your arms, though perhaps not very soon. My father thinks that there are very great changes impending, both in Church and State. But these are dangerous matters to talk upon."

When they were by themselves and safe from eavesdroppers, Mr. Harland gave his host an account of Jack's escape. After the encounter in the woods, he had been taken under cover of night to the house of Lord Harland, where he had been concealed for two days. Here he was joined by Arthur Brydges, who brought him news that Davy Brent's vessel would be in waiting at Porlock quay at a certain time. The two young men were furnished with horses by Lord Harland, and riding by unfrequented roads, they reached Porlock without any accident or detention, and got on board the vessel in safety.

Davy Brent was going round to Plymouth, where he expected to find vessels bound for France and Germany. Arthur was well supplied with money by his father, and Sir John had also provided Jack with a well-filled purse. They proposed to travel in the guise of students, and to make for Wittenburg where they would be in safety.

Mr. Harland had scarcely taken his leave, when Cicely summoned Master Lucas to the sick-chamber.

"Anne hath opened her eyes and spoken," said she, weeping. "She is quite herself, but I fear—"

Master Lucas hastily obeyed the summons, and the moment he entered the room he saw the state of the case.

Anne's eyes were open and rational, but that awful shadow rested upon her face which once seen cannot be mistaken.

"My dearest daughter," was all her father could say, as he bent over her and took her hand.

"Jack?" whispered Anne, with a look of eager inquiry.

"I trust truly that he hath escaped and is in safety," whispered her father in return. "I have had a letter from him written on shipboard, and there is every reason to hope that both he and Arthur will make their way safely to Germany. He sent his love specially to you."

Anne smiled sweetly, and lay silent for a few minutes. Then she said faintly but clearly—

"Dear father, you have forgiven me?"

"As fully and truly as I hope myself to be forgiven, dear child."

"I have not been a good or dutiful daughter," said Anne slowly. "I have lived in a strange, foolish dream all my life, but I see all clearly now—how you have forgiven and borne with and pitied me all the time I was fancying myself so superior and learned and wise—so far above all the rest of you. But, father, I did try to serve God—"

"I know you did, daughter. I knew it all the time," said her father.

"You have been the best of fathers to me, and you will have your reward," continued Anne dreamily. "Father, what became of the little book I sent Jack?"

"I do not know, my love. I suppose he took it with him."

"That book finished the work which Agnes began," said Anne. "I fought against it—I fought against my own conscience, with all my might, but God would not let me be lost. Father, if you are ever able, I pray you, for my sake and Jack's, to read and study the Gospel. Never mind what men may say or how they may treat you. The truth is worth it all, and the truth shall make you free."

These were the last words she said. Cicely would have sent for a priest, but even while she was speaking of it, all was over. The weary overworked body and the wounded spirit found repose.

Toward the close of a pleasant day in the latter part of May, 1538, a gentleman rode through the street of Bridgewater, looking around him with great interest, not so much like a stranger as like one who, having been long away, takes cognizance of things which have happened in his absence. He was a scholarly-looking man of perhaps six or eight and twenty, well dressed and riding a good horse. He turned into Bridge Street and alighted at the door of "John Lucas, white and brown baker and dealer in sweetmeats and spices," as was set forth on a huge signboard decorated with a most ramping lion.

"I see no changes here, save that the old lion has been regilt and painted since my day," said the horseman, deliberately surveying the front of the house. "And as I live, I should say there was the very same old cat sitting on the end of the counter. But that can hardly be. I do not see my father, but he may be out."

A stout, respectable-looking journeyman came forward to attend to the stranger, who looked at him with attention, and then asked courteously—

"Are Master Lucas or any of his family within?"

"Not at present," was the reply. "My master and mistress have gone to hear the Bible reading, and Dame Cicely has gone out also. Will it please you to sit down and await their return?"

"To the church, to hear the Bible reading!" repeated the stranger with a smile. "That would have been a strange sound years ago, when I left this place. Do they then have regular Bible readings in the church?"

"Ay, sir, every afternoon."

"And do many people attend to hear?'

"Oh, yes, sir. My master hardly ever misses, and, beside that, he reads in the Bible to his family every morning. You may see the great book lying yonder beside his chair."

"Is your master well in health?"

"Ay, sir, extraordinary well and stout for a man of his age, specially since he married my mistress."

"So he is married!" exclaimed the visitor. "And who is the new dame?"

"I do not know her right name," returned the shopman. "She used to live here years ago, and then we called her Madam Barbara. She was a nun once in the same convent with poor Mistress Anne, or so I have heard. Anyhow, she is a good mistress and makes my master a very happy home. But will you not sit down, sir? They will soon be home."

"I thank you, but I will walk toward the church and meet them," said Jack Lucas; for as our readers have guessed, it was none but he. "I have been long abroad, but I was bred here and know all the streets of the town well."

