Olatrnell Hniaecaitg Hibcati} 
 
 Jtlfaia, SJeni fnch 
 
 SOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013522051 
 
WiNiFREDE's Journal 
 
 OF HER LIFE AT EXETER AND NORWICH 
 IN THE DAYS OF BISHOP HALL 
 
 BY 
 
 .^^ 
 
 EMMA MARSHALL 
 
 Author of " Under SfdUbnry Spirt " 
 " Winc/iestcr Meads," b'c. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SEELEY AND Co., Limited 
 
 Essex Street, Strand 
 
 1892 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The incidents in the life of Joseph Hall, Bishop 
 of Exeter and Norwich, are gathered chiefly from 
 the interesting biography by the Rev. George 
 Lewis, of Balliol College, Oxford. 
 
 To this I am indebted for the details of the 
 Bishop's domestic sorrows, which appear in Wi/ii- 
 fredes Journal — as well as for the account of the 
 persecution which he bore so nobly and patiently. 
 
 The characters introduced are for the most part 
 imaginary, though those who are connected directly 
 or indirectly with the Bishop's family are real per- 
 sonages, mention of whom 'is to be found in the 
 biography to which I have referred. 
 
 27 September, i8gi. 
 woodside, 
 Leigh Woods, Clifton, 
 Bristol. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Exeter Cathedral Frontispiece 
 
 The City Hall, Exeter 9 
 
 WiDDicoMBE Church 107 
 
 The Bishop's Palace, Exeter 150 
 
 Norwich Cathedral ...... 200 
 
 Erpingham Gate, Norwich ...... 202 
 
 Poole's Ferry, Norwich . c . . . . 2h 
 
 Bishop Hall's House 230 
 
BOOK I. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Lo ! I that write this, and you that read, how long are we here? 
 It were well if the world were as our tent, yea, as our inn, if not to 
 lodge yet to bait in. But now it is only our thoroughfare. One 
 generation passeth, another cometh, none stayeth. If this Earth 
 were a Paradise, and this which we call our life were sweet as the 
 joys above, yet how should this fickleness of it cool our delight. 
 
 Bishop Hall. 
 
 Tliis is my Journal, writ by my own hand, in the 
 upper chamber in my Uncles house in the High Street 
 of Exeter. W. B. 
 
 When Master Buckingham died he left me — 
 Winifrede Bridgeman — this big book, bound in 
 calfskin, with a silver clasp, and filled with several 
 hundred blank pages of thick paper. He bade me 
 make this book my friend when he was gone, and 
 tell to it my thoughts and wishes and what hap- 
 pened to me. I know not why I have not done 
 Master Buckingham's bidding in this, for he has 
 been dead for eighteen months. How thankful I 
 am that, owing to Master Buckingham's kind care 
 I can write a fair hand and spell with some ease 
 He taught me many things beside writing and read- 
 ing, and when he died I felt more lonely than 
 
a WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 before, for Master Buckingham was my friend, and 
 I have but few. He was a clerk in Holy Orders, 
 and had a lodging in a house adjoining my Uncle's 
 in the High Street. His room is empty now, where 
 I have passed many an hour, and to my latest hour 
 I shall remember that day when I went gaily in, 
 with Good-morning on my lips, and found my dear 
 master seated in the old oak chair, with the Bible 
 open before him and a smile on his face. The 
 smile was not for me, but for the angels who had 
 visited that house at sunrise, and borne my dear 
 venerated master to their home above. 
 
 I had never seen death before — and if all look in 
 death as Master Buckingham looked, it must ever 
 be a sight to fill the heart with thanksgiving, that 
 the departed are at rest in peace and joy. 
 
 Master Buckingham had long been smitten with 
 a palsy of the left side, and had done no duty in 
 ^^e Church. 
 
 Now and again the Bishop would visit him, and it 
 was from his kindness that after he died Mrs. Rodd, 
 my lord's married daughter, sent for me and made 
 friends, and she has been good to m.e ever since. 
 
 Master Buckingham, as I have said, left me this 
 fair book, with another in which he had written 
 many wise thoughts, wiser than any that I shall ever 
 set down here, methinks. He left me also a copy 
 of the Holy Bible, his Prayer Book, and the Faery 
 Queen, a book of strange tales of ancient times^. full 
 of meaning and grace. 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 3 
 
 Master Buckingham exercised me in writing down 
 from his own lips certain passages from that book 
 and many a text from the Holy Bible. Latin too 
 he taught me, and the history of ages long past, 
 and on the last day I was with him — though I little 
 dreamed it was the last — he commended me to God 
 solemnly, and bade me bear ever in mind that the 
 fear of the Lord was wisdom, and trust in Him a 
 sure placed trust which could never fail. 
 
 Master Buckingham was a mighty grand scholar 
 and godly man. I would never let his memory fade 
 away, and all he did for a poor lonely little orphan 
 girl, to whom he opened out the pleasures of read- 
 ing and writing and understanding what I read. 
 But alack ! how soon the grief we feel softens and 
 becomes past, while in the present we are living as 
 if the sad past had never been. 
 
 That day a year and six months ago, when Master 
 Buckingham was taken away, I cried amain till Doro- 
 thy Ellis chid me for making such a piece of work, 
 and said " a poor weakly old man was best gone, 
 he had been a helpless creature," and much more 
 that cut me to the heart. Then I thought I should 
 never be happy again, but though I do not forget 
 Master Buckingham, I am happy. It is good to 
 have Mistress Rodd for a friend, and it is good to 
 be young, and to feel a stirring within that is like a 
 note of music, just a faint note as heard in the dark- 
 ness, which presently shall swell into a great burst 
 of singing. ■ 
 
4 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I have delayed beginning to write in this book, 
 but I may have something to tell soon, so this by 
 way of preface. 
 
 Books are commonly dedicated to some great 
 personage with fine words, like the dedication to 
 the King James which stands in the first page of 
 the Holy Bible. I have no one to whom I can dedi- 
 cate this book, besides, I shall treat it as a friend 
 and tell things here which I might not care for other 
 eyes to see. 
 
 Adventures, events, sorrows, joys, I will write 
 them here. But hark ! there is a heavy step on the 
 stairs. Dorothy Ellis coming to rate me for not 
 going down to give her help with the conserves of 
 fruit she is making, I'll warrant. 
 
 There was a tap at the door, and when I opened 
 it, it was not Dorothy Ellis, but a messenger from 
 Mistress Rodd, bearing a slip of paper on which was 
 writ, " Come to me to-morrow, and bear me com- 
 pany to the consecrating of the burying ground, 
 outside the walls. Send word by my servant." 
 " My service to Mistress Rodd," I said, "and I will 
 wait on her by ten o'clock on the morrow." 
 
Blessed is the man, O God, who loves Thee, and his friend in 
 Thee, and his enemy for Thy sake. — St. Augustine. 
 
 The High Street, Exeter, August 26. 
 
 I HAVE much to tell about the events of yester- 
 day, the festival of Saint Bartholomew in this year 
 of grace, 1637. 
 
 I had Mistress Rodd's command to wait on her, 
 and I plucked up my courage to seek my Uncle 
 Jeremy Barter in his dull, dark chamber behind 
 the shop, in the High Street of Exeter. 
 
 I had a care how I urged my petition, for my 
 Uncle is a man of somewhat surly moods, and the 
 events of this day were of a surety aught but a 
 pleasure to him. 
 
 For he had stood out with many of the citizens 
 against our good Bishop's action concerning the 
 new burying ground outside the walls. Now my 
 Uncle Jeremy hates changes from old customs ; he 
 likes a bad thing because it is old, better than a 
 good thing if it is new. 
 
 It is wisdom to put up with the quips and quirks 
 
 5 
 
6 WINIPREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 of old age, and truly my Uncle Jeremy is as full of 
 them as a hedgehog is full of bristles. 
 
 Methinks bachelors are worse in this respect than 
 single women. Perhaps for this reason, that a man, 
 when he sees children and children's children mak- 
 ing the old age of others glad and bright, feels 
 he might have had the same happiness for the 
 asking. 
 
 While a woman ! Ah ! well-a-day, she must bide 
 her time, and if the right man will not seek to win 
 her she will be won by no other, and so the joys of 
 wedded life are denied her. She cannot whistle for 
 the man she could love, nay, perhaps does love, 
 and so 
 
 But I shall make no way with the history of yes- 
 terday if I wander off from the matter in hand. 
 
 It was yet early, but I had heard my Uncle's 
 heavy tread on the stairs, and I heard Dorothy 
 Ellis shouting to ask him if he would have a cup of 
 mead or ale with his wheaten loaf to break his fast. 
 
 My Uncle is deaf, sometimes I think not so deaf 
 as he would have us think ; and when he is in a 
 surly mood, which alack-a-day is not seldom, he is 
 sullenly determined not to hear, much less answer 
 a question. I am not sure that it is because he 
 fails to hear it. 
 
 The apprentices were hanging up the lengths of 
 silks and brocades and coloured cloths, as I passed 
 through the shop to the inner chamber. 
 
 " Good day to you, Mistress Winifrede. There 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. ^ 
 
 will be grand doings to-day, and a great feast at 
 the palace. Are you bidden to it ? " 
 
 I do not take kindly to James Eland. He is too 
 free in his manner, and forgets that, though when I 
 came to live with my Uncle I was a child, I am a 
 woman now. So I tossed my head and only an- 
 swered, " It is a fair day for the Consecration of 
 the burying place — though hot." James Eland was 
 smoothing out a fine bit of brocade, gold and white, 
 with little flowers wrought in it. It is hard some- 
 times to see so many beauteous silks and brocades, 
 and yet to be denied them. 
 
 If. I had that brocade for a skirt instead of my 
 dove coloured homespun and old taffeta redingote I 
 should have been better clad to go out amongst the 
 gay throng passing to and fro in the High Street on 
 a day when something great is happening. 
 
 I tapped at the door of my Uncle's room and then 
 entered warily. My Uncle looked up from a great 
 book in which he was jotting down figures, and one 
 of the apprentices was on his knees, getting a bale 
 of goods ready for the pack-horse plying between 
 Exeter and Taunton once in the week,. 
 
 The goods of Jeremy Barter, mercer, of the city 
 of Exeter, are famous, and he has such large sales 
 that I am sure money is plentiful, though he would 
 not have me think so. 
 
 " Eh ! what ? " my Uncle said, " have a care, Wini- 
 frede, you are stepping on the edge of that taffeta." 
 
 " I would fain go to Mistress Rodd's house. Uncle. 
 
8 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 She has bidden me to bear her company to the 
 Consecrating to-day outside the walls. I have 
 your leave?" , 
 
 " My leave, you'd go without it, I'll warrant. I 
 do not care to have part or lot in the matter. It's 
 all a whim— set a-going by the Bishop. Why can't 
 he let us bury our dead in peace ? Pshaw ! I don't 
 mean to have my bones hauled out beyond the 
 walls." And then my Uncle went on grumbling 
 and muttering with a big quill stuck behind each 
 ear, which gave him a comical likeness to the old 
 white owl I saw in the barn at Widdicombe last 
 winter. My Uncle's hair is thick and white and is 
 parted in the middle and sticks out on either side 
 of his round forehead ; and he wears a great ruff 
 round his neck, not so clean as it might be. And his 
 black gown is very rusty and long past its best, but 
 as he seldom puts his head out of this dull chamber 
 where no light and no sun ever creep in, what does 
 it matter ? 
 
 " And I may spend the day with Mrs. Rodd ? 
 She will take me in her coach to the Chutch of All 
 Hallows, and we shall see the proceedings from the 
 walls. Uncle Jeremy, do you hear?" 
 
 " Get off to your pleasuring," was the next word ; 
 then as I was leaving the room he shouted, " You 
 may tell my Lord he has made the city his enemy 
 by this act, and he may live to rue the day." 
 
 It is true enow. Exeter folk are as slow as snails 
 to go forward, and the merchants of the city, as 
 
^V<gasVS&igSS^''i" 
 
 Thk City Hall, Exmer. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. q 
 
 well as some of the better sort, have wrangled and 
 fought for retaining the right to bury the dead under 
 the shade of the Cathedral. 
 
 " Laying their bones," quoth they, " where their 
 forefathers laid theirs." 
 
 It seemeth to me of little avail to trouble about 
 what_ becomes of our bones — when our spirits are 
 gone to God. Our good Bishop has the health of 
 living folk at heart, and doubtless the Cathedral 
 churchyard has sent out foul odours on the hot 
 days of summer. 
 
 When I left my Uncle I climbed to the chamber 
 in the roof, where I live. The lattice is wide, and I 
 can look down into the street, and opposite is the 
 Guildhall where the Mayor and Aldermen will meet 
 to-day and will go in company with the clergy to 
 the new burying ground. 
 
 Over the Guildhall and the roofs of the houses I 
 see the sky, and now and again I get a craving to 
 see more' of it than this strip. Then I watch the 
 stars peep between the gables ; and sometimes the 
 moon when at the full she lifts her round face above 
 the roof and smiles at me, as she rises high in the 
 heavens. James Eland gave me on my last birthday 
 a polished mirror and by its help I know better how 
 to make myself ready to go forth. 
 
 Forsooth, what Isee there is not .amiss — and why 
 should I be shamefaced about my good looks ? I 
 first saw myself in a clear pool of water near Widdi- 
 combe last summer. I was stooping over it to pluck 
 
lo WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 some yellow flags, when I saw a face smiling up at 
 me, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes and a great 
 tangle of brown hair, which seemed in that lonely 
 pool to have streaks of gold athwart it. 
 
 Well I knew that day that I was fair to look at 
 — and I was pleased. I am sure the yellow flags 
 nodding at their reflection in the water would be 
 glad that they were prettier than the big brown bul- 
 rushes, if they could be glad or could know, and 
 . perhaps they do know^— who can tell ? 
 
 I made the best of myself on this great Feast day, 
 and bound my hair with a pointed velvet band 
 which once my mother wore and which was garnished 
 with little blue stones — deep blue like my eyes. 
 
 Then I pinned a long veil at the back of my head 
 with a silver pin, and I put over my grey skirt an 
 apron with two knots of blue riband, which my 
 Cousin Penelope gave me, because she thought it a 
 sin to wear any ribands, she said ; and then I went 
 down the long flight of narrow stairs to the floor 
 below. 
 
 I was passing througTi the shop when James Eland 
 stepped forward and begged me to wear a posy at 
 my girdle which he had bought in the market. 
 
 " It is your own colour. Mistress Winifrede, and 
 besides let it speak for me and tell you what I am 
 not able to tell, as I fain would." The nosegay was 
 of forget-me-nots set round with lad's-love — and in 
 the middle a white rose, which the forget-me-nots 
 surrounded in a close wreath. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. ii 
 
 " I thank you, James Eland," I said, taking the 
 nosegay which he presented on one knee, but I would 
 as lief have been without it. As I left the shop I 
 heard the apprentice who had been making ready 
 the parcel in my Uncle's room laugh loudly and 
 say, 
 
 " Poor Jimmy, thine is love's labour lost." 
 
 William Thornton has, methinks, need to learn 
 manners. If there be a school to teach them, he 
 should go to it forthwith. 
 
 It was yet early, and I made my way with ease to 
 Mistress Rodd's house. It is only of late that I have 
 been favoured with her friendship, and I would I 
 were worthier of it. I found her lying on a settle 
 in her pleasant chamber, which has a Jarge window 
 facing the northern side of the Cathedral. Mistress 
 Rodd smiled a welcome, but she looked pale and 
 weary and said faintly, , 
 
 " I am not able to go forth to-day, dear child, and 
 this will vex you, I fear." 
 
 " Nay, dear Mistress Rodd," I replied, " I am ever 
 content to be with you." 
 
 " But I have prayed my brother, the Archdeacon, 
 to let Rebecca take you in charge, and you will like 
 to be at the service in the Cathedral." 
 
 *' I would as lief stay with you," I said, " and 
 watch the procession frotn the window." 
 
 " Nay, that would be but a poor holiday, to stay 
 with a sick woman." Then Mistress Rodd called me 
 to come nearer to her, and she whispered to me, 
 
12 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 putting her arms round my neck and kissing me, 
 " Dear child, I shall never be well in health again. 
 I have given my husband the son he craved, and it 
 is my legacy, but — " suddenly starting up — " Hark ! 
 it is my father's step in the court below ; say not a 
 word of my health to him." 
 
 And then Mistress Rodd sprang up, and hectic 
 crimson coming to her cheek, and her eyes shining, 
 she hastened to the door and cried out, " Welcome, 
 dear father, welcome. Good it is of you to spare a 
 few minutes for your Moll to-day." 
 
 " Ah ! Moll, good Moll," my Lord Bishop said, 
 putting his arm round her tenderly, " how fares it 
 with you and the boy ? Art coming to the ceremony, 
 dear heart ? You look brave enow, surely." 
 
 " Nay, father," Mistress Rodd said, putting her 
 hand to her side, " I tire so soon, and the day is 
 sultry." 
 
 " Well, well — please yourself, dear heart." Then 
 his lordship turned, and saw me in the recess of the 
 window to which I had retreated. 
 
 " It is little Winifrede Bridgeman, father. I bid 
 her come to see the show with me, and now I am 
 not able to do so." 
 
 " Bid her come with me to the Palace," my Lord 
 said. " Thy mother will have her in charge. I 
 must away, for the Mayor and City folk are to be 
 at the west door by eleven of the clock. Now we 
 must away, little mistress, if indeed you have a 
 mind to accompany me ! " 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 13 
 
 But a sudden awe and shyness seized me. .1 
 curtsied low to the Bishop and said, 
 
 " May it please your Lordship, I would as lief stay 
 with Mistress Rodd." 
 
 " Do so then," and the Bishop was departing when 
 there was a rustling of silk on the stairs and Madam 
 Hall, attended by a young gentlewoman, met him 
 at the door. 
 
 The Bishop exclaimed, " Ah ! I thought how it 
 would be. Thy mother, sweet Moll, could not rest 
 on any report, but must needs see for herself how 
 it fare with thee." 
 
 The young gentlewoman who attended Madam 
 Hall was very tall, and was dressed in all the beau- 
 teous garments befitting her rank — for she was of 
 high family. 
 
 Madam Hall herself was dressed in skirt and 
 cloak of dark cloth and hood lined with red. This 
 befitted her age, and the dark hood with the red 
 lining set off the beauty of her silver hair. 
 
 " What little girl is this ? " she asked. " I see, 
 Master Barter's daughter, the good silk mercer in. 
 the High Street." 
 
 " If it please you, madam," I said, " I am Jeremy 
 Barter's niece ; my mother was his sister." 
 
 " Jeremy Barter !" the Bishop caught the name. 
 " Ah ! I know now why this little maid holds back 
 from the show. It would seem Master Barter is 
 one who holds out against me — not only for to-day's 
 work, but for the matter concerning the wool mar- 
 
14 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ket which desecrated the cloisters. Make my com- 
 pliments to your worthy uncle, little mistress, and 
 say, I thank, God I have carried my point ; and that 
 I trust he may live to be my friend and not my foe, 
 nor wish the burials back in the old ground." 
 
 When his Lordship was really gone, Madam Hall 
 questioned Mistress Rodd in a low tone as to her 
 health, I think, for she returned to the settle, and I 
 saw her mother bend tenderly over her. 
 
 I returned to the window again, for the tall lady 
 did not seem to think I was worthy of notice — I, a 
 mercer's niece, she, with the air of a princess. 
 
 Presently she followed me to the casement, and 
 turning the latch opened half of it, and took up her 
 position there. 
 
 Her dark eyes had an anxious look in them, 
 as she scanned the crowd below, and those who 
 were passing by on the flag path beneath the win- 
 dows. Several fine gentlemen paced to and fro, 
 and one happening to look up, the lady at my 
 side said, " Have you come to see the show, Sir 
 Gilbert ? " 
 
 Then the gentleman she addressed bowed to the 
 ground, and said, 
 
 " I have come in any case to see a fair vision, 
 Mistress Meredith." 
 
 Another young gentleman in a fine crimson velvet 
 cloak covered with gold broidery, and with shining 
 curls lying on his shoulders, now looked up, and then 
 said. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 15 
 
 " Nay, Sir Gilbert, do not keep me in ignorance 
 of the names of both these fair ladies." 
 
 " ForsOoth, Hal," was the answer, " I thought you 
 had no need to be told that one fair lady -yonder 
 has turned the heads of half Devon since she rose 
 like a sun on its horizon, and as to t'other " 
 
 " For shame, Sir Gilbert," Mistress Dulcibel said, 
 " flattery comes with a bad grace when bawled up 
 at a window." And then Mistress Dulcibel Mere- 
 dith closed the lattice with a sharp click, and we saw 
 the gallants cross over to the little iron gate leading 
 to the Cathedral. " If we are to go to the service, 
 madam," Mistress Dulcibel Meredith said, turning 
 towards Madam Hall, " it would be as well to start, 
 for I hear the blast of a trumpqt, and the Mayor 
 must be on his way from the Guildhall." 
 
 " True, it is time to leave you, Mary, and I will 
 take this maiden under my care, if it pleases her." 
 
 " Yes, dear Winifrede, yes^go, and then you can 
 bring me word of all you see." 
 
 All this time Mistress Dulcibel Meredith had not 
 deigned to speak one word to me. She was too 
 proud, I thought, to notice the niece of a mercer. 
 
 I judged her wrongly ; and I did not know till 
 later in the day that she was my friend, and that 
 she bore about a restless heart, ill at ease. 
 
 " I would have you go with my mother, dear 
 child," Mistress Rodd said, " and return hither when 
 all is over." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Mistress Hall exclaimed, in a sharp. 
 
i6 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 quick tone. " Follow me with no more ado. My 
 daughter, Mistress Rodd, is tired and must rest. 
 Farewell, sweet Mary." 
 
 In another moment we were out in the close. A 
 way was made for us through the crowd gathered 
 by the wall of the Cathedral yard, by two of the 
 Bishop's men, who wore his badge on their sleeves. 
 
 We passed into the Cathedral by the little north 
 entrance, through one of the side chapels, and then 
 to seats prepared for the wives and daughters of 
 the dignitaries of the Cathedral, whence they could 
 view the procession coming up to the choir from 
 the great west door. 
 
 There was the sound of trumpets outside, which 
 proclaimed the near approach of the Mayor and the 
 Aldermen, and as they reached the west door the 
 organ rolled out great waves of sound, and we all 
 rose to our feet to watch the Clergy move down the 
 nave to meet the Mayor and Aldermen of the city. 
 
 We could see the long line of Clergy and choir 
 men and boys in their white gowns divide in two 
 parts, and the civic folk in scarlet and gold trappings 
 pass up between them, the Bishop coming last. 
 
 It was the first time I had seen so grand a show, 
 and what with the great concourse of people, and 
 the music and the strangeness, I felt strangely 
 moved. 
 
 To my vexation a tear rolled unawares down my 
 cheek, and dropped right on the posy of forget-me- 
 nots at my girdle. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 17 
 
 I was placed next to Mistress Dulcibel Meredith, 
 and looking up at her I saw a smile on her face 
 which made my cheeks hot with blushes, and I has- 
 tily brushed away another tear, which would have 
 fallen next. 
 
 " Poor child," Mistress Dulcibel said in a low 
 tone. " May you ne'er have cause to shed a bit- 
 terer tear! " Then to my surprise this grand lady 
 laid her hand on mine arid gave it a sudden pressure. 
 
 " I know not what made me so foolish," I said, 
 but then the service began, and soon we all knelt to 
 repeat the confession of our sins. 
 
 The Bishop made a short but excellent discourse, 
 and then the organ struck up again, and there was 
 the sound as of many waters as the people began to 
 get down the nave in a disorderly fashion, to be 
 first to see the procession move outside. I cannot 
 tell how it was, but I lost my friends and found my- 
 self jammed against the wall of the chapel through 
 which we had come, and frightened lest I should be 
 smothered in the press I climbed on a stone ledge, 
 which had a hollow place at the back, and thought 
 I could stand there till the jostling and pushing 
 were at an end. 
 
 As I stood there I heard two men hard by me 
 talking of what was passing. " Didst note," said 
 one, " five councillors and two aldermen were miss- 
 ing in the procession ? " 
 
 " Aye," said the other, " and the Mayor is but 
 half hearted about this matter." 
 
i8 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " The Bishop and the Dean and Chapter are 
 agreed, and they have set the town at nought." 
 
 Then with a laugh the other said, " Aye, aye ; the 
 Chapter is a family party, and they be all agreed ! 
 The Bishop has taken care of that." 
 
 Then the speakers passed on, and yet the throng 
 thickened, and I stood jammed in my corner, won- 
 dering how long I should need to stand there. 
 
 " No one will miss me," I thought. " No one 
 will care. Why should they ? " And suddenly I 
 felt that most painful loneliness^oneliness in a 
 crowd. 
 
 All around me were pushing through the throng 
 with sisters and daughters and wives, and there was 
 I, little Winifrede Bridgeman, with nobody to care 
 whether I was pressed to death or no. 
 
 After some minutes — they seemed hours to me — 
 I saw a tall gallant elbowing through the crowd. 
 As he was coming against the stream he had some 
 trouble to make way. Soon I saw it was the young 
 gentleman who had looked up at Mistress Rodd's 
 casement when Mistress Dulcibel Meredith had 
 opened it. 
 
 Presently I saw him wave his cap and smile. 
 Could he be making towards me ? I was not long 
 in doubt, for he cried, " Ah, here is a saint in her 
 niche. Step down, fair saint, and I will take you 
 by your leave into the crowd of common folk again. 
 Nay," he said, for I suppose my face told that I 
 was scared, and my hand, which he took in his, was 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 19 
 
 trembling. " Nay, do not fear. I am sent hither 
 by a gentlewoman who will not stir from the Palace 
 till she knows you are safe." Then before I could 
 rally myself and speak I was safe through a small 
 doorway and in the gardens of the Palace, and my 
 guide stopped, saying, 
 
 " There, my fair saint, now for my reward," and 
 bending with the grace of a courtier he said, " Harry 
 Carew, at your service, craves to know the name of 
 the gentlewoman to whom he now vows his service 
 and loyalty henceforth." He kissed my hand, but I 
 drew it away. 
 
 I am unused to the ways of gallants like him, and 
 ever since I have felt a strange flutter at my heart 
 when I recount to myself all his pretty speeches 
 and flatteries. I ought not to like them, Penelope 
 would say. I am a silly child to have my head 
 turned by all that has happened to-day. 
 
 At the Palace doorway we — ^that is. Master Harry 
 Carew and I — found the grand ladies waiting to 
 be conveyed to the walls to see the ceremony; 
 some to ride in my lord's coach, and some in my 
 Lord Devon's, and some on horseback. 
 
 As I stood hesitating and fearing lest I should do 
 anything awkward, Mistress Dulcibel came towards 
 me, passing a grand old dame with, " By your leave, 
 madam," and then she took my hand in hers and 
 said, " I ride in my Lord Devon's coach and I will 
 take you with me. My Lord Bishop's coach is 
 full." 
 
20 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Then with a sweet smile she turned to Master 
 Carew and said, " My thanks are yours, sir, for bring- 
 ing the little lost maiden safe out of the crowd." 
 
 " Nay then, madam," was the reply, " I am 
 favoured by fortune if I win either thanks or smile 
 from you ! I am not often so lucky." 
 
 There was something in Master Carew's voice as 
 he spoke which had a bitter sound in it — like James 
 Eland's when I will not tarry in the shop at his bid- 
 ding, but pass out in spite of his remonstrance. 
 
 I was soon riding in the coach on Mistress Dulci- 
 bel's knee, arid I saw the grand dames in the coach 
 with us looking wondering at me. 
 
 " Methinks, Mistress Meredith," said one, " your 
 brocade will fare ill, crumpled by the weight you 
 have put on it." 
 
 " Weight ! nay, the weight is scarce that of a 
 feather," was the answer. 
 
 " Well, prythee, child," said the stout and portly 
 lady whom I heard them call the Countess of 
 Devon. " Prythee, child, do not press your knees 
 against my gown. I am more chary of it than 
 Mistress Meredith is of hers, methinks." 
 
 The streets were lined on either side as we passed 
 along. 
 
 We went at a somewhat slow pace, for the Bishop 
 and the Clergy and the civic dignitaries were all 
 afoot, and way was made for them, so that they 
 passed along a clear swept pathway to the walls. 
 
 " It is a wonder to see the streets fit to ride through, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 21 
 
 for there is often a heap of filth and rubbish right in 
 the way as my coach passes along," said my lady. 
 
 " My Lord Bishop has a passion for cleanly 
 ways," said another lady. " Some may think he 
 puts it above, not next to, godliness, and the citi- 
 zens are of this mind ! " 
 
 At last we reached the walls and left the coaches, 
 and took up our position in the churchyard by All 
 Hallows, whence we could watch the ceremony. 
 
 The Clergy, with my Lord Bishop at their head, 
 walked slow and stately round the burying ground 
 and then formed a circle in the midst of it. We 
 could hear the Bishop's voice sounding as he uttered 
 the prayers of consecration, and then with uplifted 
 hands blessed the ground,'and declared it sacred for 
 the repose of the bodies of the departed from that 
 day henceforth. 
 
 Then there were long drawn Amens, and the choir 
 sang the canticles, and so the procession left the 
 ground. 
 
 As we returned to our coaches the crowd gathered 
 by the church gate made their comments on us, and 
 I heard one voice say, " Bless my heart, there's 
 Jeremy Barter's niece with the grand folk," and a 
 laugh followed. 
 
 I tried hard not to look as if I heard, but I felt 
 my face grow red as another woman called out, 
 " Jeremy will never let his bones lie here, nor yours 
 neither, my dear. Heighho ! proud as a pea-hen 
 with your fine company — pride will have a fall." 
 
22 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 There was a delay at the gate, and I was waiting 
 my turn to pass to the coach with Mistress Mere- 
 dith, and turning my head I saw the woman who 
 was speaking so rudely of me was a friend of 
 Dorothy Ellis, and I knew her well enow by the 
 visits she made to Dorothy. 
 
 I ought to have greeted her, but the words stuck 
 in my throat, and I was thankful to find myself once 
 more in the coach, wondering if Mistress Dulcibel 
 had heard those unkind words of old Sarah Dalton. 
 
 But if she did, she took no heed of them, nor 
 added to my confusion by noticing them. 
 
 Mistress Dulcibel was too real a gentlewoman to 
 say aught about what she saw discomfort me. She 
 was gracious and sweet in her demeanour while in the 
 coach, but when we alighted at the Palace she was 
 proud and haughty when the gallant whom she 
 called Sir Gilbert came up with low bows and begged 
 leave to attend her to the banquet in the hall, where 
 her place was kept and where many were languish- 
 ing for a smile. 
 
 Verily Sir Gilbert had no smile, he might languish 
 in vain for it. Mistress Dulcibel turned away, say- 
 ing, 
 
 " There is no haste. Sir Gilbert, the company are 
 scarce all arrived ; " then to me, " Come, let me de- 
 liver you up in safety to the place whence I took 
 you. Mistress Rodd will not care greatly to be de- 
 prived of your presence for the whole day." 
 
 Then Mistress Meredith took my hand in hers and 
 
WINIFREDE'S JO URN A L. 23 
 
 we passed through the grounds of the Palace till we 
 came out at a little postern gate in the wall right 
 opposite Master Rodd's hou«e. 
 
 The entrance to the house is through a court- 
 yard, and Mistress Dulcibel had just reached it 
 when Master Harry Carew came loitering up. 
 " Seeking in vain for my lost charge," he said, bow- 
 ing to me, " but as you have resumed it, madam, I 
 perceive I am not wanted." 
 
 Mistress Meredith smiled and answered, 
 
 " Nay, Harry, you may still be of use if you wish 
 it, and return with me to the Palace, where by now 
 the folks are falling to upon pasties and conserves, 
 to say nothing of quaffing great cups of sack and 
 spiced canary, of which beware, Hal, or your not 
 too strong brain may suffer." Then turning to me, 
 Mistress Dulcibel said, 
 
 " Farewell, dear child, and let me see you again. 
 Where shall I find you ? " My cheeks grew hot, and 
 I felt Master Harry Carew was looking at me and 
 listening for my answer. 
 
 Why should I feel any shame to say that I lived 
 in the High Street at the house of my Uncle Jer- 
 emy Barter? But I confess I did not desire Mas- 
 ter Carew should know I was a mercer's niece, so 
 I murmured in a low tone, which only Mistress 
 Meredith could hear, 
 
 " In the High Street, madam, opposite the Guild- 
 hall," and then I curtsied and kissed the hand, held 
 out to me, and fled up the stairs to the door at 
 
24 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the top which was kept by the porter, who, nod- 
 ding to me as an old acquaintance, admitted me. I 
 found Mistress Rodd quite bright and cheerful, her 
 cheeks had the colour of a damask rose, and she had 
 her boy on her knee, dandling him at the window, 
 and he was crowing loudly and kicking his stout legs 
 against the window seat, his mother scarce able to 
 hold him. 
 
 Mistress Rodd cried out, " Well, little run-away, 
 how have you sped ? You did not stay to the ban- 
 quet, then." 
 
 " No, dear madam, I was not bidden." 
 
 " My mother would be vexed if she thought you 
 came away hungry ; but see, Jabez has set out our 
 banquet, and as soon as good Cordelia will take her 
 nursling, we will sit down and do the viands justice. 
 Nay, Master Banfilde," she continued, " you take 
 your mother's breath away ; you are stronger than 
 she is ! " 
 
 And then at the sound of the great lusty roar 
 Master Banfilde made when I essayed to take him, 
 the serving woman came into the chamber, pulling 
 aside the arras which parted this room from one 
 behind. 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " she cried, " what a noise ! you are 
 just killing your blessed mother with your pranks ; 
 and indeed. Mistress Mary, I cry shame on you for 
 wrestling with this giant ; he is enow to break my 
 back, let alone yours. See, now, you are worn 
 out!" 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 23 
 
 For Mistress Rodd had sunk down on the settle 
 again, breathing hard, but laughing all the same, 
 saying, 
 
 "I am not dead yet, Cordelia; now summon 
 Jabez, and bid him bring the hot dishes ; and then 
 Mistress Winifrede and I will begin our dinner, for 
 we are as hungry as hunters." 
 
 This might be true of me, but not of Mistress 
 Rodd. While I ate all the geod things with a relish 
 she only played with her meat, and if all she ate 
 could be reckoned up, methinks a spoonful of apple 
 conserves and cream made her meal. With drink it 
 was different ; she was very thirsty, and Jabez filled 
 up the cup with water again and again, she declaring 
 she did not love the spiced wine he pressed on her. 
 
 After this -meal, which was welcome to me, who 
 had tasted but little food that day, and the dinner 
 hour of noon so long past. Mistress Rodd lay back 
 on the settle and bade me draw a stool near her 
 side and tell her of the day's adventures. 
 
 August 27. 
 
 I could write no more last night, for Dorothy 
 came and took away my lamp, saying I should write 
 myself blind. I rose this morning feeling dull and 
 out of temper. 
 
 James Eland had heard of my riding in my Lord 
 Devon's coach, and taunted me with being eager to 
 consort with fine folk. 
 
 And then at dinner my Uncle Jeremy's friends 
 
26 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 held forth about the Bishop, and said he was no 
 blessing to Exeter, and many wished him gon/s, and 
 other talk of the same kind. 
 
 We had just risen from the board, and I was mak- 
 ing off to my upper chamber again, when the serv- 
 ing boy who kept watch in the shop while the 
 apprentices were at meals called for James Eland. 
 He rose slowly, and my Uncle shouted after him, 
 
 " Take not a groat less than the fixed price for 
 the silver brocade if it falls out that young gallant 
 has called again — don't haggle with him, but de- 
 spatch him." 
 
 " Trust me, sir," was the reply, and then in an 
 aside which caught my ear, " I would fain despatch 
 him once and for all." 
 
 " Who is the young gentleman ? " I asked of Will 
 Thornton, who was, I saw, hiding a smile. 
 
 " He gave no name an hour agone, but if y&u go 
 and take a look you may know him. You were in 
 the company of so many gallants t'other day." 
 
 The large kitchen or hall where the household 
 take their repasts is at the back of the house, up a 
 few steps from the level of my Uncle's parlour and 
 the shop. We have to descend these steps before 
 we reach the floor from which the wide staircase of 
 the house leads to the upper storeys. 
 
 As I stood at the top of these few stairs I could 
 see into the shop. There stood Master Carew, lean- 
 ing in a careless way against the doorway, where 
 several lengths of stuffs were hung. 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 27 
 
 " Well," I heard him say, " am I to force an en- 
 trance, or will you conduct me to see Mistress 
 Bridgeman ? " 
 
 " You may find someone else to do your bidding. 
 I am not one to be ordered hither and thither by a 
 young popinjay like you. Fine feathers don't take 
 me in." 
 
 " You impudent scoundrel, as courtesy won't 
 answer I'll try something else ; " and Master Carew 
 strode up the shop and, thrusting James Eland 
 aside, caught a sight of me — standing as I was, on 
 the top step of the short flight of stairs. 
 
 " Ah ! my fair saint," he said, " this boor forbade 
 me to see you, but forsooth I am not to be baulked 
 by such as he." 
 
 Then James Eland sprang, upon Master Carew, 
 and saying " A man's house is his castle, sir," tried 
 to prevent his advance to me. Poor James Eland 
 was no match for a fine gentleman like Master 
 Carew, and he was hustled back against the counter, 
 and fell, hitting his head a hard blow. 
 
 " Oh, sir," I exclaimed, " have a care, you have 
 hurt him," and I went down to the place where 
 Will Thornton, who had just appeared, was helping 
 James Eland to rise. 
 
 " You shall repent this," he said under his breath. 
 " Hush ! " he asked, in answer to my question. 
 " What does it matter to you if I am hurt ? Say 
 no more, Winifrede, but remember " 
 
 " Now, I put it to you," Hal Carew said with a 
 
28 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 smile, turning to Dorothy Ellis, my Uncle's guests, 
 and my Uncle himself, who now came on the scene, 
 " I put it to you if I am guilty of a serious offence? 
 Twice to-day I have come to this shop to crave an 
 interview with this fair lady, sent hither by another 
 lady who desires her company for the afternoon. I 
 prythee, good sirs, and you, madam," with a low 
 bow to Dorothy Ellis, " is it fair that I should be 
 maltreated and bid to go about my business, and 
 not suffered to deliver my message ? " 
 
 My Uncle became very hard of hearing, and mur- 
 mured, " The silver brocade is fifteen shillings, nor 
 will I bate a groat of the price. I have nought else 
 to say. Clear the way, sir, clear the way ; other 
 customers seek admission, you hinder business. 
 Begone, sir." 
 
 " Not till I get an answer to my petition." 
 
 Then Master Carew bent one knee to me and 
 said, " Do not refuse a suitor's humble request, but 
 permit me to escort you, fair lady, to the Deanery, 
 where Mistress Meredith awaits your coming." 
 
 " Sure I may go to such good company. Uncle ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 But my Uncle was already out of hearing, and the 
 shop full of customers. 
 
 " I shall go to Mistress Meredith, as she bids me," 
 I said, turning to Dorothy. 
 
 " Aye, go and please yourself by going ; the rest 
 matters nought to you, I know." 
 
 " I will await your coming outside," Master Carew 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 89 
 
 said, and then he left the shop. I hurried up- 
 stairs to put on my gaudy clothes again. Two 
 gaudy days so near together, sure I am very happy 
 to have fallen into such company. I made what 
 speed I could and was downstairs again in a very 
 short space. 
 
 As I passed through the shop my heart smote me. 
 James Eland was seated on one of the benches 
 behind the counter, his head leaning on his hand, 
 his. face ashen pale, and a great bruise on his fore- 
 head. The customers were gone, and I went up to 
 him saying, " I am sorry you are hurt, James." 
 
 " Sorry," he said bitterly. " Keep your sorrow 
 to yourself. I do not want it ; but mind this," he 
 said in a low voice, which scared me as he spoke. 
 " Mind ! I shall have my revenge yet." I fled away 
 and there stood Master Carew, and he was all smiles 
 and sweet words ; and presently by going down a 
 side street we were at the Deanery. 
 
 A Jarge company were seated at the board, for 
 the dinner hour at the grand house was later than 
 ours, and the Dean Dr. Peterson is given to hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 The hour was close upon one o'clock, and the 
 heavy meats and pasties had been despatched, and 
 now the ladies were tasting the grace cup, and dip- 
 ping their cakes into platters of junket capped with 
 clotted cream and fruit. 
 
 I felt much abashed in the presence of so many 
 fine people, and hung back as Master Carew led me 
 
30 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 to a seat next Mistress Dulcibel Meredith, Mistress 
 Peterson calling in a loud voice, " We thought you 
 had forgot us. Master Hal, and had eaten your din- 
 ner elsewhere. Here, Dulcie, is the little maiden ; 
 make room for her next you." 
 
 Mistress Dulcibel smiled on Master Carew, and 
 taking my hand said, " Not too late for junket and 
 cream, "/putting a platter before me with cakes and 
 fruit. " We will leave Hal to make a heavier meal ; 
 the pasties are not all eaten." Then with a reas- 
 suring pat on my cheek nearest to her. Mistress 
 Dulcibel turned to her next neighbour and left me 
 to recover myself. 
 
 In truth it was enow to embarrass me ; I who 
 had never before sat down to a great dinner like 
 this. But soon I was able to raise my head and 
 look about me and listen to what was said. 
 
 Dr. Peterson was talking to several gentlemen 
 about the affairs of the Church and Nation. He 
 was speaking of our Bishop's books, and expressly 
 of the last, which' was new and called The Remedy 
 for Profaneness, and another on Walking with God. 
 The gentleman who took part in the conversation 
 had leanings to and sympathy with the Puritans, it 
 seems ; for he said all the Bishops on the bench 
 and all the authors that ever wrote a book could 
 not turn a man's heart to God. They make plais- 
 ters, he said, to soothe the wound ; but the wound 
 is there and the sore is unhealed. 
 
 " Tut, tut," Dr. Peterson said. " My good father- 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 31 
 
 in-law, sir, goes to the root of the matter as much 
 as any one of the canting so-called divines who are 
 getting the upper hand too much in the country. 
 The realm is in danger from these base schismatics. 
 I crave pardon. Sir Antony," for Sir Antony's 
 brow grew dark, " but forsooth there has been such 
 railing against the revered Bishop for his wholesome 
 acts in this city that I get overheated when I speak 
 of the matter. Let us drink again to the health of 
 His Majesty and the nobles and bishops of the land 
 and bury all differences as the cup goes round." 
 
 Then on a sudden Dr. Peterson seemed to be 
 aware of my. presence, and called attention to me by 
 saying in a loud voice, " You did not tell me, Bess, 
 that you had. bidden this maiden to dine. She has 
 ears to hear and eyes to see, or I mistake her." 
 
 The Dean did but jest, but his words made me 
 cast down my eyes and the colour rushed to my face. 
 
 ".Nay now, Dean," Mrs. Peterson said, " you are 
 covering the child with confusion. She was bidden 
 by Dulcibel Meredith who saw her t'other day at 
 Mary Rodd's and took a fancy to her ; eh, Dulcie ! " 
 
 This speech of Mrs. Peterson's was harder to 
 pass unnoticed than the Dean's had been. They 
 would not talk thus of me if I were someone 
 greater than Jeremy Barter's niece, I thought, and 
 tears sprang to my eyes. 
 
 " By your leave, madam," Mistress Dulcibel said, 
 " I would fain take Mistress Bridgeman to the 
 pleasance, for the hall is hot and methinks she feels 
 
32 WmJFREDES JOURNAL. 
 
 it. Have I your leave ? " Mistress Dulcibel said, 
 rising and taking my hand as she led me from the 
 hall. 
 
 The minstrels in the gallery at the further end 
 were beginning to play, and this diverted attention 
 from me. Soon we were in the pleasance at the 
 rear of the Deanery. 
 
 " You will be sorry I bade Hal Carew fetch you, 
 child. Come, let us sit down in the arbour ; we can 
 talk undisturbed there. 
 
 " Tell me something of yourself — nay," as I hesi- 
 tated, " well, I must begin then. My cousin in the 
 second degree is Mrs. Gertrude Hall, and I have 
 come this long journey at her invitation, the wife of 
 the Archdeacon of Cornwall. But my good cousin 
 was not my chief attraction. I have a reverence for 
 the Bishop and would fain pluck up courage to 
 confide in him, for I am in a peck of trouble. Ah, 
 I see you can scarce believe it," Mistress Dulcibel 
 said, " but it is true nevertheless. You have no 
 troubles, child ? " 
 
 When the question was put I could say, " No, 
 not troubles ; but I have longings and desires, and 
 they make me ache when they are in vain." 
 
 "Aye, truly; but such a speech coming from a 
 mere child is somewhat surprising." 
 
 " I am near nineteen, madam." 
 , " Nineteen, and I am near nine and twenty — 
 alone and unmarried still. I live with my old 
 uncle, Sir Amos Meredith, and " 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 33 
 
 " Like me," I exclaimed, " I too, live with an old 
 uncle — my mother's brother." 
 
 " Mine was my mother's uncle, that is the sole 
 difference." 
 
 " Nay, madam, there is yet a greater difference. 
 My uncle is a mercer, and yours a gentleman of 
 rank." 
 
 " A fig for rank ! I am sick of it. Listen ; for 
 many a year they have beset me to wed with one 
 Lord Scarmouth. His lands join my uncle's and it 
 would be convenient. Convenient ! " she repeated, 
 her eyes flashing. " They may suit their own con- 
 venience without me. Ah ! child, may you never 
 know the paip I have at my heart. But more 
 about yourself. Suitors ? J doubt not." 
 
 " No," I said, " there is none that I can look 
 kindly on." 
 
 " Have a care, child," Mistress Dulcibel said, " for 
 men are like eels. There is much talk about women 
 being fickle and flightsome ; but I warn you it is the 
 men who are like the vane on yonder steeple." 
 
 We had much further talk, and I told her of 
 Master Buckingham, and of this book, and of my 
 life at the top storey of the house in High Street ; 
 but I made no mention of James Eland, and the 
 onset in the shop between Master Hal Carew and 
 him. 
 
 Presently he came, Master Hal Carew, and peep- 
 ing into the summer-house, he said, 
 
 '' Discovered ! My Lord Bishop is in the house 
 3 
 
34 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 and asks for Mistress Meredith. Ah ! he comes 
 hither." And as he spoke, Mistress Meredith and I 
 stepped out of the arbour, and met my Lord on a 
 side path. 
 
 We curtsied, and the Bishop said kindly to me, 
 
 "Ah! little Mistress Barter " 
 
 " Bridgeman, an it please your Lordship," Mis- 
 tress Dulcibel said quickly. 
 
 " Bridgeman ! Ah, names are often flitting out of 
 my old head ; it will be my own name next ! 
 
 " Well," he continued, turning to Mistress Dulci- 
 bel, " shall we have our talk here ? " and they turned 
 and walked to the further end of the Deanery pleas- 
 ance, and I was left alone with Master Carew. He 
 did not make any mention of what had' happened 
 in the shop, but seemed suddenly grave and serious. 
 
 He spoke of Mistress Meredith and how she had 
 many suitors. " You may guess one, or perhaps I 
 should scarce call him a suitor. Sir Gilbert Redvers. 
 He has, so they say, played fast and loose with her 
 for years ; he is unmarried, so is she ; and yet they 
 never wed. He would seem at times to be at her 
 feet, then again it is as now ; " and as he spoke we 
 saw Sir Gilbert coming out of the Deanery with a 
 grand lady all bedizened and wigged, for sure all 
 those curls could not have grown on her head. 
 The pair were laughing and jesting, and as we 
 passed them the lady said to Master Carew, 
 
 " Is Mistress Meredith getting a lecture and hav- 
 ing penance ordered, Hal ? She is talking demurely 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 35 
 
 with the Bishop. It is enow to make a judge 
 laugh." 
 
 "You might perchance find worthier game for 
 your shafts, Lady Crawley." 
 
 " Worthier ? " was the reply ; " yes, Hal, that 
 Would be easy, I trow." 
 
 "Who is that lady?" I asked. 
 
 "A notorious beauty, and you need not desire 
 her acquaintance," was the short reply. 
 
 Soon — yes, I must write it, for only the truth must 
 be written in these pages — soon I forgot every- 
 thing in the delight of Master Carew's presence. 
 Am I more foolish than others ? I dare to say I 
 am ; Penelope would say so — so would Dorothy 
 Ellis — so would Mistress Rodd. No, I am not sure ; 
 she is young, and though I marvel that she loved 
 that grave, stern Master Rodd, yet she does love 
 him — as she has often told me. 
 
 And if love comes all unawares, can we help it ? 
 Mrs. Rodd has often told me of the Bishop's, her 
 father's, love for her mother. How suddenly it 
 came upon him that Mistress Winniffe was the wife 
 ordained for him by God, and not only by the word 
 of the minister who, when the Bishop inquired of 
 him the name of a certain modest and comely 
 gentlewoman, said, 
 
 " I have bespoken her for your wife ; " and Mis- 
 tress Rodd says truly, " Were ever husband and wife 
 dearer to one another?" 
 
 But this is not to my point — Master Hal Carew 
 
36 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 bid me farewell last evening, and I shall see him no 
 more perhaps, no more in this life. But I shall ever 
 bear him in mind, his courtesy, his gallant behav- 
 iour on Saint Bartholomew's day — his talk in the 
 Deanery garden. Oh ! it was sweet, I must write it 
 — it was sweet — and I have kept the bud he plucked 
 from one of the stunted rose bushes in the Deanery 
 pleasance — and I have kissed it again and again. 
 
 Just now I felt something at my feet as I sat at 
 the window-shelf writing — I picked it up and it was 
 the faded old posy of forget-me-nots James Eland 
 gave me on Saint Bartholomew's day. I threw it 
 out of the window and watched it tumbling down 
 into the street below ! 
 
 Poor James Eland ! yet I could wish he had not 
 had that fall caused by his hand. What does James 
 mean by revenge, I wonder? It is an ugly word. 
 
 August 30. 
 
 I have not written a line for several days now. 
 The rain is pattering on the roof, and making a sort 
 of music as it pours from the eaves. Down in the 
 High Street there are but few passers by; only those 
 who do not mind a wetting, and must be about, are 
 in the street. 
 
 I have been monstrous idle for several days ! 
 Dorothy Ellis has been scolding me well ; for when 
 I went down to aid her in making a conserve of 
 the little red crab apples, I let it simmer too long in 
 the furnace and it was scorched. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 37 
 
 I deserved to be scolded then, but I hated to hear 
 Dorothy say, 
 
 " This comes of your grand days, and your being 
 set up by fine folks to think mightily of yourself. 
 Handsome young gallants have turned your silly 
 head, Winifrede Bridgeman, and the sooner you 
 come to your senses the better." 
 
 I gave a sharp answer, and told her I was not a 
 child now to be chidden and rated and she forgot 
 her place. 
 
 " My place, forsooth ! — I am second cousin to 
 your mother, and of the same blood as you are, for 
 all your pea-hen airs. If it had not been for love of 
 your dear mother, poor soul ! I should not have 
 come here to keep Jeremy Barter's house, and you 
 know that. I took pity on you, a little orphan, and 
 this is all I get for my pains — you are an ungrateful 
 minx! " 
 
 " So you think ! and I cannot help it," I said — 
 and then I laughed and added, 
 
 " You may be Mistress Jeremy Barter at last — it 
 is not beyond hope." Dorothy caught me a sharp 
 box on the ear that brought the sparks to my eyes. 
 
 But what care I ? — and besides I think I was 
 saucy — but I can't, no I can't love Dorothy Ellis, 
 and I don't believe love for me brought her to be 
 housewife to Uncle Jeremy. 
 
 Alack ! how is it I am changed in a few short 
 days — I am changed, and I know it. 
 
 I am sick of this life — mewed up with the roofs of 
 
38 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the houses in the High Street and the Guildhall 
 opposite. I am restless — I am like a caged bird who 
 has taken a flight into the woodlands and is caught 
 and brought back — then the cage that has been his 
 home becomes a prison, and he beats his wings 
 against the bars and mopes as a captive. 
 ■ Just the peep into the gay world and the com- 
 pany of folk like Mistress Meredith make me feel 
 that the company of Dorothy Ellis and her gossips, 
 and James Eland and Will Thornton, and old Uncle 
 Jeremy, is like the taste of sour bread after a sweet 
 
 cake. 
 
 August 31. 
 
 So far yesterday — and now a change has come. 
 Last night just as everyone was going abed at eight 
 o'clock, a message was brought up to me by James 
 Eland. He gave a heavy thud at the door, and I 
 opened it a crack, and asked what he wanted. 
 
 " You are wanted below," he said. " Mistress 
 Winifrede, do not bear malice." 
 
 " It's you that bear malice," I said, " but who 
 wants me?" 
 
 I had closed my door behind me by this time, and 
 was standing on the landing outside. 
 
 " It's your kinsman from Widdicombe ; he wants- 
 to take you back with him in his waggon Saturday 
 morning, but, Winifrede ! " and James Eland tried 
 to take my hand. 
 
 I was too sharp for him, and was downstairs and 
 in my Uncle's parlour before he could catch me. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 39 
 
 I found Master Fulford standing by the table, 
 and my Uncle looking more like the fluffy white 
 owl than ever. 
 
 " How now, Winnie," said Master Fulford,'" I am 
 come for the market to-morrow, and will take thee 
 back with me Saturday morning, if thee can get up 
 with the lark or the city sparrows, eh?" 
 
 Master FuHord was another of the distant cous- 
 ins who claim kinship with me. But that is the 
 way with Devon folk, they hang together and 
 never let relationship slip. 
 
 " I've got my waggon here," he went on, "with 
 a cushioned seat and plenty of sweet straw, and I 
 shall take it back empty, I hope, except for samples 
 of oats and wheat. So there'll be plenty of room 
 for thee, child, and the moor air will paint thy 
 cheeks a brighter colour, let's hope, little city 
 maid ! Eh, Cousin Barter ? " He shouted these 
 last words, and my Uncle replied, 
 
 " Yes, yes, she can go, and stay as long as you 
 please ; yes, yes, Winifrede, pack up your duds and 
 be ready. Take a snatch of supper. Cousin Ful- 
 ford," my Uncle said, adding, " It's all put away, 
 but we'll see what we can do — eh, Dorothy ? " 
 
 Dorothy Ellis was not bent on hospitality. She 
 muttered something about " most folks were abed 
 and the cupboard locked." But good-natured Mas- 
 ter Fulford hastened to say, 
 
 " I've supped at the hostel top of High Street, 
 and lie there to-night and to-morrow night ; so I'll 
 
40 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 bid you good evening, Master Barter, and you too, 
 Mistress Dorothy, and the waggon will be round 
 six o'clock Saturday morning," and then stumbling 
 against James Eland, who was in the passage, Mr. 
 Fulford went his way. 
 
 All to-day I have been preparing for the move, 
 and I have been to take leave of Mistress Rodd. 
 She seemed very weak and weary, and she said, 
 sighing, 
 
 " I should love to breathe the pure air of the 
 moor." 
 
 "And why not?" I exclaimed, "come in the 
 waggon with me." 
 
 " Nay, dear child, I have scarce the strength to 
 walk downstairs. I have had an airing in my 
 father's coach, but it seemed to shake what little 
 breath I have out of me." 
 
 Then she pulled a little book from under her 
 pillow and said, 
 
 " This is a real consolation to me — my dear 
 father's Meditations writ at Hawstead, where his 
 first happy life with my mother began. 
 
 " He says in this book that meditation is ever 
 best carried on in the same place, and here I have 
 no difficult task to perform in that direction. I am 
 always in one place and meditate much on death." 
 
 Then Mistress Rodd turned quick to me and 
 said, "You are full of life and youth, dear Win- 
 some " — Winsome she often calls me in a playful 
 way — "have a care not to forget that howsoever 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 41 
 
 beautiful this life is, it is short and soon gone like a 
 dream." 
 
 My heart misgives me about Mistress Rodd, but 
 soon she was her bright self again, and bade me 
 send her a letter from the moorland ; for, says she, 
 " I have got from my father the great love of 
 nature and of watching all its changes. When I 
 was a very little child at Hawstead I mind my 
 father coming home after his sojourn at Court, 
 where he attended on the Prince Henry, and calling 
 me to watch the bees swarm on a tree in our 
 garden. 
 
 " ' See them, Moll,' he said ; ' there is a queen- 
 dom without jealousies and well ordered with no 
 bribes. It is a more wholesome task to note the 
 movements of the bees than those of princes and 
 nobles — all the first in fear of each other, and all 
 the last pushing and jostling to get higher than 
 their fellows. 
 
 " ' When it comes to discord between father and 
 son, I say better a humble country parsonage than 
 a throne where hatred and strife and variance 
 trouble both King and Prince. I pray,' said my 
 father, ' such a sorrow as that be spared me.' " 
 And Mrs. Rodd said : " It is spared him, for there 
 is great mutual love between our father and his 
 sons and daughters." 
 
 It is so, doubtless, but I hear men talking to 
 Uncle Jeremy who say the Bishop has dropped all 
 the best plums into the mouths of his sons or his 
 
42 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 sons-in-law. Mrs. Rodd must have been thinking 
 of this, for she said, " No good man ever made 
 true friends who did not sometimes make foes. " 
 
 She was thinking of the consecration of the burial 
 place, I doubt not. 
 
 Well, I have bidden Mrs. Rodd my farewell, and 
 my package is ready for the waggon, and now I 
 must go to my bed. 
 
 It is scarce eight o'clock, but I am to be up with 
 the lark, and I will be off to dreams — they have 
 been mighty sweet of late. 
 
 And sweeter than ever before, for again I broke 
 off to open my door and there stood Dorothy Ellis. 
 
 " This has been lying below all day, brought in 
 by the young gallant while you were gadding about, 
 and then I forgot it." 
 
 I seized a packet from Dorothy's hand and tore 
 off some folds of paper. Then a ribbon, knotted 
 tight over a box, and then, oh, beauteous sight, a 
 string of fair pearls ! 
 
 " For my winsome lady Winifrede, with undying 
 regard from her humble servant to command, H. C." 
 