A few minutes after, Jack entered the church of St. Mary, where a tolerable congregation was assembled. The great Bible, chained safely to its stand, was placed in the open space in front of the chancel, and a young man whom Jack recognized as a former schoolmate was reading from the Gospel of St. John. Around him were grouped people of all classes: gentlemen and ladies, citizens with their wives and children, and sailors from the river, all eagerly listening to the Word of God, while at the edge of the crowd stood two or three priests with scowling brows, evidently highly displeased with the whole affair.

"Oh, Father William, could you but have lived to see this day!" thought Jack. "But you gained your martyr's crown in good time."

Jack had no difficulty in finding out his father, who, with his family, was seated very near the reader. Master Lucas had grown old within ten years, but still looked hale and hearty.

His wife, bright and cheerful as ever, sat by his side, and next her was a very old man in the dress of a priest, who sat leaning his two hands on the head of his staff, and listening evidently with the closest attention. Jack looked at the group, and the tears rose to his eyes as he thought of one who should have been with them. He waited till the reader ceased and the congregation rose to depart, and then drew near his father, who was helping the old man to his feet.

"Let me give you a helping hand," said he, as if speaking to a stranger. "The venerable father seems infirm."

"He can walk very well when he gets to his feet," said Master Lucas. "He is very old, but nothing will keep him from the Bible readings in the church."

"Yes, yes, I am an old man—I am almost ninety years old," said the father, in a feeble but cheery voice. "I am an old man, but I am very well—and everybody is good to me."

"That is the burden of his daily song," said Master Lucas. "Truly, it is a privilege to be allowed to tend him in his age, and I love him like a father."

"It is much to say," returned Jack in an unsteady voice. "I have ever found a father's love the warmest and truest in the world!"

Something in the tone caused Master Lucas to look round suddenly. At the same moment his wife exclaimed—

"Surely, surely—this is our Jack come home. Master Lucas, do you not know your own son?"

We pass over the greetings and questionings, the exclamations and rejoicings on the part of the whole household. Jack soon found himself seated at the family supper table, bountifully spread as in old days, with as many of his favorite dishes as Cicely could provide at such short notice.

"You did not expect to find a step-dame, did you, Jack?" asked his father.

"Why, no, not exactly," replied Jack. "And yet I was no ways surprised, but greatly pleased to find that you had taken our good Madam Barbara to wife. You know I always liked the notion."

"You see the house was very lonely, latterly," said Master Lucas; "and we were both growing older. Then the convents were all broken up, and the nuns had leave to do what they would, so I even broke the matter to the lady, and she was content to take up her living with us. Then our good Father John grew infirm and lonely in his house at Holford, and so we brought him home here, where he is as happy as the day is long. His mind hath grown somewhat dazed the last year, some time ago, and, above all things, he loves the Bible readings. Father John, do you not know our Jack—Jack Lucas, whom you did so much for?"

"Ay, ay," returned the old man readily. "I remember Jack Lucas. A towardly boy he was, and full of good gifts, though he was careless in throwing stones, I remember. They said he was a heretic and that the devil carried him off, but I never believed that."

"If he did, he brought him back," said the baker, laughing, "for here he sits, as you see."

"But Jack was only a lad, and this is a grown man," returned the old priest in a puzzled tone.

"He will get hold of the matter presently," said Dame Lucas, as we must now call her. "I would not trouble him. Never mind, dear father, you will understand all by and by."

"And where have you been all this time, that we have not heard from you?" asked Master Lucas. "We have written again and again, but have heard nothing, and had almost given you up for lost."

"I have been in many lands," replied Jack. "I have been hearing medical lectures in Padua and Milan, and travelling all over Germany—even so far as Hungary and Bohemia. But I have my diploma now, and can settle where like; so I have even come to see whether this town of Bridgewater can afford a living to a poor surgeon."

"You are just in the nick of time, for old Master Burden is dead and there is no one to take his place," said his father. "But do you really mean to settle down here? I thought you would be for going to London or Bristol."

"I wished to be near you, father," said Jack; "and, besides, my chances are better here than in London, where doctors are far more plenty than blackberries."

"Did you see Master Fleming as you came through?" asked Dame Lucas.

"Oh yes, mother—if you care to be called mother by such a well-grown son."

Dame Lucas smiled and nodded, while his father looked greatly pleased.

"I abode a week with the good gentleman, and he hath sent you all various tokens of good will, which are in my mails."

"I warrant he rejoices in the new times," remarked Master Lucas.

"He rejoices, though with trembling, as do all who live near the court," said Jack gravely. "He does think the times are not at all settled, and that the King may yet lay on us a yoke as heavy as that of the Pope. But we will not talk of these things here or anticipate evil. How are the family at Holford?"

"Well and hearty, all that are left. The old knight is gone, but my lady survives and rejoices over the birth of her grandchild."

"What has been done with Uncle Thomas's cottage?"

"Nothing. Old Margery stayed there as long as she lived, and since her death, it has been shut up. Sir Arthur hath ever considered it your property, and he also holds quite a sum of money which Uncle Thomas left you. Sir Arthur is not strong, and I fear will not live many years."

"I will ride out and see him soon," said Jack. "Are the Brents well?"

"Well and flourishing. Davy has a fine vessel and is growing a rich man, and here is Peter to speak for himself," as the tall journeyman entered the room; "and a fine fellow he is, too, as ever kneaded up a batch of dough. He hath been more like a son than a servant to me, and I have used him accordingly. I suppose you heard all about poor Sir William from Master Fleming?"

"Yes, and received the remembrance he left me," replied Jack. "I could but wish as I entered the church this afternoon that he were there to see and hear."

"He is in a better place, if ever man was," said Master Lucas. "His memory is green in this place, I can tell you. When the news came of his death and the manner of it, the people were ready to break their hearts. But it grows late, and the good father is already asleep. I dare say Cicely has your old room ready for you."

A few days after his return, Jack rode over to Holford to visit his friend Sir Arthur, and the place where he had first learned to know and value the Scripture.

"You will find everything as it was in the old man's time," said the steward, as he gave Jack the key of the cottage, "save that the storm last night has somewhat shattered the tree at the house end."

Jack found the place unchanged, as the steward said. A high wind the night before had blown down part of the great old oak, which, no doubt, had been a tree in the time of the Saxons, exposing a hollow in the trunk.

Jack drew near and examined it. Suddenly uttering an exclamation, he put in his hand and drew forth a good sized square bundle wrapped in leather and carefully secured with thongs of the same. Jack carried his prize into the cottage, and undoing the wrapper with some difficulty brought to view a large volume written on parchment, well bound and clasped with iron.

Reverently, he opened the book. It was the Bible of Wickliffe—the very Bible which had been hidden away a hundred years before, and which had given the crown of martyrdom to both Thomas Sprat and his father.

The Hidden Treasure of the old cottage had become the treasure of all England.

There is little more to add. Father John lived to be a century old, and died, carefully tended by his adopted children, and murmuring with his latest breath that everybody was good to him.

Master Lucas died soon after, leaving his business to Peter Brent, who had long managed it for him.

Madam Barbara lived to teach reading and embroidery to Jack's little girls, cherished as a mother by himself and his wife.

Jack himself survived many perils to see the Protestant religion firmly established in the reign of Elizabeth.

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME

THE GREAT WHITE QUEEN by Wm. Le Queux. KING ALFRED THE GREAT Gordon Stables. THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE ROSE George Griffith. BEHIND THE VEIL. A Story of the Conquest E. S. Holt. WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews Agnes Giberne. WINNING AN EMPIRE. The Story of Clive G. Stebbing. UNDAUNTED. A Tale of the Solomon Islands W. C. Metcalfe. OUT IN GOD'S WORLD; or, Electa's Story J. M. Conklin. THE STORY OF MARTIN LUTHER E. Warren. ROBIN TREMAYNE. A Reformation Story E. S. Holt. HER HUSBAND'S HOME. A Tale E. Everett-Green. A REAL HERO; or, The Conquest of Mexico G. Stebbing. ALL'S WELL; or, Alice's Victory E. S. Holt. WAITING FOR THE BEST; or, Bek's Story J. M. Conklin. THE KING'S DAUGHTERS. A Martyr Story E. S. Holt. A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY L. T. Meade. SISTER ROSE; or, The Eve of St. Bartholomew E. S. Holt. JACK. The Story of an English Boy Y. Osborn. THE CHILDREN'S KINGDOM L.T. Meade. LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE. A Tale of the Crusades E. S. Holt. THE KING'S LIGHT-BEARER M. S. Comrie. CLARE AVERY. A Story of the Spanish Armada Emily S. Holt. OUR HOME IN THE FAR WEST M. B. Sleight. LADY ROSAMOND; or, Dawnings of Light L. E. Guernsey. GOLDEN LINES; or, Elline's Experiences Lady Hope. OLDHAM; or, Beside all Waters L. E. Guernsey. TWO SAILOR LADS. Adventures on Sea and Land Gordon Stables. BEATING THE RECORD. A Story of Geo. Stephenson G. Stebbing. DOROTHY'S STORY. A Tale of Great St. Benedicts L. T. Meade. ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY Gordon Stables. THE CHILDREN OF DEAN'S COURT Emma Marshall. FACING FEARFUL ODDS. The Siege of Gibraltar Gordon Stables. LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE Gordon Stables. LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS L. E. Guernsey. A STRANGE HOUSE Catherine Shaw. LIFE-TANGLES Agnes Giberne. WELL WON. A School Story J. T. Thurston.

More than Forty Volumes in Series.

LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.

No. 1961