 I wished I had not opened the packet while Doro- 
 thy stood peering in at me. 
 
 "Pearls," she said, " pearls, who sent them? What 
 has a mercer's orphan niece to do with pearls ? " 
 
 I hastily shut the box, and said, " More to do 
 with them than a mercer's housewife ; " and then 
 Dorothy shut the door with a bang and went plod- 
 ding downstairs. Beauteous pearls ! how I have 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 43 
 
 tried them on my neck, in my hair ; how I have 
 wound them round my wrist and twisted them in 
 my coif ! Now I have hidden them away and closed 
 the box, and put it under my pillow before laying 
 my head on it. 
 
 Oh ! Master Hal Carew. I know full well the 
 " H. C." stands for your name. Shall I ever meet 
 you again? Something in my heart tells me yes — 
 and soon. 
 
 I wish Mrs. Rodd had not talked so much of 
 death ; it has cast a sort of grey shadow over me. 
 
 But I am young, and most folk live to be old. I 
 do not crave to be as old as Dorothy, for could my 
 face ever get all puckered and my throat like the, 
 scraggy neck of the cormorant that is stuffed and 
 set up in the kitchen at Widdicombe ? Could I 
 ever have a figure like a broomstick, and thin grey 
 hair peeping out of a hideous cap with yellowish 
 white frills ? 
 
 I could laugh to think of it ! No, if I do grow 
 old I will not be an old woman like Dorothy. Ellis, 
 but a sweet silver-haired ' dame like Madam Hall, 
 whom the good Bishop loved at first sight and loved 
 for ever and a day. 
 
11. 
 
 Consider how great a blessing it is of itself to exercise love. 
 What cheerfulness it produces ; in how great grace it establishes the 
 soul. — St. Chrysostom. 
 
 Cross Farm, Widdicombe on the Moor, September 7. 
 
 I HAVE been here a week, and methinks I have 
 not changed places for the better. The whole coun- 
 tryside is wrapt in a mist, and we cannot see the 
 sky or the sun or the trees. Now and again the 
 mist clears and then falls like a curtain, and it is 
 damp and dull, and Penelope says to me, 
 
 " Poor little city maid, she likes the streets and 
 the busy folk better than she likes us." 
 
 " It is not true, Pen," I said, " but I wish the sun 
 would shine." 
 
 " Aye, child, it is shining all the same, only we 
 cannot see it. It's our folly that makes us say the 
 sun doesn't shine ; we should say we cannot see the 
 light for the darkness of earth." 
 
 Then she sent me up to my room as a little 
 grumbler, and fetched me an inkhorn, and told me 
 to go and scribble my discontent in my big book, 
 44 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 45 
 
 for I have brought my silent friend with' me. I 
 should be desolate without it. 
 
 So I came upstairs, and having put my pearls 
 round my neck I sit down to tell my story to 
 myself. 
 
 The journey from Exeter hither was very slow. 
 Master Fulford did not urge his fat old horse to 
 make haste, and I nodded with sleep, and jumped 
 up when we got into a deep rut, and then dozed off 
 again. Over hill and dale we went, and it was well 
 nigh evening when we looked down on the vale of 
 Widdicombe, all aglow with the western sunshine. 
 The big tors stood up here and there, and their heads 
 were rosy with the parting light. 
 
 Master Fulford, when he heard me say, " How 
 beautiful ! " turned his head toward the inside of 
 the waggon, and said, 
 
 " Awake at last ! Come and sit beside me, then 
 you'll get a brave view." 
 
 He gave me his hand, and I scrambled over bags 
 and packages till I reached him, and was safely 
 seated by him in his smock frock and wide hat be- 
 hind the old horse ; and so we jogged and rumbled 
 on to the Farm. At the door stood my cousin 
 Penelope — called Pen for short — and by her side 
 Tor, a big dog, of what breed I cannot say, but 
 they call him something betwixt a sheep dog and 
 a boar hound. 
 
 Tor has a fierce and threatening mien to strangers, 
 and last year I was somewhat afraid of him, but he 
 
46 WINIFREDS ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 has made friends with me. Pen is a tall and stately 
 woman ; I scarce reach her shoulder when she puts 
 her arm round me and says, " Welcome, little city 
 maid." 
 
 I love Pen, though I could wish she were no Puri- 
 tan, and for that reason I cannot speak of our dear 
 good Bishop. Pen is as much averse to him as 
 Uncle Jeremy, but she is gentle in her speech in- 
 stead of angry and vehement. Pen has renounced 
 all gaudy dress and wears a plain homespun and a 
 white kerchief of thick linen and a cap close tied 
 under her chin and hiding her hair, which is. won- 
 drously thick and shining. Though she has lived 
 all her twenty-eight years here on the moors, and 
 tended the farm and been her father's stay and sup- 
 port, she likes books, and above all books the Bible. 
 She will recite to me, as she sits at her spinning 
 wheel when the work of the day is over, long pas- 
 sages of the Book which is to her, she saith, more 
 than meat and drink. 
 
 Methinks the tall, pale-faced man who preaches 
 in the open air and tends his sheep on the moors, as 
 David did, the Shepherd King, has much to do with 
 Pen's strong feeling against Bishops and Deans and 
 priestly sway. 
 
 Last evening Amos Angel was at the board when 
 supper was served, and I heard much discourse be- 
 tween him and Pen, with here and there a word 
 from Master Fulford, which has made me think 
 fche time may come when these people called Puri- 
 
WINIFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 47 
 
 tans may have the uppermost hand. Till I heard 
 Amos Angel — was ever name so misplaced ? — dis- 
 coursing of the affairs of the kingdom, I knew noth- 
 ing of the rebellion in Scotland against the form of 
 prayer ordered to be used in the churches of Edin- 
 burgh a few weeks agone. News has been brought 
 that the people are filled with horror, and that if the 
 King persists in forcing this service book on the 
 people there will be a mighty riot, and perchance 
 we shall see what Amos calls the Sword of the Lord 
 and of Gideon unsheathed. Then he said, 
 
 "Terrible judgements will fall on the whole nation 
 if the conscience of man be set at nought, and the 
 so-called shepherds of the sheep at Exeter will find 
 the. bed they make for themselves a bed of thorns. 
 The Bishop is the chief pastor, and is a wolf in 
 sheep's clothing, for I hear he is at one with that 
 enemy of the faithful by name Laud." 
 
 I could not be quiet when I heard such words, 
 and with rising colour, I said, 
 
 " Forsooth, Sir, you can know nought of the 
 godly life of our Bishop, or you would scarce de- 
 nounce him thus." 
 
 " Godly life ! " Amos exclaimed, casting up his 
 eyes. " What is the fairest flower that hath no 
 root in itself ? It soon perishes." 
 
 " But," I persisted, " our Bishop is an old man, 
 a learned scholar, who has written many books 
 which Master Buckingham used to say would be 
 read and cherished as long as the Church lived." 
 
48 WINIFREDE S JOURNAL. 
 
 "Aye, the Church, the Church, child; let me 
 counsel you to hold your peace about things you 
 do not understand, and may the Lord preserve you 
 from the ways of those who kneel to idols of silver 
 and gold, the work of men's hands." 
 
 "Idols!" I exclaimed. "There are no idols in 
 our Cathedral at Exeter or the churches there." 
 
 " What, then, are the gaudy windows with pictures 
 of men and women, like sinners with ourselves? 
 What then are the graven figures of kings and so- 
 called saints, which shall be — you mark my words — 
 utterly abolished." 
 
 Penelope laid her hand gently on my shoulder, 
 for I was sitting next her, and said to Amos, 
 
 " This is hard doctrine for the child who has been 
 brought up at the feet of a clerk in the Orders of 
 the Church. Let us spare her further." 
 
 Dear Pen ! I do marvel that she has such a love 
 and reverence for this man. He has a chamber at 
 the farm, where those who call themselves the faith- 
 ful meet. But I go to the church, and Master Lyde 
 gave me a smile last Sunday, and I saw he was glad 
 to see me again in these parts, " to gather roses for 
 my cheeks," he added. 
 
 Then, according to my habit when I went into 
 dear Master Buckingham's presence, I knelt and he 
 gave me his blessing. The villagers gather before 
 service on the village green, which is just without 
 the church. It is all peaceful and quiet here at 
 Widdicombe ; but though I love it in sunshine, it 
 
WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. - 49 
 
 is dreary when the sky seems to touch the earth by 
 reason of the mists. 
 
 There is a brighter light this evening, and looking 
 out of my window I saw for the first time for four 
 days the old grey tors standing up against the sky 
 — Honeybag, one is called, and another, Bel ; and 
 they look like old castles, such as those Mr. Spenser 
 tells of in the Faery Queen. This farm is called the 
 Cross Farm, because four paths lead from it across 
 the moor. The house is built of hard stone the 
 color of the tors, and there are gnarled oaks and 
 waving sycamores all round. 
 
 Septemher 14. 
 
 Another week, and I have much to write, and yet, 
 strange it is, I scarce dare to put it down in these 
 pages. I have no one besides to tell, and my heart 
 is bursting with a joy so great that I almost tremble 
 to think it is mine. 
 
 That evening, when the sky brightened at sunset, 
 was the harbinger of golden days, and on the mor- 
 row with Tor as my guard Penelope let me wander 
 out over the moors whither I listed. Penelope gave 
 me a bit of pasty and some wheaten bread in a 
 leather pouch, which she hung round Tor's neck, 
 and said to him, 
 
 " Have a care of her, good Tor, and bring her 
 back safe, and do not take her too far, Tor ! " 
 
 Tor understood, if a hundred wags of his tail 
 mean anything, and we set off, Penelope giving me 
 a kiss and a " Fare thee well, little cousin." As I 
 4 
 
50 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 passed out I saw Master. Fulford and his labourers 
 busy in a field where they were mowing the after 
 crop, and in the orchard two of the women were 
 sorting red apples for cider. Master Fulford paused, 
 and leaning on the handle of his scythe called, 
 out, 
 
 " Whither art going, little one ? " 
 
 " To look for blackberries and whorts," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Don't stain thy pretty fingers with the whorts," 
 he said, " but eat as many bramble berries as are. 
 ripe." Then Master Fulford returned to his work, 
 and I went forward. Tor a little before me. I sang 
 as I went, an unwonted gladness at my heart. It is 
 said griefs and troubles cast a shadow as they come ; 
 is it not true of joys that they cast a bright gleam 
 onwards ? Tor took the path across the village 
 green, over which the grand old tower of the church 
 keeps ward, and past the almshouses, where the old 
 folk were out in the sun, like the flies on the window 
 pane on a spring day, and some lifted their bowed 
 heads and said, 
 
 " A good morning to you, my dearie ; fine weather, 
 fine weather ! " 
 
 These almshouses were builded three hundred 
 years ago, and have pillars and a covered walk 
 round them, all of the same grey stone of which 
 every house and hut is made. Master Fulford says 
 the church was built by godly people as a thank- 
 offering, for the wealth they had got out of the tin 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 51 
 
 mines, and these almshouses also remain a token of 
 charity towards men and devotion to God. 
 ' Tor walked along with great strides till we had 
 left the village far behind. I had a foolish desire to 
 find the little pool where I saw myself reflected last 
 year. I came on it at last, all girdled with heather 
 and Jing, which gave the margin of the water a deep 
 purple hue. There were two big fragments of rock 
 at one side, and I perched on one and bent down to 
 see myself again. So still was that deep pool that 
 Tor, stretched on the bit of rock with his nose be- 
 tween his paws, was reflected in the water with 
 every hair perfect. I unfastened the pouch from 
 his neck, and ate my dinner with a wondrous relish. 
 
 Over my head was the arch of deep blue sky, and 
 from afar came the lowing of cattle, the bleat of the 
 sheep and the gentle tinkle of little streams coming 
 from the height of Hamel Down to feed my mirror. 
 
 I had no sense of fear. I was alone, but alone 
 with all the beauties of God's earth. In the crowd 
 at the Cathedral on Saint Bartholomew's day I was 
 frightened as I felt myself alone, but now there 
 came over me a strangely sweet feeling of protect- 
 ing love, and I said aloud, 
 
 " Tor, I should like to stay here for ever and a 
 day, only it may be mist and rain and storm to., 
 morrow — who can say ? Now, good Tor, we will go 
 onward and fill the empty pouch with blackberries 
 when you have eaten the scraps I have left." 
 
 I placed the broken bread on the stone, and Tor 
 
52 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 snapped it all up in a moment, then I rose and 
 looked down once more. 
 
 Yes, I was fair to look at, and perhaps the red 
 cloth redingote with its hood might make what I 
 saw prettier— I cannot tell. Why should I not be 
 glad to be fair when all things around me are full of 
 grace — the purple heather ; the dragon-fly all gold 
 and green, that darted hither and thither ; the king- 
 fisher with drops of water shining like diamonds on 
 his wing, as he rose from the opposite bank where 
 was a tangle of alders and rushes, a minnow in his 
 beak, his breast flashing like gold ? God has made 
 all beautiful things, and I love them. He made me 
 what I am, and I am thankful. Thus I meditated 
 long, unwilling to leave the spot, till I heard Tor 
 give a low growl and saw him spring to his feet. 
 Another growl and his head drooped as if to 
 spring. 
 
 " Tor," I said, " good Tor, what is it ? " and turn- 
 ing I saw standing on another of the rough bits of 
 stone a man watching me. My heart beat fast ; I 
 sprang down from my high position, and putting my 
 hand through Tor's collar I held him back, for the 
 man was Master Hal Carew ! 
 
 He was at my side in a moment, and Tor having 
 satisfied himself that he was a friend and not a foe, 
 ceased his threatening growl, and looking up at me, 
 seemed to show he was satisfied. 
 
 " Mistress Winifrede," Master Hal exclaimed, 
 " what good fortune is this ? how came you hither ? " 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 53 
 
 " Nay," I said, rallying, " I may ask the same 
 question of you, sir." 
 
 " Of me ! My home is not many miles distant. 
 My father's house, rather, Widford Grange, under 
 yon hill. But you, oh ! Winifrede, did you get my 
 humble offering, or did the dark-browed apprentice 
 interfere ? I thought I had prevented his ill offices 
 by giving the packet to a serving lad." 
 
 " Yes," I said, " I had the packet safe — the pearls 
 are too costly for me to wear, too beauteous ! " 
 
 " Can anything be too costly, too fair ? " he 
 answered. " Hearken, Winifrede " — how sweet my 
 name sounded from his lips ! — " from the first mo- 
 ment I saw you at the window by Mistress Mere- 
 dith's side, I loved you. Now, can you — will you 
 love me ? " 
 
 Well-a-day ! It was not in me to pretend I 
 did not love him. I have heard that grand ladies 
 play with their suitors, fast and loose — now they 
 will, and now they won't. I loved Hal Carew, and 
 after many more words — true manly words — I let 
 my head rest on his breast, and in answer to the 
 question he asked again and again, I said " Yes." 
 
 All the flutter and disturbance I felt at first 
 seemed to be lulled to rest. I had no questionings 
 at my heart — no fears — no future — nothing but the 
 present joy. I know I am unversed in the ways of 
 the world — I know that I am ignorant and need a 
 guiding hand — but surely this love that has come 
 to me is a gift from God. This brave, loyal gen- 
 
54 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 tleman would not deceive me ; his eyes have truth 
 shining in them — they are the colour of the waters 
 of my mirror in the moorland, set round with 
 heather when the sun shines down into it and gives 
 it a strange warm tinge of rich brown. 
 
 But I must stop rhapsody. Master Buckingham 
 would always bid me eschew rhapsody and high- 
 flown expressions of admiration in the little essays 
 at writing which I used to lay before him. He would 
 say I had a gift for writing in my own tongue, but I 
 should not give license to anything that was ful- 
 some, and said he, " It is too much the fashion of 
 the day to forget sense in mischievous nonsense — 
 especially when writing of people of high degree." 
 
 This I remember came about when I wrote for 
 Master Buckingham a story of the unhappy Lady 
 Jane Grey, for three days Queen of England, and of 
 the still more unhappy Mary the Queen of Scots. 
 
 Master Hal — nay, I may surely say Hal now, or 
 Harry, when I write of my dear lover — Hal said, as 
 we wandered across the moorland, that he would 
 come shortly, and he hoped convey me on a trusty 
 pony to his father's house. " You will find a friend 
 there," he said. " Mistress Dulcibel Meredith — she 
 is with my sister and may remain through the win- 
 ter, and you will perhaps see Sir Gilbert Redvers, 
 for he is a guest at Powderham and will take us on 
 the way to join his -troops at Bideford. There are 
 orders come to the Lord Lieutenant to have the 
 yeomen and train bands in marching order, for the 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 55 
 
 country is more and more dissatisfied, arid, thanks 
 to those wretched Puritans, some of them now in 
 high places, the King is getting into disfavour." 
 
 Hal said he would come shortly, but I have been 
 two days writing this story of my happiness, and he 
 is still not come. I have been rather troubled about 
 this pause, but sure there is a good reason. Hal 
 walked with me that blissful day to the outskirts of 
 the village, and there we parted. " This is between 
 ourselves," he said, " and needs not be told till I 
 come again." But he has not come again, and this 
 is Saturday ! and it was on Thursday that he asked 
 for my love, and I gave him my heart to be his for 
 ever — yes, for ever ! 
 
 • Sunday. 
 
 This has been a strange day of mingled hope and 
 fear. 
 
 I made ready early, and put on the very same 
 gown I wore on Saint Bartholomew's day, for I felt 
 sure Hal was coming. Penelope was standing in 
 the porch when the bells were chiming from the old 
 church tower. 
 
 " Little Winifrede," she said, tenderly, " will you 
 come to the meeting of the Lord's own chosen ones 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " Nay, Pen," I answered, " I must not leave the 
 service of the Church. The good Bishop would bid 
 me be steadfast to the services." 
 
 "The good Bishop! Oh! dear child, we who 
 have found a more excellent way do not obey the 
 
56 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 behest of any man. We look for the guiding spirit 
 of the Lord." 
 
 I could but smile, for methinks Pen obeys one 
 man's behest whom at this moment we saw coming 
 across the moor, his tall figure standing out against 
 the sky, making a dark spot in the surrounding 
 brightness. 
 
 " Amos Angel is coming for you. Pen," I said ; 
 " do you not obey his behest ? " 
 
 Pen looked quietly at me with her sweet serious 
 eyes. 
 
 " Child, you do not understand what is the 
 strength of the spiritual brotherhood. I am his 
 sister in the Lord ! " 
 
 " Then I am well pleased I am not so related to 
 him ! " I said laughing, and I moved off to avoid a 
 greeting from Master Amos. 
 
 When I reached the church but a scanty congre- 
 gation had assembled. Good Master Lyde looked 
 in now and again from the vestry door, for at one 
 time it seemed that he would be able to count the 
 " Dearly beloved brethren " on his fingers. 
 
 Presently there were quick footsteps in the porch, 
 and the clink of a sword, and I knew, without turn- 
 ing my head, it was Hal Carew ! My heart beat 
 fast, for I thought he would come nearer and kneel 
 by my side ; but no, the service began and ended, 
 and I was on my empty bench alone. 
 
 In vain I tried to keep my thoughts on the 
 prayers ; and as to Master Lyde's sermon, it might 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 57 
 
 have been in Greek for all it was to me. At last it 
 was time to go out of the church, and I turned my 
 face to tlie west end. I walked slowly down, and 
 my eyes sought for Hal Carew in vain. He had 
 left the church. Why did he not await my coming? 
 As my poor earthly heart felt a keen throb of pain, 
 I raised my eyes to the gaudy picture above the 
 entrance, of angels with their rosy faces and wings. 
 But my eyes, as I looked up at them, fastened on the 
 words beneath — " How dreadful is this place ! This 
 is none other but the House of God. This is the 
 gate of Heaven." Not to me ! Oh ! not to me that 
 morning, with all my vain longings and foolish 
 thoughts, and wonder if my love had seen me, and 
 if he had, why had he not drawn near. 
 
 In the short pause I made before the door under 
 the angels (as little like the heavenly throng as Amos 
 Angel is, methinks !), I was joined by Master Lyde. 
 
 He passed on quickly with only " A fine day for 
 harvest. Mistress Winifrede," and then he hastened 
 to join Hal Carew, who was leaning against the low 
 wall which shuts in the graveyard from the com- 
 mon. I scarce knew what I did, but I think I made 
 an eager step forward, then stopped, for my heart 
 sank within me when Hal seemed as if we were meet- 
 ing for the first time ; for as Master Lyde turned 
 and said, 
 
 " Master Fulford's little kinswoman and guest, 
 Master Carew," Hal bowed low and replied, 
 
 " Widdicombe must be happy to entertain such a 
 
58 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 guest — an angel unawares ! " And then Mr. Lyde 
 laughed and said, 
 
 "A very pretty compliment, Master Hal, and 
 what news of your worthy father? I would fain 
 hope the fair weather has chased away the rheum 
 from his joints." 
 
 "Nay, my father is ailing and can scarce move, 
 but we may hope the physician summoned from 
 Exeter may do something more for him." 
 
 All this time I stood irresolute. Hal spoke no 
 word to me, and half in sorrow and half in pride, I 
 made a curtsey and moved away across the com- 
 mon, taking a path leading round through a deep 
 sunk lane to the Farm. 
 
 What did it all mean ? Hal seemed to have never 
 met me before. I came to a stile set in the high 
 hedge, and sat down on the lower step, angry that 
 my tears would flow. It was no use, I tried to stop 
 them, but soon I was sobbing bitterly, my head hid 
 in my hands, the tears trickling through my fingers. 
 
 Presently I started to my feet, and in a moment 
 more Hal's arms were round me. 
 
 " Crying, my winsome lady ? — Why, dear heart, 
 what ails you.? Come, look up, and say you are 
 glad to see me." 
 
 But I drew back, and pride got the better of sor- 
 row for the moment. 
 
 " You were not glad to see me, sir," I said, " a 
 short space ago. Nay, I cannot be the same while 
 you are so different." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 59 
 
 " Different, sweet one ! What can you mean ? 
 See, let us climb the stile and get into the field, 
 where we are secure from prying eyes. I have 
 much to tell you ; but kiss me first, Winifrede." 
 
 Well, I did as he wished ; and then he told me 
 that he had gone to his father with the story of his 
 love for me and that he craved leave to bring me 
 to Widford to receive his blessing. But that his 
 father was ill of gout and very full of fancies, that 
 he had sworn he would have nought to say to me 
 nor see me, and that if Hal persisted in the purpose 
 hi making me his wife, he would cut him off with a, 
 shilling and never see his face again, 
 
 "Thus, sweetheart," he said, "we must have a 
 care not to let the world here know aught of our 
 betrothal. That is why I hid the joy in my heart 
 at sight of you from Master Lyde. This trouble 
 will soon pass away. My father will give in ; if he 
 saw you he would surely relent, for it is but to see 
 you ^nd to love you, as I have found to my cost." 
 
 Much more of the same kind he said, and I was 
 comforted. Yet a sting is left — sure it is so with 
 all earthly joy, it cannot be perfect, and that day 
 by my moorland mirror set round with heather I 
 thought my joy was perfect. But I have given my 
 pledge to Hal — repeated it again to-day, and I will 
 hold to it. Ah ! as I write this I ask, will he hold 
 to me ? It will make no odds — I am his and can 
 never love another, never ! 
 
 Now I hear Pen singing below what she calls " a 
 
6o WINIFREDES JOURNAL. 
 
 song of Zion." I wish it were more cheery, but it 
 is a very solemn song, and Amos Angel's bass, 
 which I hear growling with it, is like one of the 
 hoarse rooks cawing in the trees in the Exeter close 
 — but I will go down and try to be civil to Master 
 Amos — for Pen's sake. 
 
 September 27, Saturday. 
 
 Another week is gone ! and at last I sit down to 
 my book to tell my story. 
 
 It was Sunday when the first jarring note was 
 struck in my joyful strain. It is sounding now, and 
 something else also makes a discord. I have a 
 secret which I am to trust to no one. I am the 
 promised wife of Hal Carew, but no one is to 
 know it. I have gone with Tor as a guard, met him 
 three times by our trysting place this week, and he 
 has talked of many things, and through all there is 
 the sweet sense of his love for me. When I am 
 with him I am happy — yes, not joyful now, but 
 happy — but when I am away from him I am restless 
 and uneasy. Is it because I am doing wrong to 
 promise to be Hal's wife, when his father and his 
 sister vow they will never see me nor notice me, 
 and that if Hal marries me he will rue the day ? 
 Am I bringing grief and loss on him, my first and 
 only love ? 
 
 I can ask no counsel by reason of my promise 
 to him, and I am peevish, and even kind Master 
 Fulford said last night, 
 
 " I'll ask thee no more questions, Winifrede ; for 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 61 
 
 I get but sharp saucy quips or answers — what ails 
 thee, child?" 
 
 And Pen came to me early this morning with a 
 draught of camomile flower tea, and bade me drink 
 it, for she said, " Methinks you need physick, child, 
 and this purifies the blood ; so sup it up." 
 
 " Faugh ! " I said. " It is so bitter, and I loathe 
 it." 
 
 " Bitters are oft-times more wholesome than 
 sweets and do their work for us, though at the time 
 we do not know it to be so," she said. "Tell me, 
 Winifrede, if you have an ache or pain anywhere." 
 
 " No," I said, laughing. " I am as hale as ever in 
 this sweet moorland air — and Pen, I love you. I 
 am sore grieved I got the thread of the distaff so 
 knotted last night, and I was cross-grained to you ; 
 but, Pen, I love you ; love me a little." 
 
 Then that sweet good Pen folded me in her arms, 
 and when I had swallowed the nauseous draught 
 bade me lie down again and sleep ; for it was scarce 
 six o'clock, and I should do well to lie in bed for 
 another hour. 
 
 This happened this morning, and it was near 
 noon and we had finished our dinner — for the board 
 is spread here by eleven, in country fashion — that 
 the sound of horses' feet was heard in the yard, and 
 one of the serving men came into the kitchen saying, 
 
 " A gentlewoman wished to see Mistress Bridge- 
 man." 
 
 I ran out, and there on a fine horse was Mistress 
 
62 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Dulcibel Meredith. A servant was in attendance 
 on another horse, and the seat on the pillion behind. 
 Mistress Meredith was empty. 
 
 Mistress Dulcibel looked very handsome in her 
 riding coat of purple velvet, which was of the same 
 hue as the heather on the moors. 
 
 " Canst ride with me to the Chinkwell Rocks ? " 
 she asked. " I have a seat on the saddle for you, 
 Mistress Winifrede." 
 
 " I will ask Pen," I said, and running back I met 
 Pen coming out. 
 
 Pen was what is called " country bred," but she 
 had always a quiet sedate manner which became her 
 well, and was natural to her, which methinks, some 
 manners of the grand dames such as I saw on last 
 Saint Bartholomew's day cannot claim to be. 
 
 " I came to take Mistress Winifrede a ride, with 
 your permission, madam," Mistress Meredith said 
 with a gracious smile to Pen. 
 
 " I thank you, madam," was the answer, " and I 
 am glad that the child should have the ride. Will 
 it please you to alight, or may I offer you a cup of 
 sack ? — I have it ready." 
 
 " You are very kind, and I will accept the offer ; 
 but run, Winifrede," Mistress Meredith said, ad- 
 dressing me, " and fetch a hood, for the air is crisp, 
 though the sun is hot." 
 
 When I returned I found Tor was sitting erect 
 watching the two horses, and somewhat disposed 
 to be surly to a pointer which had followed the 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 63 
 
 servant's horse. When he saw me ready equipped, 
 Tor gazed wistfully at me, and when the groom, 
 who had dismounted, took hold of me to lift me 
 up on the pillion, he gave a low growl. 
 
 " It is his way of showing he takes care of Wini- 
 frede," Pen said, " for I could not let her wander 
 over the lonely moors with no guard." 
 
 " He is a fine fellow," Mistress Dulcibel answered, 
 " and looks like a loyal friend. Good Tor ! — are 
 you going with us ? " 
 
 But Tor turned away, and the last sight I had of 
 him was stretched out by the porch, his nose be- 
 tween his paws, and his watchful eyes still fixed on 
 the pointer, who walked with his tail drooping and 
 his head held low, as if to show Tor was an enemy 
 but one he dared not close with. 
 
 I had but seldom rode a-horseback, but the pil- 
 lion seat was well cushioned, and Mistress Dulcibel 
 seemed to have good control of the reins. 
 
 The servant had baskets slung across his saddle, 
 and when we reached Chinkwell Rocks we dis- 
 mounted ; and then under the shadow of a great 
 rock a repast was served us of dainties such as 
 are unknown at Cross Farm. 
 
 "Well, Mistress Winifrede, I bid you remem- 
 ber that we should meet, again. I am a guest at 
 Widford Grange, under Hamel Down. Master Hal 
 Carew's father is the possessor, but he is ailing 
 much, and his life seems a burden oft-times." 
 
 The colour rushed to my face. 
 
64 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " Have you seen Hal of late, Winifrede ? " 
 
 " Yes," I murmured. 
 
 "At the Farm?" 
 
 The answer was slow to come, but I did not lie. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Mistress Dulcibel was silent for a minute's space, 
 it seemed an hour to me. 
 
 " Dea^ child," she began, " I would pray you to 
 have a care. Handsome young gallants like Hal 
 Carew mean all they say — when they say it — but 
 they are fickle as the wind. I would imply no disre- 
 spect to Hal, for I favour what I have seen of him, 
 and he is to all seeming frank and honest ; but, dear 
 child, I would fain warn you not to build on fair 
 speeches and praises of your beauty — no, nor even 
 on good words as to religion." 
 
 " Are we, poor women, then, to trust no one ? " 
 I asked, hot with a feeling of shame and yet indig- 
 nation — " are no men to be trusted ? " 
 
 " Far be it from me to say so, but when there is 
 any sort of secrecy in these matters, it behoves a 
 woman to be on guard." 
 
 I questioned myself as to whether Mistress Dulci- 
 bel spoke because she knew of what had passed, or 
 whether from suspecting that Hal had become my 
 suitor. I was soon to know. 
 
 " Dear child," she continued, " I was by chance 
 present a few days ago when there was a stormy 
 scene between Hal and his father and his sister, 
 Joan Carew. The arras which divided the room 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. fig 
 
 appointed to me during my stay at Widford was 
 open at the side, and angry voices reached my ear. 
 I heard your name spoken by Hal in excited tones ; 
 I heard the angry reply of Master Carew, and Joan 
 screaming loud that a mercer's daughter was no 
 meet match for her father's heir. I would do noth- 
 ing that seemed deceitful, so I drew aside the arras 
 and said, ' I must ask leave to pass through to the 
 chamber beyond.' Then they told the story, and I 
 found it was in vain to stem the tide. Then Anne 
 Carew, Joan's cousin, who is my friend as I have 
 met her on occasion about the Court, tried to pacify 
 her uncle, and begged Joan to be less violent, but 
 all in vain. Hal dashed out of the chamber in a 
 rage, and his poor father stormed and swore, and 
 finally swooned betwepn vexation and pain in his 
 afflicted foot." 
 
 I tried hard to be dignified and sho^ indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " I thank you, Mistress Meredith," I said, " for 
 your warning. I do not care for the squabbles in 
 Master Carew's family — they sound to me what a 
 mercer's household would shame to engage in ! " 
 
 It was foolish in me to attempt to take a high 
 hand. My heart beat wildly and my breast heaved, 
 and it was all I could do not to burst out a-crying. 
 
 But Mistress Dulcibel took no heed of my angry- 
 speech ; she only laid her hand on mine, saying 
 softly, " Poor child ! — poor little maiden ! " then 
 after a pause, " If you should want a friend, and I 
 5 
 
66 WINIFREDE 'S JO URNAL. 
 
 can help you or aid you or console you, come to 
 me. 
 
 "You are very good," I murmured, and then Mis- 
 tress Dulcibel talked on of many matters, and we 
 rode home together in the light of the eventide, and 
 my heart was less burdened, and through all I 
 seemed to hear an inward voice saying, " Hal loves 
 me, Hal loves me, and one day all the world shall 
 know it ! " Why should I be disquieted in vain ? 
 
III. 
 
 No good is infinite but only God ; therefore He is our felicity and 
 bliss. 
 
 Again it is not the possession of any good thing can make them 
 happy which have it, unless they enjoy the thing wherewith they are 
 possessed. — Hooker. 
 
 October, 
 
 The autumn winds blow chilly across the moor, 
 and this morning there was a cap of snow on 
 Honeybag Tor. The bracken is bronze and gold, 
 and the sere leaves are falling from the oak trees. 
 
 This suits well with my mood, for the joy and 
 gladness of the springtime is gone out of the year 
 and out of my life. I am somewhat unwilling to 
 write here what has happened. If I had a mother 
 methinks I should tell her, but there is no one, not 
 even dear good Pen, or Mistress Rodd, or Mistress 
 Dulcibel, to whom I dare break my news. 
 
 And have I not reason to keep it in my own 
 breast, till the blessed day comes when I may tell it 
 to the world ? The world ! that is a big word, and 
 what will the world care for what has- happened to 
 me, poor little Winifrede Bridgeman ? 
 
68 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 No, not Winifrede Bridgeman any more, for that 
 name is passed from me for ever and is no longer 
 mine. 
 
 This is how it came to pass. Not long after the 
 ride with Mistress Meredith, I was walking with 
 Tor about the village when a boy bearing no badge 
 on his arm to shew whose retainer he was, came up 
 to me and asked my name. 
 
 Tor growled and stood at bay, and the youth 
 started back. 
 
 " Quiet, good Tor," I said, holding him by the 
 collar. Then to the serving man, " My name is 
 Mistress Bridgeman — what do you want ? " 
 
 " Nought, madam, but to deliver to you this bil- 
 let," and then with a bow and evident desire to get 
 away from Tor, the messenger was gone. He had 
 put into my hand a slip of paper — tied with blue 
 riband — on it I read : 
 
 " As you love me, my lady Winsome, meet me at our trysting 
 place, ere night falls to-day. I leave for London with my Lord 
 Devon's men and our own troop to-morrow. Do not deny me this 
 last request." 
 
 " No, I will not deny it," I said, as I pressed the 
 missive to my lips, " I will meet him, and for the 
 last time." 
 
 I returned to the farm, and begged a hunch of 
 bread from Penelope, and a draught of milk. 
 
 " I would fain take my meal out of doors," I 
 said ; " the sun is shining, and the days are shorten- 
 ing fast, so I would go betimes." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 69 
 
 Pen was ever ready to do my bidding, and she 
 made up a pouch full for me, as often before, and 
 slung it on Tor's neck. 
 
 " Remember to be back before the day closes, or 
 I shall be full of fears." 
 
 \ Then Pen drew me to her and gazed full into 
 my face. " Dear heart," she said, " is all well with 
 you?" 
 
 " Well ! forsooth, yes," I said, " and I will shew 
 how well by the speed with which I scamper over 
 the ground, and so farewell." 
 
 Ah ! Pen, dear Pen, her sweet simple soul knew 
 no guile, and she trusted me as true as herself. 
 
 And am I not true ? Oh ! that question contin- 
 ually arises. Well, it has been all for him and will 
 be to the end, be the end far or near. 
 
 The moorland pool had no light in its. waters on 
 this day. It looked dark and solemn, for the sun 
 could not reach it in these shortened days. The 
 purple heather all around was withered, and the 
 tall reeds and rushes stood up grand and solemn, 
 and bowing their stately heads now and again, as 
 they [whispered sadly that the summer days were 
 over. 
 
 The stillness was almost awful, and there was a 
 distant moan, as the wind swept in sudden gusts 
 through the branches of some firs, which stood black 
 against the sky. 
 
 Soon there was another sound to break the still- 
 ness — quick coming steps — the ring of my soldier's 
 
70 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 sword as it struck against the loose stones on the 
 moor, and then Hal stood by me. 
 
 " Sweetheart," he said, " I have come to bid fare- 
 well. Before I go give me yourself." Then he 
 went on to say that the condition of the country 
 was such that those in command of troops through 
 England were bidden to collect and drill the men. 
 
 " The King will need all his loyal subjects to rally 
 round him, for the temper of the people is roused 
 by the raising of this ship money, and Hampden is 
 arraigned for resistance." 
 
 I listened to all this and much more, like one in a 
 dream, as Hal, with his arm round me, and my head 
 leaning on his breast, began his pleading, that be- 
 fore he left me, I would wed with him, and be his 
 wife, whatever happened ! 
 
 "Your father — has he consented?" I asked. 
 
 "No, it must be kept secret. His rage, poor old 
 man, must not be aroused, or he might die in a fit of 
 passion. I have made my plans, and it is for you, 
 my love, my life, to carry them out. I would not 
 take you to Widford to be scouted and scorned." 
 
 Ah ! so much more of this strain, so many vows 
 that he would cleave only to me — that I was his 
 good angel — to guard him from temptation, and 
 finally I gave him my promise — and consented. 
 
 Shall I say, Alas ! I seem to have lived a lifetime 
 since that day, or rather night, when I, clad in my 
 only gown that could be called fit for a bridal, and 
 for my only ornament wearing this string of pearls 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 71 
 
 around my neck, stole like a thief out of the house 
 where Pen slept her sweet unbroken slumber, and 
 unlocking the door with trembling fingers found 
 myself out in the dark, starless njght. 
 
 Tor rose from his place in the porch, and I bent 
 down and kissed his rough head. 
 
 " Oh ! Tor, Tor," I said, " come with me." He 
 obeyed at once, and holding his collar, I crept on to 
 the place appointed, just where a tall ghost-like 
 sign-post with four lean arms pointed in four direc- 
 tions at the cross-road. 
 
 Hal was waiting for me, and just as I felt his arms 
 around me to lift me on a horse, the village clock 
 struck One. 
 
 The very sound was like a knell, not like a mar- 
 riage peal. 
 
 Hal set spurs to the horse, and we were off at a 
 pace which made me dizzy, and I clung trembling 
 to him while he murmured over me tender words. 
 I knew not whither we were going, but at last we 
 reached a place where a voice cried, 
 
 " For Carew .? " And Hal answered, " Aye, and 
 for the King." 
 
 The horse's feet seemed to be muffled now on 
 turf, and presently the same voice said, " Halt ! " 
 
 Then I was lifted down, and Hal was leading me 
 along in the darkness to a spot where a light glim- 
 mered. As we approached, the tiny spark grew 
 bigger, and I saw a door open, with lights beyond. 
 
 We were in a small chapel, and a priest was at 
 
72 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 the altar, while two people in long cloaks knelt be- 
 hind us. 
 
 As I stood by Hal's side, my hood fell back, and 
 my cloak slipped from my shoulders, while the 
 lights on the altar made my one bridal gaud, the 
 string of pearls, shimmer and gleam, so that Hal 
 whispered, 
 
 " They look like her who wears them, my pure 
 pearl." 
 
 Then I had to gather my thoughts from wander- 
 ing, and I prayed to God to forgive me if in this I 
 had sinned against Him. 
 
 The service seemed to quiet me, and when the 
 ring was on my finger, and the blessing had been 
 given, there came peace. Oh ! it could not have 
 been false peace ! 
 
 I was calm when I took the quill and signed 
 Winifrede Bridgeman on a sheet of parchment be- 
 low my husband's name. 
 
 That word has yet a strange look, and I tremble 
 as I write it, for there are times when I feel that my 
 secret is heavier than I can bear. 
 
 A repast was set ready in a room adjoining the 
 chapel, and Hal and I were left alone. He made 
 me eat, and drink of the cup of spiced wine, and 
 then he told me where I was. Even in the little 
 chapel which belonged to the Carews, and which 
 was separated from the mansion by a wide expanse 
 of turf. 
 
 " And who married us ? Who was the priest ? " 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 73 
 
 " He IS a stranger in these parts, whom I fell on 
 by accident, or by good luck." 
 
 " But he will tell your father," I said. "Oh ! it 
 would have been better to have been honest, or 
 waited." 
 
 " It would not have, been better," Hal said, in 2, 
 sterner voice than I had ever before heard. " Gold 
 will seal any man's lips in these evil times, and I 
 have sealed the priest's ; and as to those two faith- 
 ful retainers of mine who knelt behind us as wit- 
 nesses, they would rather die than betray me. They 
 follow me to London with the troops to-morrow, 
 and one, trusty and true, brought the summons to 
 you yesterday." 
 
 Then Hal told me that we must ride back whence 
 we came, and that he would ere long see me at 
 Exeter. I felt safe in his arms as the horse ilew 
 over the ground, and with his murmured words of 
 tenderness in my ears, and his kisses on my lips, I 
 was ready — yes, I was ready to forget all but his love. 
 
 " Now I have made you mine, sweetheart," he 
 said. " That smooth-faced sneaking apprentice can- 
 not capture you, and a dozen other suitors may be 
 at your feet in vain. The ring on your finger has 
 a posy within, which I pray you to read and kiss 
 every night, and see in it a token of my undying 
 love." 
 
 We had come to the ghostly sign-post now with 
 its outstretched arms. The dawn was breaking, and 
 a dark form rose up at our approach. 
 
74 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 My heart beat fast with terror, but the terror was 
 changed into joy. Tor had waited for me at the 
 cross-roads all these long hours. And as the clock 
 struck out six solemn strokes in the chill autumnal 
 air Hal gave me a last embrace — then remounting 
 his steed, I was left with Tor to go back as I had 
 come. 
 
 On our way we met but one farm labourer, and 
 he said, 
 
 " Early to rise, mistress, that's the way to have 
 roses like yours." 
 
 He could scarce see my face, but I felt my cheeks 
 burn as I flew past him. In the porch I saw one of 
 the servant maids, but she was too busy sweeping 
 with a broom to speak — then to my own chamber, 
 and to fling myself across my bed and cry bitterly. 
 
 Strange that my heart now misgives me as to 
 that night ride, so that as I write the tears rise and 
 I can scarce see the page. 
 
 What are the words Master Buckingham gave me 
 once to render in Latin from the English ? Why do 
 they start up before me now, and sound within as if 
 a voice spake them ? 
 
 " To the upright there ariseth light in the dark- 
 ness." 
 
 Was it upright to steal away to marry Hal ?— -zj 
 it upright to keep the secret ? Oh, I am torn in 
 pieces with doubts and fears, and yet I love him, 
 and hunger for the sound of his voice ; and were he 
 to plead again as he pleaded that morning by the 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 75 
 
 moorland pool, I should again say yes — my heart 
 tells me this — and that I could not refuse him what 
 he asked. 
 
 High Street, Exeter, December ig. 
 
 I am back once more in the old chamber in the 
 roof ; for Master Fulford coming in three days ago 
 to the Christmas market, said he would bring me in 
 his waggon if I liked. Pen said I had best go, for if 
 the snow came on in January, and lay, as it often 
 does, very deep on the moor, I might be blocked up 
 for many weeks, and. Pen added, " Methinks, dear 
 child, you are pining for the town again, and for 
 your friends ; " then Pen looked down into my face, 
 and I could scarce meet her clear serious eyes 
 which knew no guile. 
 
 That evening when I was ready for the morrow's 
 start before daybreak. Master Amos Angel was at 
 supper. He stood up and said a mighty long 
 thanksgiving before meat, and I, not thinking of it 
 or what he was saying, began to nibble a manchet 
 of bread. 
 
 When supper was over he fastened me with his 
 eyes, and presently came to the chimney corner 
 where I sat, roasting a chestnut on the ashes, and 
 getting warm before going up to my cold chamber, 
 and said, 
 
 " Mistress Winifrede, I would fain give a solemn 
 warning ere you depart hence. I fear me you are 
 in the bondage of Satan, and of the world, and I 
 would pray you to wrestle for freedom ere it be too 
 
76 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 late. The young die — as well as the old — and death 
 may be near you ere you repent." 
 
 " It is mighty good of you, sir " I began. 
 
 " Nay, none is good save one. I am but a sinner 
 saved." 
 
 " And I, as you deem it, a sinner lost — nay, I do 
 not think that your calling me such will make me 
 such. My spiritual masters and pastors are not 
 wont to be so hard on me." 
 
 " Do they know you ? The outside may be fair, 
 but there are many whited sepulchres ; does the 
 Bishop of whom you speak so much know you ? " 
 
 " As well as you do," I said. But those dreadful 
 eyes were on me, and I hastily rose, and throwing the 
 chestnut I had just prepared into the ashes again, I 
 tried to get away, but Master Amos caught my hand, 
 and peering round the settle to see if Penelope 
 were near by, he drew me towards him. " I would 
 fain take you from the evil," he said. " I am your 
 suitor, and " 
 
 " Leave go, sir ! " I said, and then I called in a 
 loud voice, " Pen — Penelope ! Master Angel wants 
 your presence here, Pen ! " 
 
 He did look shamefaced as Pen came hastily from 
 the back kitchen, where she was preparing the hot 
 posset for Master Fulford's drink ere he went to bed, 
 and asked, 
 
 " What is it, Winifrede? Who wants me ? " 
 
 But I left Master Amos to answer the question, 
 and fled upstairs. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 77 
 
 All here at Exeter is the same — it is only I that 
 am changed ; even my old name is no longer mine. 
 I shrink even from Mistress Rodd's tender gaze, and 
 as to James Eland's eyes, I dread them. They look 
 as if they knew what I had done, and even the hate- 
 ful Amos Angel's words will come back to my mind : 
 
 " A whited sepulchre — fair to view — but with- 
 in " 
 
 1638. January. 
 
 There has been much to divert me from sad 
 uneasy thoughts. 
 
 The Christmas board at the Palace was furnished 
 with many guests, and I was one. Amongst the 
 guests came Mistress Dulcibel and Sir Gilbert Red- 
 vers. He was next to me at supper on one evening, 
 and turning quickly said, 
 
 " Have you heard aught of late of Master Hal 
 Carew, Mistress Winifrede?" 
 
 The guilty blush rose to my face, I longed to say 
 " No," but by God's grace I told no lie. 
 
 So I answered, " Master Carew has been so very 
 good as to remember me, and has sent me a letter 
 by a messenger from London." 
 
 " Very good, forsooth," Sir Gilbert replied ; " me- 
 thinks it is good of you to care for his remembrance 
 — or deem it an act of courtesy." Then he added, 
 " I have seen Hal of late, but I did not greatly care 
 to keep my Christmas-tide at the Court. You have 
 to watch every word now-a-days, and spies are on all 
 sides. Hal seems well content, and in great favour 
 
78 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 with the King and Queen. He might make his 
 choice of at least a score of fair maidens in the 
 Queen's following. There is nought but merry- 
 making and feasts at Court, and the Puritans are all 
 full of rage and rubbing their close-cropped heads 
 in perplexity as to whom to wreak vengeance on." 
 
 And here the Bishop, who was ever ready to listen 
 to those who could discuss the affairs of the nation, 
 called from his place at the head of the board, 
 
 " Are you recounting to little Mistress Winifrede 
 what you have seen in London ? Give us the bene- 
 fit. Sir Gilbert." 
 
 " I was but recounting the gay scenes at White- 
 hall, my lord." 
 
 " There have been many scenes of late which were 
 aught but gay," the Bishop said. 
 
 " Oh ! there was a great uproar in November, con- 
 cerning the sentence on Prynne and his fellows. 
 They got the names of martyrs for their pains, .and 
 it might have been thought the progress of trium- 
 phal conquerors when they passed to prison. A 
 concourse of some hundred thousand of the citizens 
 followed them; and when they were exposed in 
 Palace Yard, you might have walked on the people's 
 heads, had you a mind to try." 
 
 " His Grace the Archbishop will not flinch from 
 his duty," the Bishop said. 
 
 " No, my lord, he is as firm as a rock." 
 
 "And true as steel, thank God!" the Dean ex- 
 claimed. 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 79 
 
 "There is a mighty ado," Sir Gilbert continued, 
 " about the libellous pamphlets now circulating, 
 but they are too scurrilous to do real harm. The 
 real danger lies in this trial about ship money ; the 
 judges will take a year, so they say, to give their 
 judgement. The King's real feeling is scarce known. 
 It never is known, worse luck — he is like the vane 
 on a church steeple." 
 
 " Silence ! sir," said the Bishop with some heat, 
 striking the handle of his knife sharply on the board. 
 " No slighting word in this house against the King's 
 most Gracious Majesty." 
 
 " I crave pardon, my lord," Sir Gilbert Redvers 
 said. 
 
 " Granted, Sir Gilbert. I could not deem you to 
 be wanting in loyalty. Did you hear aught of one 
 John Milton, who, it seems, is the chief to dip his pen 
 in gall, with the hope of stirring up the people ? " 
 
 " I saw him, my lord ; he is a very noble-looking 
 man, with somewhat weak eyes, but full of dignity, 
 and with a grace about him many of those brutal 
 Puritans lack." 
 
 "John Milton has great gifts of eloquence," the 
 Bishop said ; " would to God he used them to better 
 purpose." 
 
 February. 
 
 The first month of the year has run out, and the 
 Christmas merry-makings have been followed by 
 Lenten fasts and penance. 
 
 I have used abstinence, and denied myself all that 
 
8o WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I liked best, and thereby brought down on myself the 
 scorn of Dorothy Ellis and the apprentices. James 
 Eland came to my defence at the board, and said 
 sharply to Will Thornton that he knew nought of 
 self-denying at any season. Lent and Easter were 
 alike to him. 
 
 As I have said. Uncle Jeremy always hears what 
 he wants to hear, and he said, 
 
 " And to all sensible folks — fish or fowl — as if it 
 was odds to anyone with which the stomach is filled. 
 But if you like to suffer the pangs of hunger, Wini- 
 frede, it lessens the cost of your keep." 
 
 James Eland looked as if he was about to reply, 
 and did seem sorely grieved when I rose and hast- 
 ened away. 
 
 But I am greatly troubled. I have had but two 
 letters from Hal, and the pining for him makes me 
 paler than the fasting. 
 
 March l8. 
 
 I was with dear Mistress Rodd all yesterday, and 
 she questioned me as to my pale face, and when I 
 refused the meat Master Rodd offered me at supper, 
 she looked sad. 
 
 " It seems to me," Master Rodd said, " you will 
 end by starving yourself into your grave, Mistress 
 Bridgeman." 
 
 " I am not hungry," I said, but I felt this was 
 scarce true, for I could at times bite my fingers, I 
 am so sickening for food. 
 
 After supper I took my old place by Mistress 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 8i 
 
 Rodd's couch, and she, stroking my hair, asked 
 tenderly, 
 
 " What ails you, dear Winifrede, you do not seem 
 the same?" 
 
 " I am not the same," I said, with a passionate 
 burst of weeping. 
 
 " Dear child, tell me if I can help you." 
 
 " No," I said, " none can help me. But I would 
 ask you, as the Church commands us to fast in 
 Lent, whether it is not good to do so ? " 
 
 " I think," Mistress Rodd said, " it is well to use 
 such abstinence as will quicken the spiritual life; 
 but I greatly fear, dear child, that you are going 
 beyond this limit. You look thin and wan — your 
 colour is gone from your cheeks, and the lustre from 
 your eyes. My mother enquired of me yesterday 
 what had caused the change, and I could not tell 
 her." 
 
 Then I laid my head, weeping, against Mistress 
 Rodd's pillow, and said, 
 
 " I have a burden on my heart, and I thought if 
 I fasted all Lent it might serve to lighten it." 
 
 " A burden ! Nay, dear child, no fasting will 
 lighten a soul's burden. Cast it at the feet of the 
 blessed Lord, who will shew you how to bear it so 
 that it grows like a feather instead of a ton weight. 
 I would fain know what sort of a burden it may be, 
 if by knowing I could help you." 
 
 " It is not permitted to me to tell what is a secret 
 between me and another. I have given my word 
 " " 6 
 
82 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 to keep it. Oh ! dear Mistress Rodd, I must not 
 reveal it." 
 
 " Well, all I can say then is to counsel you to tell 
 it to God ; but methinks some one is greatly to 
 blame who has burdened your young heart with 
 such a load. I would that you could take counsel 
 of my dear father ; he is ever wise, and tender as 
 well as wise. But when all is said, God alone is the 
 surest refuge. Yet I do implore you, dear child, to 
 take proper nourishment." 
 
 " It will be Easter soon," I said ; " then I can 
 relax my discipline." 
 
 " There are yet two weeks to run ; you will be 
 sick in your bed if you wait till then, I fear." 
 
 And now our sweet converse was broken in on 
 by the swift entrance of Mistress Gertrude Hall, 
 the' wife of the Archdeacon, Dr. George Hall. 
 
 " Well-a-day, Mary," she said, "you look weary 
 and almost as white as little Mistress Winifrede. 
 But I am come with news. Dulcibel has made up 
 differences with Sir Gilbert Redvers at last, and is 
 to be wed at Ashley come Easter Tuesday. I am 
 glad, I warrant, for my father. Sir Amos Meredith, 
 likes the match, and Dulcibel is not always as soft 
 as her name. She has been soured by Sir Gilbert 
 hanging back so long and playing fast and loose 
 with other fair dames. Now we shall have sweet 
 looks instead of frowns. Dulcibel took a mighty 
 fancy to you, little Winifrede — but alack, what pale 
 cheeks! Why, you and Mary look a pair of sickly 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 83 
 
 ones, I VOW, and as if a puff of wind might blow 
 you away. I thank my stars I am what George 
 calls hale and hearty. It would not suit him if 
 I were pale and sickly. I must ever be ready for 
 his beck and call. He has been full of cranks of 
 late and a sore trial of patience ; but now the City 
 and the Chapter are like a nest of turtle-doves, we 
 get through the day better. Now, don't look so 
 shocked, Mary; the best husbands are a trial at 
 times, as you will find out one day. Mistress Wini- 
 frede. But I vow you need get some colour in your 
 cheeks before any man will ask you to be his wife. 
 No offence to you, Mary, for you were fine and rosy 
 when you married, as Master Rodd knows." 
 
 Master Rodd now came in and gravely announced 
 that a messenger had come to escort Mistress Bridge- 
 man over the Cathedral yard to the High Street, as 
 there were some idle fellows hanging about. 
 
 I hastily threw on my cloak, and drew my hood 
 over my head, bidding farewell to Mistress Rodd 
 and Mistress Hall. 
 
 I was glad to get away from the sound of Mistress 
 George Hall's voice, and much that had been said 
 pierced my heart. 
 
 I am a wife, and yet dare not acknowledge it. 
 No wonder that I can scarce get through the long 
 and weary days with no news of my husband. 
 
 April 18. 
 It is the time of flowers and the time of hope. 
 
84 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 The branches of the trees in the Cathedral yard 
 and the Palace garden are all veiled with a tender 
 green. 
 
 As for me, hope seems dead, and there is no 
 spring. I drag through the days and am tortured 
 with suspense and miserable fears. What have I 
 done to deserve this neglect from him ? 
 
 In his last letter he said he was coming soon. 
 That letter was on Easter Day brought hither from 
 Widford by a messenger. He is then near, yet far 
 — alack-a-day ! 
 
 As I write, I hear the Cathedral bells sounding 
 for evensong. Ten slow, solemn notes. What are 
 they saying to me ? 
 
 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 
 ten. Sure they have a message and a call ; yes, I 
 hear them say, 
 
 " Come unto Me, and I will give you rest." 
 
 Rest, ah ! that I could find rest, but never till I 
 find it with Hal ! 
 
IV. 
 
 Sometimes God strikes once, and then forbears. And such are 
 all those sadnesses which are less than death : every sickness, every 
 loss, every disgrace, the death of friends and nearest relatives, sud- 
 den discontent ; these are all of them the louder calls of God to 
 
 repentance. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 I 
 
 Bower Cottage by Exemouth, May 24. 
 
 What a May Day it was for me — weeping may 
 endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. 
 
 I was sitting dolefully in my chamber when Doro- 
 thy came panting upstairs, a letter in her hand. 
 
 She eyed the seal and the silk riband carefully, 
 and said as she plumped down on my truckle-bed, 
 and all but broke it with her weight, 
 
 "A lackey with the Redvers badge demands a 
 reply below. Come, I can't wait all day, what shall 
 I say?" 
 
 I had broken the seal now, and read : 
 
 " Sweetheart, I borrow a messenger from Redvers — meet me this 
 evening — ^as the clock chimes nine, near the gate of the Chapel, 
 northern side of the Church. H. C." 
 
 My heart was all in a flutter. I could scarce con- 
 tain myself for joy. 
 
 8s 
 
86 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 " Say to the messenger, an it please you, Mistress 
 Dorothy, that I will do the behest of the writer of 
 this letter." 
 
 " Humph ! is that all ? " Dorothy said. 
 
 " Yes, all." 
 
 " I hope none of these gallants are leading you 
 into mischief," Dorothy said, scanning my face with 
 her little foxy eyes. 
 
 " Mischief ? " I replied, and I laughed, but it was 
 a forced laugh, and yet when she was gone I danced 
 round the chamber for very joy of my heart. It 
 was scarce four o'clock, and five long, weary hours 
 must pass before I was once more with Hal. 
 
 " He is coming to claim me as his wife before 
 the world, and take me straight to Widford. ■H'e 
 is coming! " 
 
 I said this aloud to the pair of pigeons whom I 
 fed daily on the ledge of the window. They had 
 come for their second meal, and were billing and 
 cooing on the sill, and picking up the crumbs I had 
 gathered for them from the bread at noon. 
 
 So happy they looked with their green and purple 
 breasts puffed out and their pretty heads bobbing 
 up and down, and I repeated to them the words, 
 
 " He is coming — he is coming ! Hal is coming ! " 
 
 Presently a little white pigeon peeped over the 
 eaves above, moving her pretty head from side to 
 side. I sprinkled some more crumbs and she hopped 
 down, but the happy pair pecked at her, and snapped 
 up the crumbs ere she could take one, and then she 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 87 
 
 retreated to her post on the eaves again and made 
 a faint mournful " Coo, coo." 
 
 Poor little white dove, I would fain have comforted 
 her, for I have known what it is to be desolate and 
 forsaken, though it makes the present joy the greater. 
 
 This all happened on a May Day, and I went to 
 meet my husband. 
 
 Ah ! What gladness to feel his arms round me 
 once more, to hear his voice calling me his sweet- 
 heart, his angel and the like. 
 
 But words like these do not bear to be written, so 
 I .will not set them down ; there are some things 
 which lose their sweetness by being too much written 
 or spoken of. 
 
 Lastly then Hal told me he had bespoke the good 
 ofifices of a trusty gentlewoman who woul^ arrive on 
 the next afternoon, and would carry me on a pillion, 
 •followed by one of his servants on a pack-horse, to 
 a cottage she was possessed of at the village by the 
 mouth of the Exe. 
 
 The gentlewoman is a relation of Sir Gilbert Red- 
 vers and of high degree. Hal said he had confided 
 in her, and she had invited me to meet him there. 
 I was to tell my Uncle that Dame Anna Carey — 
 not Carew — would fain have me at her house for 
 my health, and that I should be brought back as I 
 came in due course. 
 
 My Uncle took the request very coldly. 
 
 " Gadding abroad again ! Well, you are not one 
 to miss, so joy go with you." 
 
88 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Dorothy Ellis grumbled that I was a poor silly- 
 bookworm, and she did not wonder I had a face 
 like a ghost ; she always thought Master Bucking- 
 ham had made me daft with learning. What was 
 the use of scribbling with a quill and poring over 
 cramped letters in books ? 
 
 There was thus no hindrance made, and I made 
 ready for departure. 
 
 Mistress Rodd was out in the country, drinking 
 new milk warm from the cow, and trying the nau- 
 seous remedy of crushed snails, which the physicians 
 say is good for the lungs ; thus she knew nothing of 
 my going. 
 
 I made all ready and put the ring on my finger, 
 which I had had round my neck. I kissed it many 
 times and repeated the posy, 
 
 " For weal and for woe." 
 
 Yes, I am ready for the last, if so be the weal is 
 not to be mine always. With Hal weal or woe, it 
 matters not. 
 
 But as I stood ready in the ante-chamber above 
 the shop awaiting the arrival of Dame Anna, James 
 Eland crept stealthily to my side. 
 
 " Where are you going, Mistress Winifrede ? " he 
 asked sternly. 
 
 " Forsooth, I am not bound to yield you an ac- 
 count of my goings." 
 
 "i^Nay, maybe, but I am bound to take an account 
 of them," he said. 
 
 "Prythee, why?" I asked. " I see no reason," ' 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 89 
 
 " Because I love you better than life, and if needs 
 be I would lay that life down for you. I saw you 
 start out t'other night, I followed you, and I know 
 whom you met." 
 
 My heart sank a little then, but I answered lightly, 
 
 " I hear the horse's hoofs clattering outside, so I 
 bid you farewell, James Eland, and I exhort you to 
 find a better use of your time than acting spy. I 
 wish you good-day," and then I ran to the door, 
 the serving boy in the shop carrying my bundle to 
 the pack-horse. 
 
 Dorothy Ellis followed, and stood with her hands 
 planted at her sides, and her fat elbows sticking 
 out, watching me lifted on the pillion, Will Thorn- 
 ton grinning behind her and James Eland frowning. 
 
 A loud voice came from under the hood of a buff 
 redingote, and Dame Anna Carey said, 
 
 " Are you fit to ride ten miles, child ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam, or twenty," I answered, " on such 
 an errand." 
 
 A laugh was the answer. 
 
 " Well, let us hope the sea air will bring a colour 
 into your cheeks. A certain friend of mine called 
 you his wild rose — more like a lily, metljinks." 
 
 Dame Carey did not talk much, and I had time 
 to take my fill of the sweet air and the scents of 
 the country. 
 
 Soon the sea and mountains skirting it came in 
 sight, and the sun sent a path of glory over the 
 water. 
 
go WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 The mouth of the Exe broadens into the wide, 
 wide sea, and several ships with sails set were pass- 
 ing out of the harbour with the tide. 
 
 We went through the village and rode up a steep 
 road till we reached the brow of the hill, and then 
 turning down a lane where the primroses were like 
 stars, and the scent of violets came on the breeze 
 from the bordering copses, we stopped before a 
 wicket gate, and there stood Hal, my husband. 
 
 " Ho, there, Hal," Dame Carey said, " haste to 
 lift the child down, she is like to die of fatigue." 
 
 Hal needed no second bidding, and he carried me 
 in his strong arms to the house, a thatched cottage, 
 with a porch all twined with honeysuckle and roses, 
 and on either side lattices wreathed with ivy, and all 
 within so sweet. 
 
 " My lady's bower," Hal said. " How does she 
 favour it ? " 
 
 Then Dame Carey strode in after she had given 
 orders in a loud voice to the men about the horses, 
 and shutting the door, beckoned me to her, and 
 bade me sit down on a stool at her feet. 
 
 " Listen, child. I am the friend of Hal Carew, and 
 was his mother's friend before him. I know you are 
 man and wife, and I know, too, Hal has foes in his 
 own household ; so I came to his help for his sake, 
 and — no offence, Hal — more for his mother's sake. 
 She had a sorry time with his old father, and she 
 left him a pretty behaved son — yes, Hal, take you all 
 in all, I may say this — and a shrew of a daughter. 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 91 
 
 Her tongue is like a clapper of a bell jangling all 
 day. They set their hearts on Hal wedding a 
 mighty rich heiress, Mistress Ley, whose estate 
 joins on to Widford. I think' Hal was a fool to say 
 nay, but love makes us all fools. So he has set the 
 matter beyond a question by marrying you, child, 
 by stealth. Right or wrong, it is done." 
 
 " Yes, thank God ! " Hal answered, " for weal or 
 woe, sweetheart." 
 
 "Let me finish, Hal," Dame Carey. said, "and 
 then I will depart. 
 
 " Hearken^ child. Hal's father has of late been 
 received into the bosom of the Roman Catholic 
 Church, and he and Mistress Joan are fasting and 
 praying and counting their beads all day and half 
 the night. Poor souls ! They think that by this 
 means they may knock off a few years of purgatory 
 which their ill tempers merit. It will take a goodly 
 number of years to get to the end of their cranks 
 and rages, methinks. Well, this lady I name suits 
 as to money, lands, and religion. She is a chosen 
 companion of Joan, and old enough to be Hal's 
 mother." 
 
 " Grandmother," ejaculated Hal ; " grandmother, 
 Dame Carey." 
 
 " Have it as you will ; grandmother, then, though 
 a score of years scarce makes a grand-dame. But, 
 as I said, if money and lands and a fine race go for 
 much, you were a fool to look off the bargain." 
 
 " But they went for nought," said Hal, caressing 
 
92 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 my hand, for he had flung himself on the floor by 
 my side, as I sat at Dame Carey's feet. " Sweet- 
 ness and beauty, tenderness and goodness, aye, and 
 learning, go for much, and I have all these in my 
 sweetheart." 
 
 " There, there, who doubts it ? I can just write 
 my name and read my prayer-book, that is learning 
 enough for me. And now I will leave you. Supper 
 is ordered, my man Peter and his wife Kate will be 
 at your service, and so fare ye well, little Mistress 
 Carew. And I say, guard her well, Hal, as your 
 sweet mother would have you guard her, nor follow 
 in the steps of your father, who hustled the dearest 
 wife and woman the sun ever shone on into an early 
 grave by fits of rage and sour temper, and jealousy 
 cruel as the grave." 
 
 "Whither is Dame Carey gone?" I asked, when 
 Hal came back from the wicket gate, which he closed 
 behind her and locked. 
 
 " Gone to her mansion, sweetheart. This bower 
 of bliss is in my lady's grounds, hid from curious 
 eyes, and here we will have a blissful time, please 
 God." 
 
 " Hal," I said, " was that a Catholic priest who 
 wed us?" 
 
 " Yes, but what then ? I caught him at Chagford, 
 and he was ready enough to take my guineas and 
 hold his peace." 
 
 "And did he think I was a Catholic?" 
 
 " We are all Catholics, sweetheart, though not all 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 93 
 
 Papists," and then he silenced questions with a 
 kiss. 
 
 August 16. 
 
 Two months have passed in this bower cottage, 
 and our retirement has been unmolested. 
 
 If there is a thorn in the rose, a little jar in the 
 song of love, it is that Hal maintains perfect secrecy 
 to be yet needful. Dame Carey also seems of that 
 mind, and I ask myself sometimes what would 
 Mistress Rodd say, or the Bishop, or dear Pen, or 
 Master Fulford. Yet, oh ! I am so happy. I walk 
 with Hal by the sea, and we sit and listen to its 
 voice as it tells its story to the shore. 
 
 And Hal likes to hear me read and recite to him 
 noble passages from Spenser and the Bible, and 
 extracts from other books that I have written for 
 Master Buckingham and then conned till I knew 
 them by heart. All this was at first sufificient for 
 Hal, and then I would listen to the stories he could 
 tell of the Court, where he had found favour ; of the 
 Queen and her pretty ways ; of the King and his 
 gracious stateliness ; of the masques and plays he 
 had witnessed and taken part in ; and of the doings 
 of the grand ladies, amongst whom Hal said I should 
 one day shine as a star. 
 
 Never, my heart tells me, never ! 
 
 Dame Carey has been a good friend to us, and 
 I have been to the mansion with all its treasures 
 often. 
 
 What a feast Master Buckingham would have 
 
94 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 had in the library, a low room with fine volumes all 
 round, and above portraits of the great gentlemen 
 and ladies of the time when the men of Devon went 
 forth to cross the great dividing sea, and bring back 
 treasures from the New World. 
 
 My visits to the mansion were never made with 
 Hal, lest perchance we might fall upon some of the 
 gentlefolk who knew him. Hal has been away 
 from me of late for a day now and again. It must 
 needs be so, for a man like Hal has many things to 
 do and think of. 
 
 August 24. 
 
 This is again the Feast of Saint Bartholomew. It 
 is one year since I first saw Hal, one year since I 
 loved him, for why need I "hide it from myself, 
 I loved him at once and for ever. 
 
 Hal will return to-night. He promised that noth- 
 ing should keep him from me on this day. But the 
 light is waning, and yet he has not come. I had a 
 visitor to-day who whiled away the time — Dame 
 Dulcibel Redvers. 
 
 How beautiful she looked when she stood in the 
 porch with the branches of the white rose making a 
 frame round her stately figure. 
 
 I shrank back at first, but she speedily put me at 
 ease. 
 
 " I know," she said, " I have known from the first. 
 You are Mistress Carew. Hal has trusted Sir Gilbert 
 with the secret, and he would fain have him tell the 
 world you are his wife." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JO URN A L. 95 
 
 " He dreads his father's rage, and he would disin- 
 herit him, if he knew, for wedding a mercer's niece," 
 I said. 
 
 Dame Dulcibel's eyes flashed. " I hate and abhor 
 crooked ways," she said. " I think Hal Carew is 
 in error, and he has no right to hide you thus, as if 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 " Ashamed ! " I exclaimed. The very word brought 
 the colour to my cheek, and I repeated, " Ashamed, 
 forsooth ! If my husband were here he would soon 
 shew you whether he is ashamed." 
 
 " Nay now, little Winifrede, do not be angry ; 
 but, dear child, I know enough of men and their 
 ways to make me urge you to have your marriage 
 made public. Sir Gilbert is of this mind, and he 
 has told Hal to be bold and not a coward." 
 
 Now I did not care to have my husband thus 
 spoken of, even by Dame Redvers, and I said, " I 
 am content to abide here as long as my husband 
 desires. He knows best." 
 
 "A submissive wife, truly," Dame Redvers said; 
 "we women have to look after our own matters at 
 times, or we may find ourselves left out in the 
 cold." 
 
 I had not seen Dame Redvers since she married 
 Sir Gilbert. She looked more beautiful than ever, 
 but not happier. She had a strange defiant man- 
 ner, which she never had before. 
 
 Her face was sad when on this day last year she 
 turned from the casement as Sir Gilbert spoke to 
 
96 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 her, and I looking down saw Hal's face upraised 
 for the first time to mine. 
 
 Now Dulcibel's face is not sad, it is proud and 
 determined — a look as if she had gained her desire, 
 — but happy — oh ! no. 
 
 " Let us talk on themes more congenial to both," 
 she said, as she leaned back on the settle, and Kate 
 coming in brought the cup of spiced canary wine, 
 which is proper to offer guests. 
 
 Dame Redvers drank a deep draught and praised 
 the cup, and the sweet cakes which Kate brought 
 in on a platter. 
 
 " A bower of delight," she said with one of her 
 rare smiles, "good Kate. All things pleasant to 
 eye and taste ; " and Kate was pleased, and said, 
 looking at me, 
 
 " My lady's fingers helped to make these cakes, 
 madam. Though so small and white, they can be 
 useful, I warrant." 
 
 " What, turning cook, little Winifrede?" Mistress 
 Dulcibel said. " I could not have thought you could 
 use hands as well as brains, but these little services 
 help to while away the time." 
 
 Yes, it is true, I get restless when Hal is away, 
 and I am glad to have something to do in the 
 kitchen, and Kate, who is skilled in making all 
 manner of conserves and pasties, has taught me 
 much. 
 
 Mistress Redvers stayed a long time, and talked 
 of her old home in Derbyshire, and how Sir Amos 
 
WimpREDE'S JOURNAL. 97 
 
 Meredith was always kind to her, but had wished 
 her to make a home for herself, and had often 
 pressed suitors upon her. 
 
 " But," she said, " I had vowed I would never 
 marry any man if I did not marry Sir Gilbert, and 
 now it is done ! " 
 
 " And you are happy," I said. 
 
 " Happy ! Well, child, have you never heard 
 that hope deferred maketh the heart sick ? — that is 
 true, but it is not as true that when the desire 
 Cometh it is as the tree of life. There is a bitter 
 taste in the fruit sometimes. But what a farrago 
 is this," and then, she started up and said Sir Gilbert 
 would be waiting for her at the big house, and she 
 must away through the copse. 
 
 She said I knew the path better than she did, and 
 I must go with her part of the way. 
 
 This I did, and coming back an hour ago I heard 
 a strange rustling near me, and thought I saw a 
 man's figure under the trunk of an old oak. I am 
 full of fancies, and oh ! I wish Hal would come, for 
 it is getting dark, I cannot see to write another 
 
 word., but 
 
 September i. 
 
 I have not opened this book since that night, that 
 dreadful night — I can scarce dare to write of it even 
 now, for I shudder as I recall it. I had just closed 
 my book when I became conscious that some one 
 was looking in at the lattice which stood open, and 
 I saw a white face, white in the gathering gloom, 
 7 
 
98 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 with hands clenching the side of the casement, as if 
 about to spring in. 
 
 Terror rooted me to the spot, and I could neither 
 stir nor call for help. Presently a broken voice 
 sounded, and I heard my name spoken. 
 
 " Mistress Winifrede." 
 
 It was James Eland. 
 
 " I have tracked you out at last," he said, " and 
 I vow vengeance on the traitor who has lured you 
 to your destruction. I would have died — nay, I 
 would sooner have carried you out dead, than lived 
 to see this day." 
 
 " Hush, I pray you," I said, " and if, as you say, 
 you love me, go — go — before he comes." 
 
 James Eland gave a dreadful low laugh, and 
 said, 
 
 " Nay, I tarry till he comes. The double-dyed 
 traitor, curse him ! " I shuddered at his words ; his 
 dark eyes blazed ; even in the gloom I could see 
 them with the light of malice in them. 
 
 Could this be the mercer's apprentice who folded 
 brocades and served customers in the shop in High 
 Street ? He was transformed into a very demon. 
 
 " If you love me, as you say — " I had repeated 
 the words when the click of the wicket gate sounded 
 and I knew Hal had returned. He even gave a low 
 whistle to let me hear of his approach. 
 
 I flew as if on wings to the porch to warn him, 
 but the door was shut, and my trembling fingers 
 could not draw the bolt. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 99 
 
 Then I heard a scuffle outside, an angry shout of 
 " Villain ! " and when at last I stood in the porch I 
 saw my husband and James Eland had closed in a 
 deadly struggle. 
 
 Hal, with his tall strong frame, was more than a 
 match for James Eland, and he had him on the 
 ground, though James's fingers still clutched at my 
 husband's throat. 
 
 " Give in," Hal shouted, but his voice was muffled 
 and strangled. " Give in ; by Heaven, he clings 
 like a cat." 
 
 " Loose your hold, James Eland," I cried, rush- 
 ing to him ; " loose your hold." 
 
 " I will die first. Let me stand up, and give me 
 fair fight, you traitor, you villain." 
 
 " Hold, James, I pray you," I cried, " for you are 
 basely attacking my husband." 
 
 At that word, with a groan James Eland loosened 
 his clutch on Hal's throat, and Hal, rising from 
 kneeling over him, spurned him with his foot, say- 
 ing, 
 
 " Do you think I would fight with a cur whose 
 way of attack is that of a. reptile flying at my throat ? 
 I might thrash the life out of you, if you were worth 
 the trouble." And then Hal panting yet for breath 
 turned to me. 
 
 "What does it mean ? " he asked sternly, " what 
 is the fellow about-skulking here? " 
 
 But before I could reply James Eland had risen, 
 and I saw the blood was trickling from a wound in 
 
100 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 his arm ; for Hal had drawn his sword at the first 
 onset. 
 
 " Hearken," James said, " I came hither to avenge 
 the wrongs of the woman I love." 
 
 " Wrongs ! Is the man stark mad ? " Hal asked. 
 
 " There is no wrong, James Eland," I said, and I 
 went up to him, and, taking off my kerchief, bound 
 it round his arm to staunch the blood. 
 
 " I am the wife of Master Hal Carew, the proud, 
 happy wife. You have been mistaken, and you 
 must needs acknowledge your fault, and sue for 
 pardon." 
 
 " Nay, sweetheart," Hal said, " I want no more 
 dealings with this paltry scoundrel. Begone, sir, 
 and if ever you cross this lady's path again, if evef 
 you dare molest her, I will run you through the 
 body before you can cry for mercy. Begone — and 
 give heed to your silks and taffetas, and do not 
 think you can play the part of a soldier. Begone, I 
 say." 
 
 But James Eland stood like a statue, with his 
 hands clutched together and his face convulsed with 
 passionate grief. The rage and malice had died out 
 of it, and my heart, in spite of myself, went forth to 
 him in deepest pity. Presently he spoke in hoarse, 
 trembhng accents. 
 
 " Master Carew, if I have wronged you in 
 thought, I ask your pardon. It is scarce the part 
 of a high-minded gentleman to steal away from her 
 home a maiden, as you have stolen Mistress Wini- 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. loi 
 
 frede. If as she says^and God knows I trust her 
 word — she is your lawful wife, proclaim her as such 
 before the world, nor give occasion to the tongue 
 of the slanderer to touch her fair name. Fare you 
 well, Winifrede. I_ go broken-hearted, to cherish 
 your memory as a precious thing till death." 
 
 Then with faltering steps James Eland passed 
 through the wicket gate and vanished in the gloomy 
 shadows of the coming night. 
 
 The noise of voices had brought old Peter and 
 Kate to the garden from the back premises where 
 they abide. I heard my husband say, " We have 
 had a vagrant here threatening my life. Make the 
 gate fast, Peter, and here, Kate " 
 
 That is all I remember. I had swooned in 
 Hal's arms, and I found myself, when I recovered 
 consciousness, in my bed, Hal watching by me, and 
 Kate holding burnt feathers to my nose, and urging 
 me to drink the potion she had made ready for me ; 
 and then a flood of tears, and folded to Hal's breast 
 I was comforted. 
 
 The Cross Farm, Widdicombe, September 22. 
 
 Yes, I am here again, with dear Pen. I must 
 shortly tell what has happened. 
 
 Two days after the terror of that night Hal told 
 me he was summoned with his troops to join the 
 Earl of Devon's trained band, and he might be away 
 for many months. 
 
 Dame Carey had been called to her daughter, who 
 lay ill at Plymouth, and Hal said he could not leave 
 
102 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 me in the shortening days of autumn alone in our 
 bower. 
 
 To go back to the High Street was, by reason of 
 James Eland, impossible. I was for resting where I 
 was ; but Hal did not relish the thought, and he 
 proposed that I should go to Widdicombe and take 
 shelter there till his return, when he said he would 
 take me to Widford and face his father's wrath. 
 
 "He will soften when he looks at you," he said. 
 " But it is Joan I dread. Joan's tongue is like a sharp 
 rapier with a poisoned tip when she is angered." 
 
 And thus tenderly cared for and mounted on a 
 soft cushioned pillion I began my journey to Widdi- 
 combe. It could not be done in a day, and we 
 staid a night at a hostel two miles t'other side of 
 Exeter. Here Hal parted from me, and sent me 
 forward with two of his trusted servants, who w6re 
 silent and scarce looked at me, or made any sign, 
 except to hand me refreshments and guide the horse 
 on which. I rode with care over the rough road, 
 
 I did my best not to weep when Hal folded me to 
 his breast for the last time, but do what I would I 
 sobbed bitterly till he said, " Sweetheart, this gives 
 me bitter pain to know I grieve you, but sure you 
 would not keep me from duty to my King ? " 
 
 " No, no," I faltered, " no, but it has been such 
 short happiness, and now sorrow of heart. And I 
 shall be in a part of the country where your father 
 may find me out, and your sister and " 
 
 " Nay, the old man is well-nigh bed-ridden, and 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 103 
 
 Joan does nought but fast and count her beads — do 
 not fear, they lead the lives of hermits, and seldom 
 go abroad." 
 
 Well-a-day, ah ! well-a-day, so we parted, and I 
 bear about me a heavy heart. 
 
 Last night Pen came to my chamber and knelt 
 by my bed ; my pillow was wet with tears, and she 
 bade me trust her with my secret, which however 
 she guessed. 
 
 The manner of my return to the farm was sufii- 
 cient, she said, and she only; longed to be assured 
 I was a lawful wife. 
 
 I started up at this and said with heat, 
 
 " How dare you think it could be otherwise ? " 
 Then I could no longer hold back my confidence, 
 and I told her all — all. 
 
 " The chapel at Widford," she repeated^ " and who 
 was the priest ? " 
 
 I knev/ not, save that Hal had brought him. 
 
 Pen sighed, and said, " A papist dare not of free 
 will join the hands of two of another faith ; but I 
 pray that the marriage be ratified by authority." 
 
 " It was all duly certified," I said, " my name 
 writ under Hal's on two sheets of parchment. Can 
 you misdoubt my husband's word — a noble true- 
 hearted gentleman ? " 
 
 Pen was silent, but she held me in her kind arms, 
 and soothed me till I fell asleep — much as a mother 
 would soothe her child. 
 
 Dear Pen, and old Tor, they are my great comfort- 
 
104 WINIFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 ers in this time of banishment from my true love. 
 But I have scarce strength or heart to take long 
 walks with Tor. Only once have I reached the little 
 sheltered pool where I gave myself to Hal, and then 
 I wept so bitterly that Tor whined and pushed his 
 nose up against my shoulder as if to ask what ailed 
 me. I shall not go thither again, not till Hal re- 
 turns. 
 
 October I. 
 
 Master Fulford went to the market at Exeter yes- 
 terday, and brought word that my Uncle was in 
 great wrath with James Eland. He had left him to 
 go no one knows whither. " And," said Master Ful- 
 ford, " he got a hurt in a brawl, so that his right arm 
 was all but useless. A drunken brawl, so Master 
 Barter would have it ; and then there was a mighty 
 quarrel, and James Eland flung the last three 
 months' wage at Master Barter, who said he might 
 go packing for all he cared. But he does care, and 
 he never thought he would take him at his word, 
 for he is sorely put to it to get along without him. 
 Mistress Ellis raves against him, and the house 
 seems in an evil case." 
 
 "Did my Uncle send me any message?" I ven- 
 tured to ask. Then Master Fulford laughed and 
 said, " I can't say he did ; when I spoke of you he 
 got mighty deaf and never answered, but Mistress 
 Ellis said you were welcome to keep away as long as 
 you wished, for all she cared ; and you are welcome 
 to stay here as long as you will — eh. Pen ? " 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 105 
 
 " Winifrede knows that she is welcome," was the 
 answer. 
 
 This was comforting, but there is one person who 
 eyes me with no kindness, and I avoid him as much 
 as possible. But Master Amos Angel is continu- 
 ally at the board — supper or dinner well-nigh every 
 day. He takes care to feed the body well, albeit he 
 preaches so much of the spirit, and the danger of 
 the flesh lusting against it. I cannot abide Master 
 Angel, and when he fixes his eyes on me, I feel my 
 colour rise, and I could almost think he had my 
 secret. 
 
 October 28. 
 
 It is by God's mercy I am here to tell the tale of 
 what has happened, and I have had to wait some 
 days before I could steady my hand, or calm my 
 thoughts, to write in my book the history of that 
 day of wrath and dread, which has filled this district 
 with fear and trembling. 
 
 It was on Saturday week, the twentieth day of 
 this month, that I essayed to go forth on the moor 
 with my faithful Tor. 
 
 The heat was so great that we could not get far, 
 and I sat down on a rough bit of rock fanning 
 myself with some large bracken leaves I plucked on 
 my way. 
 
 Tor lay outstretched with his tongue loUing out 
 of his mouth, panting, as if for life. 
 
 A labourer passing by bid me good-even, and 
 said, 
 
io6 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " The air is like to choke one ; it be like the 
 mouth of a coal-pit, mistress." 
 
 It was indeed a true description, and I could 
 scarce breathe for the sultriness of the air. 
 
 Presently a party on horseback rode past, and a 
 gentlewoman called to me to inquire if she was in 
 the right road to Widford. 
 
 My heart failed me, for another lady on the same 
 saddle said laughing, " Sure, Joan, we are not like 
 to lose our way on this moor we know so well." 
 
 " It is a short cut I want to make, for a storm 
 brews, and these fellows seem like geese, not know- 
 ing their right hand from their left.'' Then in a 
 loud sharp voice my husband's sister Joan screamed 
 to the two men in attendance, " You blockheads, 
 cannot you say whether right or left is the shortest 
 way homeward .? I vow I shall die of heat, it is 
 enough to choke me ; and I hear thunder growling 
 in the distance." 
 
 I had now risen from my seat and approached the 
 ladies' horse. 
 
 "There is a sign-post, madam," I said, "just 
 where the moor dips into a hollow. You will see 
 that Widford is written on one of the arms." 
 
 " Come, there is some sense in this," Joan ex- 
 claimed, " but what are you doing, child, on the 
 moor alone ? " 
 
 " Nay," said the other lady, " she has a guard in 
 her dog. I would not answer for any one who 
 dared to go too near her, with that protector. May 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 107 
 
 the blessed Virgin protect you, child," she said as 
 she rode off, " and hasten homewards, as we must, 
 for a storm is surely at hand." 
 
 I saw the badge of the Carews on the sleeve of 
 one of the servants, and I felt no doubt that the 
 lady who had spoken kindly to me was the lady of 
 high degree, whom they would fain Hal had married. 
 She looked older than my husband, though not so 
 much as by a score years ; but she had a sweet face 
 and voice, while Joan looked a vixen, and I felt 
 how terrible it would be for me when the moment 
 came for Hal to take me to Widford, and present 
 me as his wife. 
 
 The heat seemed to grow more and more fierce 
 through that sultry night. Thunder grumbled and 
 lightning played in the heavens in wide sheets of 
 pale blue flame, but no rain fell. Sunday morning 
 dawned calm ; the people who watched the weather 
 about the place said the storip had passed over sea^ 
 ward, and that we should feel no more of it. 
 
 The sun gleamed through a grey curtain of thin 
 clouds, and we believed that a sharp shower which 
 fell about noon was the tail of the retreating storm. 
 Alas ! we were mistaken. We were all gathered in 
 the church for evensong, when a terrible darkness 
 fell over us. Master Lyde could scarce see to read 
 the second lesson, and by the time he had said 
 " Lighten our darkness " we could not see our near- 
 est neighbour in the pews. 
 
 I drew close to Pen, who, overcome with, the 
 
io8 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 heat, had not gone to the meeting-house that day 
 to hear Master Angel's long praying and preaching, 
 and whispered, 
 
 "Is it the day of judgement? Oh, Pen, I am 
 frightened." 
 
 " Raise your heart in prayer to God, dear child," 
 Pen said, " and ask to be kept quiet." 
 
 When Master Lyde mounted the pulpit and was 
 trying to proceed with his discourse, there was a 
 terrible and fearful noise, which was like to deafen 
 us, and a great flame, with smoke and a strange 
 choking smell, and a great cracking of the glass of 
 one window, and then we were all on our knees and 
 crying out for God's mercy. 
 
 Near to us Mistress Lyde was all afire, and a gen- 
 tleman by her side, though in like case, seized her 
 and put out the flame. 
 
 Then came a crashing of stones falling through 
 the roof, and all expected the church would come 
 down on our heads, and not one would be left alive. 
 In my poor heart was the thought. Oh ! is this the 
 judgement of God on me for my secret marriage ? 
 And words forced themselves into my very soul, the 
 words we had read in the Psalms not long before : 
 " He gave them their desire, and sent leanness withal 
 into their soul. So the earth opened and swallowed 
 up Dathan and covered the congregation of Abiram, 
 and the fire was kindled in their company." God 
 gave me my desire, I would take my own way, and 
 He is angry with me. Presently, the lightning and 
 
WINIPREDE'S JOURNAL. log 
 
 the thunder being passed, Master Fulford stood up 
 and said, " Neighbours, in the name of God shall we 
 venture out of the church ?" 
 
 And Mr. Lyde answered, " Sir, let us make an end 
 with prayer, for sure it is better to die here than in 
 another place." 
 
 Many would not heed but rushed out, carrying 
 the wounded, yes, and the dead, with them ; but 
 Penelope held me close and said, "'Let us stay while 
 Master Lyde prays." And looking back I may say 
 how noble was the conduct of our minister ; only 
 God's grace could have kept him calm as he was. 
 For from his high place in the pulpit he could see 
 the ruin and the peril ; his own wife burnt, a maiden 
 we all knew by sight killed on the spot, a man 
 thrown with such force against a pillar that his head 
 was knocked to pieces, and the very pillar against 
 which the pulpit stood turned coal black and fumes 
 of sulphur rising from it. 
 
 Mr. Lyde's few words of prayer and calling on 
 God done. Pen and I and Master Fulford left the 
 church. Passing along we found the bowling alley 
 all torn up as if a plough had passed over it, and 
 oh ! sad sight. Tor lying there dead. Dear faithful 
 Tor had come to the church to find out what had 
 happened to his master and to us, and the lightning 
 had struck him. His rough hair was all burnt as if 
 by fire, and he lay stretched out on his side motion- 
 less. Although thankful for our own deliverance, 
 to weep over poor Tor was but natural— as for me, 
 
no WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I felt as if he had been my sole friend in the 
 spring days of love and hope, when I had those 
 blissful hours with my lover, before the cloud came 
 — before I had married him in secret. For, reason 
 with myself as I will, it is ever in my mind that I 
 should not have consented, but waited till he could 
 claim me as his wife before the world. 
 
 The last few days have been occupied with bury- 
 ing the dead and tending the wounded. The news 
 of the disaster have been sent straight to Exeter, 
 and the Bishop and Archdeacon sent, word they 
 are coming to inspect the ruins of the church. 
 
 Many from the whole countryside have come for 
 that purpose, and every heart has been touched with 
 sympathy for Master Lyde and the poor sufferers and 
 mourners. Do I say every heart ? Nay, it was more 
 than I could endure patiently to see Master Angel 
 turn up the whites of his eyes and say, " Alas for the 
 blind leaders of the blind, shall they not both fall 
 into the ditch? I see here the just judgement of 
 God on him who has been leading these poor sheep 
 in the wilderness to the poisoned springs of false 
 doctrine and popish errors." 
 
 " It is you alone who would dare to speak thus," 
 I cried. " There is not a soul here who was in the 
 church that day who does not give the heartiest 
 meed of praise to our good minister. Forsooth, if 
 you had stood in his place. Master Angel, you would 
 have taken to your heels and left others to perish 
 for aught you cared ! " 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. Iii 
 
 " Oh, Winifrede, Winifrede," Penelope exclaimed, 
 " you are over free with your tongue; you should 
 crave Master Angel's pardon." 
 
 " My dear sister in the Lord," Master Angel said, 
 " do you think the foolish words of a poor deluded 
 maiden can offend me ? Nay," he said, in the drawl- 
 ing tone I hate to hear, as I fled from the room, " I 
 do but pity her, for she is truly in the gall of bitter- 
 ness and the bond of iniquity." 
 
 We made Tor's grave in the orchard, where the 
 sun shines on it, and he rests in peace. I cannot 
 help it, oh ! I cannot help it — when I went to-day. 
 to see that the turf had been well rolled over the 
 grave, I cried bitterly, for Tor was a good friend to 
 me — and I loved him well, dear Tor. 
 
 The Close, Exeter, November. 
 
 Little did I think that the visit of the good Bishop 
 to see the ruins of the church would bring about a 
 change in my position, and that I should return to 
 Exeter with him. 
 
 But so it came to pass ; and I must now. record 
 what has happened, and with a lighter heart, as 
 regards my own concerns, than I have felt for many 
 a day. 
 
 The Bishop and Archdeacon, with the Secretary 
 and Chaplain, made a minute inspection of the 
 ruins of the church, the report of which was to 
 be drawn up and despatched to the Archbishop 
 Laud. 
 
H2 WlNIFREBE* S JOURNAL. 
 
 The Bishop showed great emotion when he looked 
 at the ruins and heard from Master Lyde an account 
 of that awful Sunday. 
 
 He stood by the new-made graves of the four 
 who had been killed, and he administered conso- 
 lation to the survivors and sufferers. 
 
 He took up his abode at the Rectory, and there 
 would fain administer the Blessed Sacrament to 
 poor Mistress Lyde, who was yet in her bed ; and 
 our dear Minister invited any of his flock who would 
 wish to attend. 
 
 Trembling and uncertain as to whether I had any 
 right to present myself, I did at last give in my 
 name to join the solemn service, and if ever a poor 
 soul joined in that confession of sin it was I in the 
 hush and stillness of the sick-chamber. But before 
 the service the Bishop caught sight of me, and told 
 the Chaplain to ask for my attendance in the parlour 
 below, as he would fain speak with me. 
 
 I scarce knew how to obey the order, for sinking 
 of heart, but I followed the Chaplain to the parlour, 
 and there awaited the coming of the Bishop. 
 
 " Ah, little Mistress Bridgeman," he began, " I 
 have a request to make to you. My dear child, 
 Mrs. Rodd, lies ■ill ; she craves to have your presence 
 with her ; and her mother and I would fain humour 
 her. The coach returns to Exeter to-morrow, and 
 I would ask you to ride thither with us. My dear 
 daughter has heard nothing of you of late. Master 
 Rodd went to Master Barter's shop, and heard you 
 
WINIFREDE S JOURNAL. 113 
 
 were at Widdicombe, and that you had been with a 
 gentlewoman at Exemouth." 
 
 " Oh, my lord," I exclaimed, " I must needs pray 
 you to hear the confession of an overcharged heart." 
 Then I, kneeling before the Bishop as he sat in the 
 large carved chair by the hearth, in faltering tones, 
 asked leave to tell my story. 
 
 " I have yet ten minutes ere the preparations in 
 the sick-chamber above are complete, and I will 
 listen to you as a father would listen to his child. 
 Take courage, hide nothing, and your Heavenly 
 Father will draw nigh with the assurance of pardon 
 and peace, if you are truly penitent." 
 
 The Bishop listened without a word, till I had 
 done, then he spoke. " My daughter, you have 
 erred ; for as my Lord Bacon saith, ' When two 
 paths lie before the Christian, one strewn with 
 flowers and another rugged and full of thorns, if 
 the choice is given, it is ever safer to take the 
 rougher path.' But there remains now but one 
 course. I must insist on your husband acknowl- 
 edging you as his wife to his father. I blame him 
 greatly; he has taken undue advantage of the youth 
 and ignorance of one, whom on that ground alone 
 he should have forborne to tempt. Inquiry must 
 be made of your marriage in the chapel at Widford. 
 I must examine the document you speak of ere I 
 pronounce judgement, but I have my doubts." 
 
 The words filled me with fear. 
 
 " Doubts, my lord," I gasped, " doubts ? " 
 8 
 
114 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 "A Popish priest performing the ceremony by 
 stealth, and joining two of another faith, or I would 
 prefer to say of another communion, has run a great 
 risk of illegally performing the same. But take 
 courage. I will see you righted before God and 
 man. Where is Master Carew at this moment ?" 
 
 " In London, my lord, with a troop of my Lord 
 Devon's train-band." 
 
 " I go thither next week to consult His Grace the 
 Archbishop on this matter of the destruction of the 
 church, and I will, I warrant, give Master Carew 
 my views on his conduct." 
 
 " Oh, my lord," I pleaded, " he is not to blame. 
 His father is so given to fits of passion that he 
 feared that he might die in one, did he tell him 
 of our marriage, or even of his desire to wed with 
 me. His sister has a sharp tongue, and both are 
 Papists." 
 
 The Bishop shook his head. 
 
 " Only cowards fear a woman's tongue," he said. 
 " I fear me Master Hal is a craven, but I will not 
 be too severe on him for your sake, little Mistress 
 Carew." 
 
 Then the Bishop lifted up his voice and prayed, 
 and made me say after him a few words of peni- 
 tence, and then he blessed me, saying, " Daughter, 
 go in peace." 
 
 The worst part of my ordeal is to come ; for the 
 Bishop says he shall insist that Hal shall bear me 
 to Widford, and acknowledge me before his father 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 115 
 
 and the servants and retainers, of whom there are 
 but few, as Hal has raised as many as he could 
 muster to serve in the train-bands. 
 
 I have written to Hal, the good kind Bishop bear- 
 ing the letter for me. Alack, I dread his reply ; he 
 will be angered against me, and I feel as if that 
 would be harder to bear than aught beside. 
 
 I parted from dear Pen with many tears, and I 
 felt misgivings as to her happiness when she told 
 me she was to be the wife of Master Angel. He 
 will prove a tyrant, and I grieve for dear Master 
 Fulford, who will have but a sorry time of it when 
 he has taken up his quarters at the Cross Farm. 
 
 It was strange to me to ride into Exeter in the 
 Bishop's coach, and stranger still to be set down at 
 Mistress Rodd's and not at the mercer's shop in the 
 High Street. I have not dared to go thither yet. 
 
 Indeed I go little abroad except to the service in 
 the Cathedral, which becomes more and more a rest 
 and balm to my troubled heart. For troubled it 
 must be, till I have my husband's answer to the 
 letter sent him by the hands of the Bishop. 
 
 I found dear Mistress Rodd so sick that I think 
 she cannot live. But at times the bright colour on 
 her cheeks and the light in her eyes deceive those 
 who watch her. Her spirits vary with her feelings, 
 and sometimes after long, long fits of coughing she 
 bids me send for Mistress Hall, for that she thinks 
 the end is near. Again, she seems after a sleep so 
 cheery, and plays with her boy, and talks to me 
 
ii6 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 of the next Eastertide, when she will go with me 
 to Widford, and be my guest as mistress there. 
 Mistress Rodd has no reproaches for me ; they all 
 fall on Hal, so that I often beg of her to say no 
 more till I hear from him. 
 
 I read much to Mistress Rodd. She loves to 
 hear me, and I delight to think that Master Buck- 
 ingham has so taught me to love the words of 
 the Holy Bible that I can read it with understand- 
 ing. Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia and Defence of 
 Poesie are also favourite books, and so is Master John 
 Lyly's Euphues. Mistress Rodd often discourses 
 about her father, and she bids me fetch volumes of 
 his works, which are many, and cull from them wise 
 and witty sayings. Especially does .she love to 
 hear passages from one of his oldest volumes, which 
 being not so clear printed as books of late years, aire 
 hard to read. 
 
 One day Master Rodd brought in a gallant who 
 had come to him to settle some point of law. He 
 was full of airs and graces, dressed in red velvet, 
 slashed with buff satin, his cap with a plume, his 
 cloak turned back with the same colour, and his 
 love-lock fastened with a bow of riband, in the 
 middle of which shone a diamond. His curls all 
 heavy with scented unguents which made us near 
 sick to smell. 
 
 This gallant one, Sir Hubert Wynne, had come 
 fresh from Court, and talked of all the grand friends 
 he had there, but he could tell us little of the great 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 117 
 
 matters which were now in most men's minds ; Mas- 
 ter Hampden's trial for one, the state of Scotland 
 concerning the liturgy, the constant growth of the 
 Puritans, their arrogance in invading churches and 
 demolishing what they called Popish images, thrust- 
 ing the altar from the chancel to the midst of the 
 church. All these things were nought to Sir Hu- 
 bert Wynne, and Master Rodd said when he had 
 taken leave, with all manner of bows and grimaces, 
 
 " If this is a sample of the stuff the King's friends 
 are made of, it will be a woful thing for him in the 
 struggle which I verily believe is not far off." 
 
 Then Master Rodd said, " There is a fine descrip- 
 tion of such a fellow in your father's book, sweet 
 Moll, The Characters of Virtue and Vice. It is his 
 very portrait though drawn many a year ago." 
 Then Master 'Rodd fetched the book and read 
 aloud the description of the " Vainglorious." 
 
 Mistress Rodd was so pleased with the likeness, 
 that she made me read it again and again after 
 Master Rodd had left us, saying, " My dear father 
 has a wondrous power of satire, and he can see the 
 humour of a thing. When I have heard my mother 
 ask all innocently, ' What makes you laugh, dear 
 husband ? I see nought ludicrous,' then my father 
 would say, ' Nay, dear heart, to expound a jest is to 
 destroy it, and you might perchance say that the 
 fool laughs at his own wit.' " 
 
 I was so taken up with the description that suited 
 the grand gallant who visited us several times, that 
 
ii8 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I have got the old book and write here the con- 
 cluding passage : 
 
 " To conclude, he is ever on the stage, and acts a 
 glorious part abroad ; when no man carries a baser 
 heart, no man is more sordid and careless at home. 
 He is a Spanish soldier on an Italian theatre, a blad- 
 der full of wind, a skin full of words, a fool's wonder, 
 and a wise man's fool ! " 
 
 It doth seem indeed that Sir Hubert carries a 
 base heart, for he has cheated Master Rodd of his 
 lawful fees, and gone back to Court having gained 
 his cause by Master Rodd's skill, with his pocket 
 full of money, which he will belike squander on 
 more love-knots and costly lace. 
 
 Ah, my heart tells me that my Hal is not of this 
 sort, and I bear about silently the weight which his 
 silence causes me, and speak not at all of one whom 
 my best friends seem ready to blame and none to 
 praise. 
 
 November 26. 
 
 I went yesterday to my old home in the High 
 Street, and asked Dorothy Ellis leave to ascend to 
 my chamber and gather together my books and a 
 few possessions. 
 
 I found my Uncle deafer than ever, and Dorothy 
 Ellis more full of cranks and sour as an unripe whort 
 on the moors. 
 
 The Bishop bade me tell all whom it concerned 
 that I was married to HalCarew, and I dreaded to 
 do^ so. 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. iig 
 
 I need not have feared; to Dorothy Ellis it 
 seemed welcome news, to my Uncle as indifferent as 
 if I were an alien and a stranger. He stared at me 
 as I related my story, and every now and then made 
 a hollow of his hand at the back of his ear, saying, 
 " Hum — eh ? what ?" and the like. 
 
 At last I showed him my ring, and he nodded as 
 if it were any ordinary bauble. 
 
 I knew of old that he was one of those who hear 
 better than they pretend, and so I thanked him for 
 keeping me from my childhood, and said I should 
 trouble him no longer, that I would fain have been 
 a more dutiful niece, and that I craved pardon for 
 aught by which I had offended him. 
 
 Only a grunt came in return, and then I curtsied 
 and was'leaving the room when he called, " Stop ! " 
 
 I turned back to see him routing in a chest where 
 he kept, as I knew, brocades and satins and taffetas, 
 which had been tarnished or damaged. 
 
 He drew out a folded length of blue and silver 
 brocade, carefully peering into the folds to satisfy 
 himself that on every one there was a little spot, as I 
 afterwards discovered, and then he handed it to me. 
 
 " A gown for you, and I wish you good luck, and 
 a pocket full of money ; which is more than I've got, 
 so you needn't be looking for my death, as bringing 
 you a fortune." 
 
 Could any farewell be more unseemly? It was 
 in my heart to throw back the brocade in his face, 
 but I thought better of it. If he is discourteous to 
 
120 IVINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 me, I need not follow such an evil example, so I curt- 
 sied again, and said, " I thank you, good Uncle," 
 and left the close stuffy chamber for the last time. 
 
 Dorothy Ellis was watching for me and eyed the 
 brocade curiously. 
 
 " You will have enow of fine gowns, without rob- 
 bing your poor Uncle of what he can ill afford," she 
 said. 
 
 A laugh sounded near, and I saw Will Thornton 
 had heard this remark. 
 
 " If he is poor, who is rich ? " he said, " and I 
 know who is looking out for his money." 
 
 " You are an impudent young villain to dare to 
 say as much," Dorothy screamed. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! the cap fits then," was the immediate 
 reply. 
 
 I waited to hear no more, but went up to my old 
 chamber in the roof. 
 
 Strange were my feelings, a curious mingling of 
 pain with joy. Here I had dreamed my first sweet 
 dream of love ; from here I had stolen out to meet 
 Hal, and here I had made my vow to be his, and 
 his only for ever, and through weal and woe — that 
 vow will I keep. 
 
 I busied myself gathering together the few books 
 and papers, and the scanty wardrobe I had left be- 
 hind. As I did so the mirror James Eland had 
 given me caught my eye, and I put it in the bundle. 
 Poor James Eland, what is his fate ? If I could 
 speak with Will Thornton alone I would fain en- 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 121 
 
 quire of him, but Dorothy Ellis is all ears and. eyes, 
 and I fear to attract her notice. 
 
 I stood by the window, where I had so often 
 looked down on the High Street with its throng of 
 passers-by on market days, and on the familiar 
 Guildhall, where knots of folks talking over the 
 affairs of the city are always gathered. The pigeons 
 that I had fed had deserted the place, for none 
 came, and it was the hour when I was used to 
 spread the crumbs. 
 
 Presently there was a flutter and a faint coo, and 
 then the white pigeon fell against the casement and 
 in another moment lay on its back on the floor 
 dead. Starved or hunted to death ! It was the 
 very same pigeon. I knew it by one little touch of 
 fawn colour on its left wing. 
 
 I picked it up and held it to my bosom, but it was 
 too late, it never moved again. I will carry it to 
 the Close, I thought, and bury it in the little garden 
 behind Master Rodd's house. 
 
 Pen said that a bird coming in at a casement was 
 an ill omen. Was this an ill omen, was it — could it 
 be, that I was to be deserted like the poor white 
 dove, and die — die starved for want of that which I 
 hunger for, more than a bird hungers for food, love, 
 Hal's love ! When will he write and come ? Oh, 
 when ? 
 
 December 31. 
 
 I have had but little heart to write nor indeed 
 time to do so for many days, and now being come 
 
122 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 to the last week of this year, so fraught with joys 
 and sorrows to me, I must sum up as shortly as may 
 be what has happened. 
 
 Soon after my last entry here, which I see tells of 
 the death of the poor hunted white pigeon, dear 
 Mistress Rodd grew much weaker and could scarce 
 leave her bed. The gambols of her fine boy ceased 
 to be a pleasure, and he was carried off to the Pal- 
 ace by his grandmother and only visited his mother 
 at times. All that could be done was done for my 
 dearest Mistress Rodd, but death drew nigh and 
 none could stay the approach. It was passing 
 strange to me to find how she clung to me, com- 
 mending often her boy to my care. " Love him, 
 Winifrede, and bring him up in God's faith and 
 fear," she would say, " promise to be ever a friend to 
 him ; my poor Bamfilde, he will be motherless when 
 a mother is most needed. I would not grieve if my 
 husband took another wife, and I should have been 
 glad had that wife been you. Now, alas ! I know 
 full well, it cannot be, you are the wife of another." 
 
 Yes, indeed ! I thought, but had I been free, I 
 could not have married a grave cold man like 
 Master Rodd. 
 
 As I write the word " cold " I feel reproached ; 
 for sure no grief was ever greater than his, when at 
 last he suffered himself to see that his wife was 
 leaving him. He held out to the last that she 
 would get better in the spring-time, that when 
 warm days came she would mend. 
 
WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 123 
 
 It was not till shortly before Christmas that he 
 ceased to talk of plans for her journey, to drink in 
 the soft breezes of the sea at Dawlish, where a 
 friend, one Master Hoare, had offered him a cottage 
 above the strand where the fisher folk ply their 
 trade. 
 
 The Bishop was absent in London till near the' 
 middle of December, detained there by many grave 
 matters as to the Church. 
 
 The King forced the service book upon the 
 people of Scotland, then revoked it, and by this 
 change of purpose made fresh trouble. When the 
 Bishop returned he brought news that two Arch- 
 bishops and six Bishops were excommunicated, and 
 six others deposed. 
 
 " And," said the Bishop, " time will show that 
 this wave of discontent and violence will flow south- 
 wards, and the mitres here will be toppling from 
 many heads, mine with the rest, belike ! " 
 
 I was scarce able to listen to this and much more 
 from the. Bishop, who had called me from Mistress 
 Rodd's chamber the day after his arrival from Lon- 
 don, to speak with him in the parlour below. 
 
 But his mind was fuller of these great matters 
 than of mine which were small by comparison. At 
 length he said, " I have had speech with your hus- 
 band, and I have looked into the matter of your 
 marriage. It will be right and lawful that I should 
 join your hands according to the rites of our own 
 Church. When a Papist weds with one of another 
 
124 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 faith it is ever expedient to repeat the ceremony 
 either in the English Church or another Church, as 
 occasion requires. Do not look so frightened, dear 
 little Mistress Carew," the Bishop said kindly, nay 
 tenderly. " The fault lies not at your door. See ! 
 I have brought you a letter from your husband. I 
 can forgive you for your surrender to him, he is a 
 right gallant looking man, and I would back him to 
 win in any fair fight. But though brave as to the 
 risk of life, or pain of body, I fear me he is a 
 craven, or he would have gone proudly to the old 
 man his father, and said ' Here is my wife.' " 
 
 How often I have read that letter the Bishop 
 brought me, and watered it with my tears ; it 
 breathes love and devotion, and yet Hal is not 
 come ! 
 
 After that summons to the Bishop I scarce left 
 dear Mistress Rodd. She would not let me out of 
 her sight, and I found a solace in being near her and 
 listening to the words of faith and trust which fell 
 from her lips. 
 
 She bid farewell to her boy on Christmas Eve, and 
 roused herself to give him a toy and a box of com- 
 fits. Bamfilde is but a babe of eighteen months, 
 and he fixed his large wondering eyes on his dying 
 mother, held out his fat hand and stroked her cheek, 
 and then held up his little gown and hid his face, and 
 then peeped out again, as she had taught him many 
 a time, and laughed his merry childish laugh, saying 
 one of his few words " Peep-Bo." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 125 
 
 The Bishop who held the child in his arms turned 
 his head away, and I saw a tear roll down his fur- 
 rowed cheek. " Kiss dear mother," Mistress Hall 
 said presently to the child, " and say ' bye-bye.' " 
 
 " A long — long good-bye," the mother said, " carry 
 him away, I can bear no more. Oh ! it is hard ! 
 Pray, dear father, pray for me and for my boy." 
 The Bishop was ever ready to hold communion with 
 God. Those who only knew him outside can have 
 small notion of his saintliness, and the wonderful 
 power of his words in bringing to poor burdened 
 hearts the presence of the Divine Comforter. 
 
 From that moment of bitter pain in parting from 
 her boy, dear Mistress Rodd lay quiet and peaceful, 
 often with a smile on her lips, always with a look of 
 restful tenderness in her eyes for those she loved, 
 her brothers and sisters and her husband, who 
 bowed with grief could not trust himself to utter 
 any word. 
 
 It was Christmas morning when Mistress Rodd 
 called me, " I hear the angels sing Glory to God on 
 high — it is so beautiful — so lovely — Winifrede — 
 Hark ! " 
 
 I had been sitting by her side all night, and turn- 
 ing the light of the lamp on her pillow I saw a 
 strange look on her face. I roused Mistress Hall and 
 the Bishop, and touched Master Rodd on the shoul- 
 der. He started up and went to the head of the bed. 
 
 " The angels' song," she said. " Father, do you 
 hear?" 
 
126 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 "Yes, it is the angels' song, sweet Mary," he said, 
 " they have come to take you home." 
 
 " Home ! Ah ! yes — home ! " 
 
 Then the Bishop said the commendatory prayer, 
 and a silence fell, broken only by the low sobs of us 
 who knelt around — but for her, rapture and joy, as 
 the Christmas chimes broke out on the frosty air, 
 and we who were left could only echo the words 
 which fell from the Bishop's lips as he put his arm 
 round his wife : 
 
 " We sorrow not as those without hope, dear 
 wife; let us thank God that our Mary is at rest." 
 
 It was on the fourth day after her death that 
 Mary Rodd was laid to rest in the Cathedral, and 
 her young sister Ann, who had been absent in the 
 household of a gentleman at Plymouth, was one of 
 those around her grave. 
 
 Ah ! that dark and silent grave — try as I will, I 
 shudder when I think of it — and weeping bitterly I 
 heard as in a dream the words of faith and hope 
 that Christ is the Resurrection and the Life. 
 
 But death is so dark and fearsome and life so 
 bright that I cannot choose but love life and shrink 
 from death. I have been brought very near it 
 since this year began. The storm which killed four 
 people close by me is yet fresh in my memory, 
 and I was spared ! Mrs. Rodd, scarce five years 
 older than I am, is taken, and I am left ! I pray 
 God I may feel more ready than I now do when 
 Death draws nigh. Now I only long to live, yes, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 127 
 
 even if separation from Hal, and sorrow and trial 
 are before me, yet I wish to live. Is this wrong ? 
 Is it because I am conscious that I am not fit to 
 die ? I cannot tell ; but I would fain be honest, and 
 thus I must say again I "dread death and darkness 
 and the grave. It is light beyond, the light of 
 God. I would fain believe — but yet I cling to the 
 sunshine and the fair beauty of the world ; and I 
 cling with all my might to the love of my husband, 
 to my brave noble husband, Hal Carew. 
 
 Widford House, February, 1639. 
 
 It fell out according to the Bishop's wishes, nay 
 commands. 
 
 On a January day, when the old Norman towers 
 of the Cathedral were all picked out with snow, and 
 the blackened stone had a white fringe edging every 
 turret and fretwork and every mullion and buttress, 
 I was married in my lord's private chapel to my 
 love and true knight, Hal Carew. 
 
 The Bishop blessed us fervently, and we only 
 delayed our journey hither till the snow which was 
 at no time thick had melted. 
 
 Mistress Hall could scarce part with me, and she 
 said I must ever think my home would be with her, 
 if I needed a home. 
 
 " It was a promise to our Mary," she said, " that 
 you would befriend her boy, and that promise will 
 be sacred, I well believe. My little Nan is but a 
 child, though she has numbered seventeen summers ; 
 
128 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the youngest of the family is ever a babe in her 
 mother's eyes." This was true in respect to Ann 
 Hall's case, and there were in her all the whims and 
 conceits of a spoiled child. It was for this that she 
 had been sent forth to Plymouth ; for her sisters 
 and brothers had less patience with her than their 
 mother. 
 
 We reached Widford in the chill twilight of a 
 February evening, and Hal felt me tremble as we 
 drew nigh. " Now do not be a little fool," he said ; 
 " sure if you could trust me and take that ride in 
 the night long ago, you can trust me now." 
 
 " Ah ! that ride, Hal ! I would I had not taken 
 it." 
 
 " Now peace on that score," Hal said ; " if the 
 milk is spilt we can't pick it up again, and it is idle 
 to make an ado about what can't be cured." 
 
 I had found out ere this that Hal liked to forget 
 the past ; and I — I cannot quite forget. 
 
 Did he love me less than by that moorland pool 
 with its fringe of heather ? Did he love me less than 
 in the Bower Cottage in those past days of bliss ? I 
 dare not ask this question, nor would I suffer a 
 thought of distrust to enter into the heart that is 
 wholly his. 
 
 Then we drew up before the great stone entrance 
 of the house ; the door was thrown wide, for Hal had 
 sent the groom on before to announce his coming. 
 
 A low fire, nearly burned out, was on the hearth, 
 and the place was silent and dark. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 129 
 
 " Bring torches," Hal said, " and light the lamps ; 
 we can scarce see our fingers." He spoke like one 
 in authority, and the servants hastened to obey. 
 
 Did they know — did any one know of my coming ? 
 I thought. Two amongst them knew, the two faith- 
 ful servants, who had knelt in the chapel with me, 
 and who had brought me from the Bower Cottage 
 to the Cross Farm in the autumn of the last year. 
 These two men made me a low reverence, and one 
 taking the torch went before us along dim passages, 
 to the foot of a flight of stairs. 
 
 Here a lamp hung, and Hal stopped and looked 
 at me. " Loosen your redingote," he said, " let 
 them see you first with your hair shining like bronze 
 and gold. Nay now, Winifrede, be my winsome 
 lady, and not a poor silly little trembling thing. 
 Remember you are my wife." 
 
 I did as he bid me, and forsooth my hair was in 
 such loose disorder that it fell right over my figure, 
 and the coif which had held it back under my hood 
 had fallen with it. Hal looked at me, and smiled. 
 " This will do," he cried, " now," and then he took 
 my hand, and knocking at a door, a shrill voice, 
 Joan's I knew, said, 
 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 Then Hal walked in still holding my hand in his, 
 and straight up to a chair by the hearth, where, 
 propped up with pillows and muffled in all manner 
 of coverings, his head swathed in thick cloths, sat 
 a small wizened old man — Hal's father. 
 9 
 
I30 WINIFREDE'S JO URNAL, . 
 
 " Father," Hal said, " I have brought you my 
 wife, and your daughter-in-law. Kneel, Winifrede, 
 and ask his blessing." Then followed aught but a 
 blessing. I could scarce write here all that the old 
 man said ; his eyes were aflame, his lips trembling, 
 his whole frame shaken with passion. 
 
 " Wife ! daughter ! " he screamed, " I will have 
 none of her. You are to wed Mistress Ley ; you 
 have brought scorn on her by your desertion — 
 you 
 
 So violent was the old man that Joan said, " Be- 
 gone, Hal, nor kill your father, nor palm off this 
 wench as your wife. Hoity-toity ! I have seen her 
 somewhere. Why, she is a farm lass by Widdi- 
 combe. I saw her the day of the storm, or the day 
 before. Take her whence she came, Hal, and do 
 not think to cheat me." 
 
 Hal spoke up then, put his arm round me and 
 said, " My wife is one I am proud to own. The 
 Bishop of Exeter married and blessed us, and so, 
 Joan, I bid you understand Dame Winifrede Carew 
 is to be thought of here as mistress, and you will 
 have to give up the house keys and do as she wills." 
 
 " The little upstart ! the poor foolish upstart ! 
 Nay, Hal, you may depart whence you came. Dame 
 Carew forsooth, what next ? " 
 
 " That I cannot answer," Hal said laughing. " But 
 as I was honoured by the sword of the King laid 
 on my shoulder not a month ago, and dubbed Sir 
 Henry Carew, it must needs fiome to pass that my 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. r3I 
 
 wife shares my honour, and is henceforth Dame 
 Winifrede Carew." 
 
 Joan seemed struck dumb now ; and Hal, seeing 
 his advantage, went on. 
 
 " Travellers need their suppers — when will it be 
 served ? Now, my winsome lady, we will go and 
 seek our apartment, and good Mistress Friendship, 
 who will act according to her name. Come, Wini- 
 frede, let us begone to our own quarters." 
 
 We were essaying to do so when from behind the 
 arras at the far end of the chamber a lady stepped 
 out. Her mien was dignified and noble, and her face 
 exceedingly sweet, though she was neither young 
 nor fair. I remembered that I had seen her on 
 the moor, riding with Joan Carew, and she remem- 
 bered me. Very gentle was her voice as she took 
 my hand in hers, saying, 
 
 " Tired and cold, poor child — come to my cham- 
 ber, where there is at least warmth — and a wel- 
 come." 
 
 " Do you know who it is ? " Joan screamed in her 
 harsh voice — " it is the viper my brother has brought 
 to sting his poor aged father with bitter pain ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, Joan," Mistress Ley said, " I call her 
 more like a dove, to bring peace, and not conten- 
 tion, by her looks. Is she your wife, Hal Carew ? " 
 
 "Yes, madam, my wife — twice wedded — once in 
 the chapel belpw, once in that of our good Bishop 
 of Exeter, not a week ago." 
 
 " How can you take her hand and fondle her," 
 
132 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Joan said, " when my unworthy brother has turned 
 you off for this penniless chit of a Puritan ! Oh ! it 
 is maddening ! " 
 
 " Nay, Joan," Mistress Ley said, " that is too 
 strong a word. Hal never turned me off, for I was 
 never on ! But Hal knows I am his friend, and that 
 I will befriend his wife also." 
 
 " And may God reward and bless you, Marjorie 
 Ley, and give you a hundredfold for all your good 
 charity to this dear wife of mine. Go with Mistress 
 Ley, Winifrede, and I will stay behind and try to 
 stem this torrent of words and soothe my poor old 
 father." 
 
 I learned that night, if I had never learned be- 
 fore, how beautiful a thing is the renouncing of self 
 for others and for God. Never shall I know a 
 nobler woman than the lady who, regardless of 
 aught but blessed charity, took me to her heart that 
 evening and comforted me. I told her all my story, 
 and she listened' with the same look of tender sym- 
 pathy in her eyes which seemed like an inward light 
 of her soul shining through. And when I asked, 
 trembling and afraid of what the answer would be — 
 " Oh, madam ! Did my husband ever come to you 
 as a suitor ? " she replied, 
 
 " Dear child, he came as a boy comes to an elder 
 woman to tell his griefs and give his aspirings vent. 
 He did at one time desire to be received into the 
 communion of the true Church, in which blessed 
 communion I was born, and have lived, and shall 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL, I33 
 
 die. Poor Master Carew and Joan had themselves 
 been received, and pressed it on Hal, and even urged 
 it on him. I did not, for I misdoubted their 
 motives, and I feared what might follow. If the" 
 motive be impure, what can be hoped of the deed ?. 
 It has pleased God to endow me with much wealth 
 and a fine estate, an orphan from my childhood, a 
 near neighbour of Widford, and beloved of Hal's 
 dead mother, who was one of the saints of God." 
 
 "So Mistress Carey told me when we lived at 
 the Bower just within her gates — that happy, happy 
 time ! " I said, " never to come again." 
 
 " Was it indeed so happy ? " Mistress Ley said 
 sadly. " Let us believe, by God's grace, happier 
 are in store." 
 
 So much passed on this first evening, more since, 
 between Mistress Ley and me. She pays constant 
 visits to Widford — her rooms are always ready — 
 she is the Lady Bountiful of the two estates, and 
 in Hal's absence she looks into both, for the lands 
 join. Mistress Ley has only an oratory at Ley 
 Park, but the chapel at Widford is old, and had 
 fallen into disuse till Hal's father was received into 
 the Roman Church. 
 
 Strange it seems that I have found friends, loving 
 friends, one a Puritan, the other a faithful daughter 
 of the Reformed Church, in which faith she died 
 last Christmas Day, and now one full of grace and 
 goodness, a Roman Catholic, or, as they are called, 
 a Papist ! Yet, is it not true that faith of any kind 
 
134 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 without works is dead, and with works of love and 
 charity, alive ? 
 
 Joan fasts, and is kneeling in the chapel telling 
 her beads continually ; and yet she is scolding and 
 rating every man, woman, and child near her at 
 every moment she spares from her devotions, now 
 stricter than ever as Lent has begun. 
 
V. 
 
 " This man is right," ye say. " That man is not right." " This 
 sound ; that rotten." 
 
 And how so, dear Christians ? What ! for ceremonies and cir- 
 cumstances, for rochets or rounds or squares ? 
 
 Let me tell you, he is right that hath a heart to his God, what 
 forms soever he is for. 
 
 The Kingdom of God doth not stand in meats and drinks, in 
 stuffs, or colours, or fashions, in noises, or gestures ; it stands in 
 holiness and righteousness, in godliness and charity, in peace and 
 obedience. — Bishop Hall. 
 
 Widford House, May i. 
 
 A YEAR has passed since that happy May day — 
 but it is only fitting that my husband should leave 
 me for the Court, where he seems to be much in 
 favour. But nevertheless I am very sad at heart. 
 This house is like a prison to me — I now think of 
 the chamber in the roof at Exeter as a pleasant 
 abode. I wander through the galleries and dreary 
 chambers like an uneasy spirit. 
 
 If it were not for the comfort of Mistress Ley I 
 should sink utterly ; and why ? Sure it is distrustful 
 of me to be so sorrowful : brighter days may come. 
 
 I have seen dear Pen once and visited Master 
 
 135 
 
136 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Lyde at Widdicombe. Pen is now, as I expected, 
 but a slave to Master Angel — and dares not do 
 aught without his leave. Master Fulford is no 
 more master in his own home, but he is kind and 
 cheery as ever he was. 
 
 Master Angel rated me soundly, for living with 
 Papists, and said that he wished for no dealings 
 with me who doubtless was one at heart. 
 
 " I should not play the hypocrite," I said. " Were 
 I a Papist, you should know of it." 
 
 Thereupon Master Angel said, " Methinks those 
 who go through a secret form of marriage must 
 find the part of hypocrite easy to play ! " 
 
 I grew very angry and returned with much heat, 
 that I did not choose to be thus spoken to by a 
 sower of dissension in a once peaceful parish, I, who 
 was the proud wife of Sir Harry Carew ! 
 
 Pen's entreating look stopped me from saying 
 more, and I felt that for her sake I must keep away 
 from Widdicombe. 
 
 Master Lyde showed me the church and the re- 
 pairs which are nearly completed. The pillar is 
 still blackened, and Master Lyde said it would so 
 remain, that it might be a perpetual reminder to the 
 people of their deliverance in that awful hour. 
 
 Good Master Lyde is much troubled by Master 
 Angel. 
 
 " He IS no angel in this parish," he said, " and 
 preaches his doctrine and sows discontent broad- 
 cast amongst the people. There will be a bitter 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 137 
 
 crop to be gathered in soon. It is a trial of faith to 
 see many of my good folk in this parish attending 
 the meeting in the large barn of the Cross Farm, 
 and forsaking the paths of peace ; and one Master 
 Coxe of Sandford is well-nigh as bad. This man, 
 Angel, frightens them by saying that the storm was 
 the judgement of God on those who were in the 
 church listening to false teaching of a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing — and so forth. 
 
 "Ah, well-a-day !" Master Lyde said, " these are 
 evil times, and the Puritans are continually gaining 
 ground in this kingdom while those in high places 
 do not stem the torrent with wisdom. Rather 
 they break down the barriers with their ill-advised 
 measures, and there will be a destroying flood ere 
 long." 
 
 " My husband thinks," I said, " that the King 
 holds the hearts of the people, and that they will 
 support the dignity of the Church and the Crown." 
 
 " He is young and hopeful," Master Lyde said 
 sadly. 
 
 Here we were interrupted by one Master Hill, the 
 village schoolmaster. 
 
 He had a carpenter with him, who bore a large 
 slab of wood in his hand which he craved leave to 
 fit into the wall of the church. It was printed in 
 close lines with some verses written by Master Hill 
 to keep the event of that fearsome Sunday ever be- 
 fore the eyes of the people. 
 
 " Methinks," Master Lyde said, " the blackened 
 
138 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 pillar will do this — but as poor Roger Hill was 
 one of those struck dead, it is, I doubt not, a 
 solace to his brother to see these lines put up on 
 the wall." 
 
 Master Hill followed me from the church and 
 begged me to accept a copy of the verses — for, said 
 he, 
 
 " I have spent leisure hours in making copies to 
 present to such as were in the church ; and I know 
 you were one. Mistress Winifrede." 
 
 " Nay, not Mistress Winifrede any longer," Master 
 Lyde said ; " good Master Hill, this lady is now 
 Dame Carew, the wife of Sir Harry Carew, of Wid- 
 ford ! " Master Hill craved pardon for his mistake ; 
 and I, taking the slab on which the lines were 
 written, begged to contribute a gold piece for the 
 cost of the tablet and the putting it up on the 
 church wall. 
 
 " That was prettily done. Dame Carew," Mr. Lyde 
 said, as Master Hill, with many bows and respects, 
 departed. 
 
 June. 
 
 I have had a dear loving letter from Hal sent by 
 special messenger. He talks of my joining him in 
 London and says he shall be proud to present me to 
 the King and Queen Marie ; but oh ! that is a very 
 distant day ; I could not ride on horseback, no, nor 
 in a coach now. Hal left me in March, and this is 
 June — alack ! how slow the time passes without 
 him. Mistress Hall is no scribe, and I hear but 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 139 
 
 little from Exeter — there my thoughts live when 
 they are not with my husband. 
 
 I find less solace in my books than I did, and 
 even writing, which was so great a pleasure, tires 
 me. 
 
 I see but little of Joan. When I do see her she 
 rates me for laziness, and told me the other day I 
 ate the bread of idleness, and set me a task of 
 tapestry work which I blotted with tears — and I 
 pricked my finger sorely. 
 
 July 10. 
 
 Yesterday was a brighter day to me than many I 
 have spent of late, for Mistress Ley returned from 
 Plymouth, and her guests are Sir Gilbert Redvers 
 and Dame Dulcibel Redvers. 
 
 He brought me news of the Court and of Hal — 
 he will be here ere long. 
 
 " And is he well ? " I asked, " and happy? " 
 
 Dame Dulcibel laughed. ' 
 
 " Hal Carew knows nought of unhappiness, my 
 child ; he is besides petted and made much of, and 
 the Court is merry without, though there are heavy 
 hearts within it. Your husband is not one of these. 
 He is a courtier and a soldier, and he lives in the 
 present. I never knew any man who had so little 
 eare for the future. Mistress Ley has known him 
 since he was a boy ; and sure she can bear witness to 
 his light-heartedness and happiness in the moment. 
 However, Hal will be with you ere long; he has 
 business in Cornwall, where there is a great resist- 
 
14° WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ance to the King's. demands for money. The Corn- 
 ish men are tough fellows, Sir Gilbert says, and will 
 hold out to the last against injustice." 
 
 Then Dame Dulcibel rallied me on my sorry 
 looks, and said I must take care not to lose my 
 beauty, for all men prized good looks, and husbands 
 liked their wives to shine and testify to the world 
 that they had shown good taste. 
 
 These words of Dame Redvers went like an arrow 
 to my heart. 
 
 I have just been studying my face before poor 
 James Eland's mirror, and forsooth, I am pale and 
 heavy-eyed. Will Hal think so when he comes ? 
 
 August I. 
 
 The longed-for moment came and went ; my hus- 
 band returned, for a few short days on his way to 
 Cornwall, and he will be here again as he rides back. 
 
 If my face is pale and peaked, as Dame Redvers 
 says, Hal seems to love me no less. 
 
 He was so tender and good to me, and bade Mrs. 
 Friendship to look after my special comfort in the 
 coming time of trial. 
 
 The only thing — shall I write it here? — yes, for 
 truth must be written or nothing written — the only 
 grief is, I could not get Hal to talk with any serious- 
 ness. 
 
 I do so fear death and what is coming on me, 
 that I longed to tell him everything, and get his 
 comfort. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 141 
 
 But he will not be serious — he turns off the 
 matter with such words as " Die ! no, why should 
 you die ? You will be all well by Christmas, and 
 we will have a grand time in London, with masques 
 and merry-making." 
 
 " Oh ! but, Hal, I cannot think of that yet, not 
 yet. So much must come first, and I am frightened, 
 and think if I never see your face again ! I have no 
 one but you, Hal ; but " 
 
 "Now then," Hal said, "what but is it? ' ifs and 
 buts ' are poor game. Put away all silly fancies, my 
 winsome lady — and you shall come and shine like a 
 star at Court, and make me proud to say, ' This is 
 my lady-love. Dame Winifrede Carew.' " 
 
 He kissed me then, and on this last time I tried 
 to speak gravely to him, he fetched a casket and 
 took a silver key from a drawer in the little cabinet, 
 which stands in my chamber. Fitting the key into 
 the lock, he opened the casket, and showed me all 
 the precious stones which were his mother's, some 
 shining diamonds and rubies and a string of large 
 pearls. 
 
 "AH will be yours, sweetheart — Joan has her 
 share, and these are yours." 
 
 But I could scarcely fetch a srnile as he put the 
 necklace round my neck. 
 
 " I have one I prize more," I said, " your first 
 gift to me." 
 
 " Well, this shall not be the last. How the 
 pearls match your neck," he said, "it is as white as 
 
142 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 a lily. Come, no tears. Why, Winifrede, I might 
 sit down and mope because I may be run through 
 the body by one of these Cornish knaves who are 
 resisting the King's will. Not I ! And there is a 
 friend of yours who would gladly see me lying dead 
 before him — I'll not give him or any one else the 
 chance. The notion of that villain thinking he 
 could get rid of me with his poor puny arm — fit to 
 stroke and fold silks, but not to handle a sword. It 
 was fine to see him rolling in the dust, where he 
 had hoped to see me," and then Hal laughed. " Is 
 he still in the shop in High Street ? " 
 
 I could not laugh, and I answered, " No one 
 knows what has become of him ; I would fain 
 know." 
 
 " Ah ! a tender place still in your heart for him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Hal," I said, " I can scarce bear to think 
 that I caused his ruin ; for he would have had a 
 good place in my Uncle's trade but for me. I can- 
 not choose but pity James Eland." 
 
 " Do not waste your pity, dear love, on such an 
 object. I could thrash him now for daring to lift 
 his eyes to you — a worm looking at an angel and 
 desiring notice. Forsooth ! " 
 
 Then Hal went on to talk of many things, arid all 
 to cheer me and make me hopeful. 
 
 I saw him ride off the next morning with his 
 troop, looking so gallant and gay, rising on his fine 
 bay charger to wave his plumed cap at me with a 
 smile. The servants all gathered in the hall, and 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL, 143 
 
 Joan was there and Mistress Ley. I did my best to 
 smile to the last, but it was too hard a strain for 
 me. All things grew dark and black, and I knew 
 no more till I heard Mistress Ley's voice say, 
 
 " She is come round ; leave her to me, poor child, 
 poor child ! " 
 
 Mistress Ley was and is my good friend, and 
 urged me to return to my old employments and to 
 go with her to carry broth and comforts to the 
 poor, which she said I should find a solace. 
 
 ,It was through the kind zeal of this good friend 
 that I began to take more interest in my books 
 again — and I found in the library here many an- 
 cient works which would have gladdened the heart 
 
 of dear Master Buckingham. 
 
 September 24. 
 
 I was called down to-day to see a gentleman who 
 enquired for me. 
 
 " Does he bring news from my husband ? " I 
 asked, " is he one of his messengers ?" 
 
 " Nay, madam, the gentleman is a clergyman — he 
 wears a velvet hat, bands, and a cassock." 
 
 I went down half expecting to see the dear Bishop ; 
 but instead it was his son the Archdeacon, who 
 brought me a message from his mother Mistress 
 Hall, who would fain know how I did, and whether 
 I had good tidings of my gallant husband. 
 
 I was overjoyed to see the Archdeacon, and to 
 hear of dear Mistress Rodd's boy, whom I craved 
 to see again. 
 
144 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " He is fat and well-looking," the Archdeacon 
 said, " and lives almost wholly at the Palace, a 
 wholesome inmate for little Mistress Ann, who can 
 no longer take all the spoiling to herself." 
 
 The Archdeacon laughed and asked me if I did 
 not agree with him, that her deposition from the 
 pinnacle of youngest child would do Mistress Ann 
 no harm. 
 
 The Archdeacon said he had come on a mission 
 from his father the Bishop, to enquire into the 
 doings and sayings of that schismatic, one Master 
 Benjamin Coxe of Sandford. 
 
 " He^ has lately been venting doctrine in his 
 church, or rather chapel — which is dead against 
 Episcopal government. I have come in the Bishop's 
 name to demand a copy of the sermon, and shall, I 
 warrant, not return without it. The country is full 
 of these arrogant schismatics, and we must be rid of 
 them by some means, or we shall have the Church 
 fall about our ears, and we who hold high office in 
 it, will be vagrants begging our bread. My mother 
 bid me say," the Archdeacon went on, " that she 
 is ill pleased that you should be in the house of 
 Papists, albeit they are your husband's flesh and 
 blood." 
 
 He started and looked round at the arras which 
 hung over the door. 
 
 " Has the arras ears ? " he said, " I thought I 
 heard a rustle." 
 
 I knew Joan was not too proud to be an eaves- 
 
WINIFREDS S JOURNAL. 145 
 
 dropper, and I looked with anxiety at the arras — 
 but it did not stir. 
 
 "Well, do not let these Papists catch you, little 
 mistress," the Archdeacon went on, " nor tempt you 
 to hear their idolatrous mass. Keep steadfast in the 
 truth of our Church purged not a hundred years ago 
 of the errors which had grown like fungi on a noble 
 tree. On the one hand are dangers from these Papists 
 and from the Puritans on the other ; the Papists ly- 
 ing quiet, like foxes in a hole, watching their time to 
 spring. Don't let them catch you in their toils." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," I answered, " I am not worth their 
 trouble, it seems ; and moreover my husband is 
 firm in the faith of our Church, and it was by the 
 Bishop's will that he brought me hither." 
 
 " Yes, yes — but have a care. You ' are but a 
 child, though married." 
 
 " Nay, sir," I said, " I am not a child in years, I 
 am near twenty-one." 
 
 "Well, appearances are against you," the Arch- 
 deacon said with a laugh. " Now I must pursue 
 my journey, and visit, amongst other places, Widdi- 
 combe, where I hear there has been a noble work of 
 repair carried on since the storm, and Master Lyde's 
 wife has been spared to that worthy good man." 
 
 I wondered whether Mrs. Friendship would take 
 on herself to send in a grace cup, and other refresh- 
 ment to the Archdeacon. I knew as a token of 
 respect it ought to be offered to a guest, and yet I 
 dared not take on myself to order it. 
 
I4fj WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 To my relief the servants came in witii the large 
 gilt cup duly filled with wine ; and almost at the 
 same moment, the arras at the further end of the 
 chamber parted, and Joan appeared. 
 
 " Papists, sir," she said with a profound curtsey, 
 " do not forget the curtsies due to a stranger, nor 
 do they desire to entrap the young, or force them 
 to the idolatrous mass, as you are pleased to call it. 
 Drink, sir, and if not to the health of the aged 
 owner of Widford and his only daughter, I pray you 
 drink to the health of this poor child's wrong-headed 
 husband, who is more to blame than his wife, whose 
 only fault was no doubt caused by the notion of 
 being raised from a humble position to that of a 
 Dame Winifrede Carew." 
 
 Then with another sweeping curtsey Joan was 
 withdrawing, when the Archdeacon said, 
 
 " I know, madam, that differences of creed should 
 not make us forget what is due to the courtly man- 
 ners of Christian folk. I beg to thank you for your 
 hospitality, and in the name of my venerable father 
 and mother, I commend this young lady, your 
 brother's wife, to your kind care, till such time as 
 she can join her gallant husband, who is now, as I 
 hear, zealous for the honour of the King, in the 
 neighbouring county of Cornwall." 
 
 I think Joan looked somewhat shamefaced at the 
 way in which her remark had been taken, and cer- 
 tainly she went behind the arras again looking some- 
 what less important than when she came out from 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 147 
 
 it. It was plain that she had been eavesdropping, 
 and I was glad I had not had time to say aught 
 against her, which would have but fanned the flame 
 of that dislike she bears me. 
 
 November 30. 
 
 I open my book for the first time since the 
 day when I recorded the visit of the Archdeacon, 
 now seven weeks ago — weeks of weariness and 
 lassitude which preceded and followed my child's 
 birth. It was on All Hallows Eve, the household 
 collected round the fire kindled on the hearth in the 
 hall, and throwing nuts into it to watch for good or 
 ill omen, that Mrs. Friendship went amongst them 
 to tell of the birth of the young master's daughter, 
 and as I hear, that I, her mother, lay at the gates of 
 death. 
 
 Messengers were dispatched for Hal " haste post 
 haste," and for a physician from Exeter. Mistress 
 Ley and good' Mistress Friendship watched all that 
 night and for many that succeeded it. 
 
 Little by httle I have heard from Mrs. Friendship 
 what happened. 
 
 Hal came, and I did not know him, or make him 
 any sign. Joan came, and sobbing cried to me to 
 forgive her for her crabbed behaviour. 
 
 Good Mr. Lyde was sent for, to baptize the babe, 
 but I heeded not. And of all that scene I have but 
 a strange confused memory. 
 
 It would seem that my spirit had floated between 
 
148 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 two worlds— the Angel of Death whose form I 
 dreaded drew near, and I knew it not. 
 
 The Angel of Life bore me back once more to 
 consciousness, and I felt no gladness and no joy in 
 my first-born child. 
 
 Slowly, very slowly, the mother love has awoke in 
 my heart — but once awakened, it is strong, and oh ! 
 how sweet. 
 
 My babe was in Hal's arms when I first seemed 
 to be ware of her presence. 
 
 Mistress Friendship said that one day before, in 
 the hope of rousing me, he had carried her to my 
 side, and I had wrung their hearts by asking what 
 babe it was. 
 
 Then, said Mrs. Friendship, Sir Hal turned away 
 with a great sob, and giving her the child, said — " I 
 have lost her — my winsome lady — take the child 
 away — I cannot look at it — it has cost too deaf ! " 
 My fever ran so high that they cut off my hair, and 
 now James Eland's mirror does show a poor little 
 changed face — no more like the face I saw in the 
 moorland pool where the yellow flags were looking 
 at their image, than a snowdrop is like a full-blown 
 rose. 
 
 Hal was soon in all his wonted spirits again. 
 
 That day I said, "Is it our babe, Hal?" he was 
 like to cry for joy, and I was folded to his heart 
 while he called me all the old names of our early 
 love, and said I should be soon well, and should go to 
 London with him, as he said, to keep Christmas-tide. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 149 
 
 Mrs. Friendship shook her head and bid him 
 mind " I was not well yet." 
 
 No, nor am I well now — I care for little beyond 
 sitting with my babe on my knees by the fire — and 
 as I listen to the winter wind howling across the 
 moor and moaning in the trees, I have only a long- 
 ing to be quiet and never go abroad. 
 
 They were somewhat puzzled what name to give 
 my babe. 
 
 Hal would fain have her to be called after his 
 mother with my name added. 
 
 The double name is in fashion since the Queen 
 came, and she is often called by both, — Henrietta 
 Maria. 
 
 " Let her be Winifrede Maria," Hal at last 
 decided. " We will give her the names of the two 
 best women who ever lived — her mother and her 
 grandmother." 
 
 I am well satisfied, but to prevent confusion I 
 shall call my babe " Maria." Spoken softly, with our 
 hard English i pronounced as e, there is sweet music 
 in the name. 
 
 My little Maria, God keep her safe from the 
 shoals and quicksands which are spread for women 
 in these days ! 
 
 She is a fair and somewhat tender child, though 
 like her father, a likeness which shows even in these 
 her infant days. 
 
 But it is always so, Mrs. Friendship says — I have 
 never seen an infant before, to take any heed of one. 
 
150 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Mistress Rodd's boy, at the time when I had him 
 so often in my arms, was a big stout child of nine 
 months, and my little one is of another mould, and 
 but seldom lifts her voice to cry heartily. It is more 
 like the gentle bleat of the young lambkin in the 
 meadows in the spring. 
 
 It is well she is not a boy. The birth of a son 
 and heir to Widford would have caused dissension 
 as to the creed in which he was to be nurtured, and 
 Joan and her father would have considered they had 
 a right in him. She, my babe Maria, is mine — mine 
 only — and they take but small heed of her. 
 
 The Palace, Exeter, March 25, 1640. 
 
 I came hither with my babe and Mrs. Friend- 
 ship's daughter Alice, who is to be henceforth my 
 attendant and nurse to my child. 
 
 Hal brought us hither on a soft February day, 
 and though I was unwilling to brave the journey, I 
 am the stronger for it. 
 
 I think to be again with dear Mistress Hall, and 
 to see little Bamfilde, and talk of dear Mrs. Rodd 
 with her mother, has been a solace to her and to 
 me. 
 
 I could not regret leaving Widford though things 
 have father bettered there since my illness. 
 
 I have carried little Maria to her old grandfather 
 more than once, and he has taken kindly to her in 
 her innocence and helplessness. 
 
 A babe has a strange power of softening hard 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 151 
 
 hearts, and when I bade my father-in-la\y farewell, 
 he raised his hands and blessed me and the child. 
 
 As to Joan, she has been very busy over the 
 health of the babe, talking as wisely as if she had 
 had children of her own. But Mrs. Friendship says 
 that is common with single women. They always 
 like to set married ones to rights about their hus- 
 bands and their children and the management of 
 their estate and health ! 
 
 If my babe had swallowed half the potions Joan 
 was continually bringing to ease her of wind in the 
 stomach, or to make her sleep, and to cool her head 
 in teething, the child would not have been alive 
 now! 
 
 But I contrived to put away the draughts and 
 powders, and kept her feeding boat filled only with 
 pure milk from the cow. 
 
 Mistress Ley was in my confidence and so was 
 Alice Friendship, and many a secret laugh we have 
 had together when Joan has said exulting, 
 
 " The child's eyes are brighter, she is much easier, 
 and you need not fear convulsions now, and all from 
 that powder which was ground fine by my own hand 
 out of a snail-shell with a little aniseed and jalap, 
 mixed according to a recipe of my grandmother's." 
 
 The nauseous compound had never passed my 
 babe's lips, so her brightened eyes and quiet slum- 
 ber were not brought about by this means. 
 
 Yet I am glad to have left Widford in amity with 
 those there, instead of animosity. 
 
152 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Joan treated me like a fool, it is true, but after 
 my illness she did not carp and pick quarrels with 
 me. When I said this to Mistress Ley she smiled 
 saying, " They must be clever to make a quarrel 
 when only one is in it," and adding, " It would be 
 hard indeed to quarrel with you, little Winifrede." 
 
 This makes me think how much spirit has died 
 out of me since the days in the High Street, for 
 sure Dorothy Ellis and I had many a passage of 
 cross words. 
 
 It is very sweet to be here, and Mistress Hall 
 delights to see little Bamfilde stroking my babe 
 with his great strong fingers and kissing her, saying, 
 " Pretty, pretty." 
 
 She talks to me much of the dear one who is 
 gone, and says I can enter more into her feelings 
 than others. 
 
 "Little Ann," she says, "is young, and was not 
 much in the company of her dear sister ; and even 
 the Dean's wife cannot feel about her as you can, 
 dear Winifrede." 
 
 Hal left me here and is preparing an abode in 
 London. He begged Mistress Peterson to get her 
 mantuamaker to fit me out becomingly with gowns 
 and hoods and lace aprons and caps meet for my 
 presentation at the Court. Then he had all the 
 jewels in the casket burnished and set up by a gold- 
 smith in the High Street ; and he seems so glad to 
 think of taking me into the big world of grand folk 
 that I must try not to dread it. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JO URN A L. 153 
 
 Hal has also begged me to learn the steps of the 
 Sarabande, the Minuet and the Gavotte, and I have 
 gone through some lessons with little Mistress Ann, 
 who is taught by a dancing master with other young 
 gentlewomen. 
 
 It is late in the day for a wife and mother to go 
 through all this, but if Hal wills it, I submit. 
 
 I have paid one visit to the old shop in the 
 High Street, but my welcome was so scant, once 
 was enough. 
 
 Dorothy Ellis has married my poor old Uncle, and 
 bade me remember that she was mistress now, and 
 that it was no use my hanging about the place, for 
 what little my poor old Uncle had to leave was 
 hers ! 
 
 Such meanness and rude behaviour is hard to for- 
 give, but I who am Hal's wife need not be troubled 
 on that score. 
 
 As I was leaving the shop I heard footsteps be- 
 hind me, and turning, I saw Will Thornton. 
 
 " Have you any news of poor James Eland ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " do you want to hear it. Dame 
 Winifrede, or are you too high and mighty now, to 
 care what became of a mercer's apprentice ? " 
 
 " I wish James Eland nought but good fortune," 
 I said. 
 
 " Well, he is gone into the East Country ; news 
 was brought by a travelling pedlar whom he bid 
 call here, and see me. He is making a fortune, or 
 
154 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 on the way to make it, with a crape and silk factor 
 at Norwich. He is a strict Puritan now, the pedlar 
 says, eschews the vain world, and never looks at a 
 fair lady. No doubt he would cast up his eyes, and 
 denounce those fine clothes you wear now, and call 
 them the livery of the Evil One." 
 
 Will Thornton was ever given to be too free with 
 his tongue, while poor James Eland treated me with 
 respect through all, except when his ardent passion 
 got the mastery of him. 
 
 I made Will Thornton a stately bow, and thank- 
 ing him for his news turned away as quick as might 
 be, down the lane leading to the Cathedral Yard. 
 
 April. 
 
 The events of my life, how great they seem to 
 me, and how small and scarce worthy of record when 
 compared with the many grave and big matters with 
 which every man's — aye, and every woman's heart 
 too — should be moved. 
 
 Mistress Hall confides to me her anxious cares 
 for the Bishop, her dear lord. She says he is an 
 old man now to be pushed into controversy, and 
 there is much fear that his last book. Episcopacy 
 of Divine Right, will bring him fewer friends than 
 foes. 
 
 There is a great onslaught made by the Puritan 
 factions at the Bishops ; and the Archbishop, His 
 Grace of Canterbury, is the mark for the shafts of 
 their bitterest hatred. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 155 
 
 - , April yt. 
 
 My husband came from London yesterday, and 
 Mistress Hall questioned him closely on what was 
 said in high quarters as to the Bishop's book. 
 
 The great news is, it seems, that Parliament, 
 which met scarce three weeks ago, is like to be 
 dissolved. 
 
 The King is dissatisfied with the attitude of many 
 of the members, and after eleven years governing 
 without the help of the Parliament, he finds the 
 yoke heavier than he can bear. The next vexed 
 question will be whether Convocation should, or 
 should not sit, when Parliament is dissolved. 
 
 The real truth is, Hal says, that the Archbishop 
 and the King have done Avhat seemeth good to them. 
 
 " For my part," said Hal, " I say, let them have 
 it their own way. I hear the Lord Chancellor says 
 it is lawful for Convocation to sit irrespective of 
 Parliament, and grant subsidies if needed." 
 
 " It is an ill-advised step," Mistress Hall said. " I 
 look on this as another shaft levelled at the Church 
 and the King." 
 
 " Tut, tut, good mother," the Dean said. " We 
 must take strong measures to meet these giants of 
 misrule and anarchy : — nay, I am well content that 
 His Grace the Archbishop should hold his ground 
 for the safety of our Church, which means the safety 
 of the King and the realm." 
 
 Mistress Hall was ever full of good sense and 
 calm judgement, though not a learned woman, or of 
 
156 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 any parts which might bring her into much notice. 
 But I always perceived that the Bishop, though he 
 might seem to differ from her, relied on her far 
 more than might at first sight appear. 
 
 We were all at supper in the great hall at the 
 Palace when Hal was thus relating what he had 
 seen in London of late, and much talk followed 
 which I need not try to note here. 
 
 But I remember how gently dear Mistress Hall 
 answered her somewhat arrogant son-in-law, and 
 how wisely. 
 
 " Methinks," she said, " it is well to measure the 
 strength of an enemy ere the attack is made. It 
 may be that the Puritans know their strength, which 
 makes them think themselves sure of victory in the 
 coming struggle." 
 
 " Well 1 well ! " said the Dean, " we will settle 
 that part when the struggle is imminent. Many of 
 their boasts are but empty, and they are craven at 
 heart. Witness Master Benjamin Coxe, who, when 
 brought before His Grace, ate humble pie at once, 
 vowed he was a true son of the Church, and loved his 
 life too well to lose it by ejectment and starvation." 
 
 May 15. 
 
 This month seems ever to be an eventful month 
 to me. 
 
 I depart at dawn to-morrow with my babe Maria, 
 Alice Friendship, and a strong body of Hal's much- 
 trusted men, on the road to London. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 157 
 
 We shall be some days on the journey, resting at 
 Taunton on the morrow, and then on to Bristol if 
 my strength holds out. Hal is so full of life and 
 gladness that I try to hide from him how sad I feel 
 at departure from Exeter. 
 
 Mistress Hall has just been into this chamber 
 where I am writing. She chid me for sitting up so 
 late, and glancing at my book, she said, I was a great 
 scholar, for I wrote a hand like any clerk. 
 
 "Whereas, I," she said, "can but pen a few lines 
 with care and pain to my dear lord when he is far 
 from me, which is oftener than I would desire." 
 
 Then Mistress Hall went on to say: — 
 . " Make the most of the early days of wedded life, 
 dear child. Many a time and oft I look back to the 
 peace and bliss of our Hawstead home. I could 
 laugh now to think how I cried when my dear 
 spouse asked in vain of his patron for the added ten 
 pounds, which would have made it easier for us to 
 fill the little mouths which were looking to us-for 
 support like so many hungry birds. ' Bread shall be 
 given us and water shall be sure, sweetheart,' my 
 husband said, and bid me trust and not be afraid. 
 And how surely was his faith rewarded. His 
 departure to the Court, his sermon before Prince 
 Henry, his fame as an author, his learning as a 
 scholar, his pure life as a divine, his skill in theology, 
 all brought him into the notice of those in power, 
 and he could afford to be above asking for ten 
 pounds from Sir Robert Drewry. Ah, well-a-day! 
 
158 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Dear child," Mistress Hall said, " it is sweet, though 
 sad, in old age to look back : may you have ever 
 cause to say, as I can say, that amidst all the 
 changes and chances of this mortal life, a husband's 
 love has never failed." 
 
 Then Mistress Hall, ere she embraced and left me 
 and kissed little Maria asleep in her cot, bid me 
 remember that for my own sake, and for the sake 
 of the dear Mary who was gone, wherever she abode, 
 here at Exeter or elsewhere, I should find a welcome, 
 and if I needed it, a home. 
 
 The solemn tones of the great bell of the Cathe- 
 dral have just sounded twelve strokes. I opened 
 the casement and looked forth into the night. 
 
 The great towers and buttresses of the Cathedral 
 are standing out against the deep blue sky of the 
 summer's midnight. Stars are shining like a hun- 
 dred eyes of love looking down on the city wrapt in 
 slumber. 
 
 There is a faint whisper in the trees, and the foot- 
 fall of the watchman which breaks the profound 
 silence. 
 
 The foot-step draws nearer, and pausing at the 
 old gateway of the Palace the watchman calls his 
 wonted cry, 
 
 " It is past twelve o'clock, and a fine starlight 
 morning." 
 
 Yes, another day has dawned, and my last day in 
 the city which is well known as " The Faithful 
 City." 
 
WINIFREDE' S JO URNAL. 159 
 
 The words of a Psalm rise to my lips : 
 
 " Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman 
 waketh but in vain." 
 
 " It is but lost labour that ye haste to rise up early 
 and eat the bread of carefulness ; for so He giveth 
 His beloved sleep. Lo, children and the fruit of the 
 womb are an heritage, and gift which cometh from 
 the Lord." 
 
 So closing the casement gently that I may not 
 awake my babe, I look at her in her soft, infant 
 slumber, and my last words written at Exeter shall 
 be: 
 
 " For the husband and the child God has 'granted 
 me, I give thanks to his Holy Name." 
 
 I have no continuing city here, but I seek one to 
 come. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 II 
 
 l6i 
 
VI. 
 
 " Stone walls do not a prison make." 
 
 In the Strand, London, 1641, 
 
 The time is past when I could write in this book 
 all the little events of every day.. 
 
 Since I came hither I have been too much bewil- 
 dered with the strangeness of my new life to find 
 quiet moments for my own pleasure as in the upper 
 chamber in the High Street in Exeter and at the 
 Cross Farm. 
 
 In such days as these in which I live, it may be 
 well that I should record some of the grave events 
 which are passing around me. Events of greater 
 import than my first going to Court, my dress, or 
 the masked ball — my constant sight of the great 
 folks with whom Hal is so well acquainted, and 
 who take heed of me for his sake. 
 
 I know full well I have not the manners and 
 fashions of a lady about Court, and Hal has as 
 much as told me so. 
 
 I complained to him of a free speech made to me 
 
 163 
 
i64 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 by a gentleman in Her Majesty the Queen's house- 
 hold, and he only laughed and said I must not take 
 compliments too seriously. " I pay a dozen such 
 every day, and profess the deepest admiration for 
 fair ladies," he said. Then Hal rallied me on my 
 grave look and said I should end in being a Puritan, 
 he verily believed. 
 
 The babe prospers well. Alice Friendship is a 
 careful nurse, and my happiest hours are spent with 
 my child, who, is wondrous quiet for her age. Her 
 father says she is to be a scholar like her mother. 
 
 Hal is always jesting, he is so merry and light- 
 hearted, and grows handsomer as time goes on. 
 
 I have had a welcome visit from Master Edward 
 Hall, the good Bishop's youngest son, who brought 
 me tidings at his mother's bidding of the family. 
 
 The Bishop himself is come to London, to re- 
 monstrate against this order made in the House of 
 Commons that Commissioners should be sent into 
 the different counties to despoil the churches, 
 smash the pictured glass which is so beautiful and 
 dear to many eyes, and with hammers and pickaxes 
 break in pieces the images of holy men and women, 
 and above all of the Blessed Lord Himself upon the 
 Cross. 
 
 Master Edward told me that the Bishop was now 
 engaged in a war of words with fanatics called Smec- 
 tymnuans, who are flinging abuse at the Humble 
 Remonstrance for Liturgy and Episcopacy, which has 
 found favour with the King. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 165 
 
 It would seem the Bishop has a powerful an- 
 tagonist in one Master John Milton, whose weapons 
 of controversy are so sharp and keen, that the 
 Bishop has need to sharpen his also. 
 
 It is wonderful to think how on these matters all 
 seem ready to bite and devour one another^ and 
 they call it in the cause of religion ! — it bewilders 
 me to think of it. 
 
 March. 
 
 The windows of the chambers we live in look out 
 on the river, towards which turf slopes, and paths, 
 strewn with gravel are cut. The scene is a lively 
 one, for many barges and craft of all sizes pass to 
 and fro, and many such belonging to the nobles an(J 
 gentlemen of the King's household are moored 
 along the banks. 
 
 Alice Friendship carries my little Maria out, in 
 the spring sunshine, to watch the gay folk, and the 
 pretty graceful swans, which come up to be fed 
 with bits of cake and bread. 
 
 The hum and noise of the City reach our ears 
 from the further side of the house, but yesterday 
 there was a great angry roar and Hal came in about 
 noon to say the Commissioners of the Commons 
 had torn down St. Paul's Cross with their violent 
 reckless hands, and that they were like angry beasts 
 of prey let loose. 
 
 There is nothing but lawlessness everywhere, and 
 it grows and increases every day. Strafford's head 
 
1 66 WINIFREDE ' S JO URN A L. 
 
 will fall, and then the fury of the people will not 
 be assuaged but will be the more dangerous. 
 
 May. 
 
 Hal ordered me to prepare a fitting dress to 
 be present at the marriage of the little Princess 
 Mary to the son of the Prince of Orange. Hal 
 always busies himself about my gowns and chooses 
 the colours he thinks suit me best. I was to be 
 escorted by his troop to Whitehall Chapel, and I 
 was to ride thither early to be in my place in good 
 time. 
 
 I was just ready to start and was kissing my babe, 
 who held out her little hands to clutch at the band 
 of pearls and sapphires which held my veil in its 
 place. But Hal put her back somewhat roughly. 
 " I warrant," he said, " you would let that little miss 
 tear the jewels from ypur head rather than make 
 her cry. Aye," he said, " you may roar, you shall 
 not act the Puritan to your mother's finery." 
 
 He took Maria in his arms the next minute and 
 kissing her said, 
 
 "You shall go to Court one day in the finest 
 gauds your mother can get for you, my pretty 
 daughter ! " 
 
 One of the men came in now to say my Lady 
 Redvers was below, and that she would fain bear me 
 company to the chapel at Whitehall. 
 
 I had not seen Dame Redvers for many months ; 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 167 
 
 she now came up the stairs and making a profound 
 courtesy said, 
 
 " Well done, my winsome lady — why, Sir Hal, 
 you have need to be proud of such a wife to take 
 to Court." 
 
 " And of such a fair lady as yourself," was the 
 ready reply. " Forsooth, I feel as if I were a thorn 
 betwixt two roses, one red the other white. But 
 where is Sir Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Oh ! pleasing himself with some of the French 
 ladies of the Queen's following ; you need no lesson 
 in this, Sir Hal — you are as gay a gallant as ever 
 rode to Court." 
 
 " Nay, now, my winsome lady — why look so 
 grave ? " Dame Redvers said, tapping me on the 
 cheek with her fan. " Are not all men alike, aye, 
 and all women too? Here and there one after your 
 pattern, but more after mine. Alack ! Alack ! " 
 
 Dame Redvers might well be compared to a red 
 rose, her colour so rich and glowing, and her eyes as 
 bright as the diamonds which clasped her throat. 
 She wore a train of ruby-coloured velvet, richly em- 
 broidered with gold, and a petticoat and stomacher 
 of primrose satin, the last covered with pearls and 
 the long point finished with a brooch of emeralds. 
 Her hair was dressed after the French fashion 
 which the Queen has brought to England, falling in 
 curls on her neck and confined with a band of rich 
 lace and jewels, from which the veil hung over her 
 shoulders and below her waist. 
 
i68 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Dame Redvers, who is a head and shoulders 
 taller than I am, looked down on me with a strangely 
 tender glance. Her words might be gay and care- 
 less, but her face belied them. It was sad and 
 scarcely less wistful and full of longing than when 
 she leaned from the casement at dear Mrs. Rodd's 
 house in the Exeter Close long ago. 
 
 " You look like a lily in that white and gold bro- 
 cade, child," she said, " and pearls for ornaments. 
 One might say you wanted more colour, but I see 
 you have sapphires with the pearls, that match your 
 eyes. What a little hand it is ! " she said, taking 
 one of mine in hers and kissing it. " Yes, Sir Hal, 
 your wife is as pure as one of the pearls she wears ; 
 prize her while you have her. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " I give no sign to the contrary, do I, sweet- 
 heart ? " Hal said, " but cease, we must away, for I 
 have to fall in with the troops to guard the line of 
 route to Whitehall when I have seen you to your 
 places." 
 
 As we passed along it was yet early, but not too 
 early for the crowds collected at every turn. 
 
 We heard the cry of " Strafford to the block — 
 to the block with all traitors ! " Then angry howls 
 as the name was passed from mouth to mouth : 
 " Strafford, Strafford to the block ! and with him 
 Laud ! " shouted another voice. I was thankful 
 when we reached the chapel at Whitehall, and the 
 comparative stillness there was a relief for a short 
 space. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 169 
 
 But soon the seats were filled with the ladies 
 and gentlemen of the Court, and there was much 
 chattering and laughing which was to my mind 
 unseemly. 
 
 Two gentlemen made their way to our seats, and 
 it was easy to see they were devoted admirers of 
 Dame Redvers. Presently on the other side I saw 
 Sir Gilbert escorting a grand lady bedizened and 
 attired in gorgeous array, and Hal had another in 
 charge — with whose company he seemed well pleased. 
 Is it indeed the fashion of all gentlemen, as Dame 
 Redvers said ? I would rather have had my hus- 
 band at my side, and soon after I scolded myself for 
 my folly, for Hal came over the chapel and bend- 
 ing over me, said, 
 
 " They are all asking who the little lady in white 
 and gold can be, and my Lady Carlisle said, when I 
 told her it was no less a personage than my wife, 
 ' You have won a prize surely. Sir Hal.' Now will 
 not this please you, Winifrede ? " 
 
 " I am pleased already," I said. " I am content if 
 you prize me, I want nothing beside." 
 
 And now the blare of trumpets was heard, and 
 there was a rustle of expectation as the great people 
 approached. Savage yells and shouts from outside 
 made Hal say, 
 
 " It must be the Queen's mother, Marie de Medicis 
 — the rebels hate her and think her the root of all 
 evil." 
 
 And he was right, for soon this lady slipped up 
 
170 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the chapel to . the raised seats .by the altar, and 
 there was a half frightened, half defiant look in her 
 dark eyes, as she crossed herself again and again and 
 made genuflexions to the altar. 
 
 This very display was enough to enrage many 
 who were present against her. 
 
 The King came soon after, leading his little 
 daughter by the hand, with the grace that none can 
 rival. Poor little Princess ! she is but ten years 
 old, and she looked so innocent, and tender in her 
 fair bridal garments that my heart went out in pity 
 to her. 
 
 Next was the Queen leading the little Prince of 
 Orange, who is scarce eleven years old. Like her 
 mother the Queen looked ill at ease, and the smile 
 with which she returned the respectful greetings of 
 those on either side as she passed up, was forced 
 and unnatural. The royal children, the two young 
 Princes Charles and James, came next. 
 
 The Prince of Wales is very dark and swarthy 
 with coal-black eyes, but he did his part as he fol- 
 lowed his mother by smiling and bowing and that 
 with marvellous grace to all the spectators, and 
 looking up at our place he- made a profound bow, 
 and Hal whispered, 
 
 " The Prince has early learned to discern true 
 beauty; I give him due honour for it." 
 
 The service was performed by several prelates 
 (the Archbishop is, alas ! in prison), and soon the 
 two children were pronounced man and wife. Alack, 
 
WJNJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 171 
 
 poor little ones ! they cannot know their own hearts, 
 and what sorrow may be in store for our little 
 Princess Mary. 
 
 Was this in the Queen'a thoughts as she folded 
 the child to her breast, regardless of the many eyes 
 that were on her? Did her mother's heart whisper 
 that the little Princess Anne who died last winter 
 was safer than her sister, in the heavenly Kingdom ? 
 Tears were on her cheeks, and there was an inde-. 
 scribable sadness in the King's face as he too kissed 
 the little bride. 
 
 As I looked on His Majesty I felt that it was no 
 wonder there were many, aye, thousands, ready to 
 die for him. 
 
 But sure he will spare his sometime friend Lord 
 Strafford, nor yield to the clamour raised for his 
 head. Thoughts of him in his prison were present 
 at that marriage and lying like a weight on the 
 King's heart, I well believe. 
 
 May 3. 
 
 Hal came in with news this evening, disastrous 
 and alarming. 
 
 " The wretches," he said, " have broken into 
 Westminster Abbey and pillaged it, leaving scarce 
 a part that is not defaced and despoiled. And all 
 the time yelling like ravening wolves for Straf- 
 ford's blood. We have closed the Abbey, but the 
 rebels are filling Dean's Yard and the streets, fight- 
 ing and shouting, like the mad fools that they 
 are." 
 
172 WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 May 12. 
 
 " It is all over. Lord Strafford is dead." I scarce 
 ever saw Hal so much affected, when he said these 
 words. "Aye! child," he exclaimed, "we have 
 fallen on evil times. I must get you and the babe 
 out of this town, for who can tell what may come 
 next ? " 
 
 " Not to leave you ! " I cried. 
 
 " It will have to be separation, Winifrede, for this 
 state of things cannot go on. The King must needs 
 gather together his loyal subjects and trample these 
 rebels in the dust. He must raise the standard soon 
 or late, and would to God it were soon. But he is 
 not strong, he is swayed by every breath that blows." 
 
 One blessed chance is that the Queen's mother 
 took fright and has gone off to Holland. She was 
 like fuel to a smouldering fire wherever she appeared. 
 
 "I saw Strafford die," Hal said. "There was a 
 vast concourse before the scaffold. It must be a 
 grand possession, Winifrede, to have faith like his, 
 who could declare, ' I thank God I am no more 
 afraid of death, but as cheerfully put off my doub- 
 let at this time as ever I did when I went to bed.' " 
 
 " Aye, it must indeed be a strong tower of refuge 
 to feel the Lord near in the darkness of death," I 
 said. " I have often dreaded death ; not so much 
 now as formerly — bufl could not say what my Lord 
 Strafford said from my heart." 
 
 " Well, well," Hal said, throwing off as is his wont 
 heaviness and care, . . . "we are both youngs 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 173 
 
 and we need not be disquieted yet, and if I get a 
 sword-thrust in fair fight I hope all will be well 
 with me." 
 
 We stood at the open casement together as Hal 
 spoke thus, and from the river came shouts from the 
 barges which were taking back to Richmond and 
 Hampton many who had come to see Lord Strafford 
 die. 
 
 Some were waving their hats to others on the 
 banks, and shouting, 
 
 " His head is off! His head is off ! " with savage 
 
 and triumphant joy. 
 
 August. 
 
 The King is in Scotland, trying to make peace 
 there. False peace, for it is bought with gold ; what 
 ill advice he must have followed ! 
 
 September 10. 
 
 Hal brought good news, and sure it is time we 
 had somewhat pleasant to think on, that His Ma- 
 jesty has been so well satisfied with our dear Bishop 
 that he has in gratitude for his defence of Epis- 
 copacy made him Bishop of Norwich. This will 
 bring him and the whole family perchance to Lon- 
 don, and I shall see them. Dear friends ! to whom 
 my heart clings. 
 
 October. 
 
 I seldom venture out of doors now, but read and 
 
 write and sew in my chambers, which are spacious 
 
 and pleasant, with no companion but my little 
 
 Maria, who grows in beauty and loveliness every 
 
174 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 day. Alice Friendship brings in tidings sometimes 
 of the world so near and yet so far off, and I have a 
 chance visitor now and again. 
 
 The Queen is at the Palace of Oatlands with the 
 Royal children, and but a small number of the Court 
 is at Whitehall. I find the quiet and retirement 
 anything but irksome. I have tasted the once de- 
 sired sweets of company with fine folks, and I have 
 worn fine gowns and been to maskes, and dancing 
 and I have had my fill. The only thing I desire is 
 to have more of Hal's society, but he cannot be here 
 often, he has so much upon his shoulders, drilling 
 the train-band under his command and taking jour- 
 neys in the counties to stir up loyal feeling and to 
 incite the gentry to have their yeomen ready for 
 the struggle — which is now deemed inevitable. Hal 
 finds the disaffection very wide spread, and the 
 Puritan faction much increased and daily increasing, 
 supported as they are by Parliament. 
 
 December 29. 
 
 I scarcely think I ever had greater honour done 
 to me than yesterday. I was seated alone, as is 
 often the case, studying a book in French which had 
 been given me by one of the Queen's ladies, when 
 Alice Friendship came from her ante-chamber and 
 said, 
 
 " My Lord Bishop is ascending the stairs, madam. 
 My Lord Bishop of Exeter." 
 
 " Nay," said a voice, p" familiar and so dear, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 175 
 
 " nay forsooth, it is the Bishop of Norwich now." 
 And then with all his wonted kindliness as I knelt 
 for his blessing, the Bishop raised me and kissed me 
 on the forehead. 
 
 " I am an old man, Dame Carew, and must needs 
 rest ere I talk, for my breath is tried by yonder 
 steep stairs. I have two serving men guarding me 
 in the street below, and in sooth we poor Bishops 
 need a guard ; we none of us know whether our 
 heads or our mitres are in most danger." 
 
 My servants, for I have two besides Alice now, 
 came in with refreshments, wine and cake, and the 
 dear Bishop seemed well pleased to quaff a draught 
 from the cup and taste some of the cake. "And 
 how fares it with your husband?" the Bishop asked, 
 glancing round, " and the babe, how fares it with 
 her ? " 
 
 " My husband, my lord, is absent on the King's 
 service, beating the county of Essex for troops, or 
 rather with many other gentlemen testing the loy- 
 alty of the county gentlefolk." 
 
 " Aye, and how does he find it ? " 
 
 " He finds much to cause alarm, my lord," I 
 replied. 
 
 " I'll warrant he does," the Bishop murmured. 
 " Well, Dame Carew — Winifrede I choose rather to 
 call you as one did who is gone from us, my never- 
 forgotten and dear daughter, Mary Rodd." 
 
 " And I never forget, my lord," I said, " her 
 sweet life and her holy death ; it came all before me 
 
176 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 on Christmas Day, with the sound of the Christmas 
 bells, and the memory of her words as she said she 
 heard the angels' song." 
 
 " Dear child ! dear Moll ! but dear as she was to 
 our hearts, her mother and I can rejoice that she is 
 safe out of this turmoil and disturbance, and shaking 
 of Church and Throne — I could almost say — a shak- 
 ing to their fall, only the Lord God Omnipotent 
 reigneth." 
 
 " How is the boy, little Bamfilde ? " I asked of 
 the Bishop. 
 
 And he said he was a goodly child, fat and well- 
 liking, and his grandmother was spoiling him as 
 she had never spoiled her own boys. " ' The weak- 
 ness of old age ' quoth she. The other day Bess 
 Peterson said she was making a whip for her own 
 back ! a whip poor Bess will not have the chance of 
 making for hers — for she is childless, and the Dean 
 would fain have boys, aye, and girls too to send to 
 the right-about," and the Bishop laughed. 
 
 Then he went on to tell me in his own rare style, 
 of what had happened yesternight in the House 
 of Commons. The substance of it was that the 
 Grand Remonstrance insists chiefly on the King's 
 misdemeanours as the results of his having encour- 
 aged so-called Papist intriguers, and re-producing 
 Popish superstition. Nought could more inflame 
 the King than these aspersions. And the fury of 
 the framers of the Remonstrance is all aimed at the 
 Bishops. 
 
WMMiMs JqURNaL it! 
 
 ''To think of the misguided folly of the people! 
 We Bishops are faultful, not faultless men, but sure 
 we are more to be trusted than the fourscore blind 
 guides which, in London, are leaders of the blind ; 
 instructors who are cobblers, tailors, and such liki 
 trash, who teach their congregations to defy the 
 government by their mother the Church of England 
 and to match Papists and prelates together like 
 oxen in a yoke." 
 
 Then the Bishop told me of the scenes enacted 
 in the Houses of Parliament, which are scarce to 
 be believed if not witnessed ; " for," said he, " the 
 rabble, under the pretence of presenting petitions 
 clamouring for vengeance against the Archbishop 
 still lying in prison, pour forth foul abuse on the 
 Bishops as they pass, crying out, 
 
 " ' No Bishops, no Bishops ! ' 
 
 " And only last night it seems that these rebels 
 said they would pull us limb from limb. It was 
 growing dark and the torches lit, when my lord 
 the Marquis of Hertford came up to our bench, and 
 saith he, ' These people vow they will watch your 
 going out and will search every coach for you with 
 torches, so you cannot escapfe.' Despite messages 
 sent down to the House of Commons with orders 
 for preventing such riotous behaviour, nought was 
 effected, and when the House rose we prayed the 
 Lords with some earnestness that they would look 
 to our safety. 
 
 *' This entreaty from so many of us, like me, aged 
 
 12 
 
178 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 men, moved the Earl of Manchester to undertake 
 the protection of the Archbishop of York and his 
 company, and under their shelter I got me safe to 
 their lodgings. As far as I know, the rest by secret 
 passages and far-fetched ways reached home. But 
 forsooth, we have resolved to venture no more 
 to the House till better assured of our safety. 
 I have been in consultation with His Grace of 
 York, and he has given us lodgings, and we agree 
 we shall not go over to the House again. We 
 are now framing a petition and protestation to be 
 presented to His Majesty and signed by the body 
 of Bishops, as many as are at hand. It is hoped 
 the Speaker will, after that His Majesty has had 
 it, present it to the Lords in their sitting on the 
 morrow." 
 
 After this the Bishop spoke to me of many pri- 
 vate matters, of the costliness of his removal to 
 Norwich, and that Mistress Hall with her baggage 
 and servants was on the way thither, he hoped, and 
 that albeit he was satisfied to change Exeter for 
 Norwich, as a token of the King's favour, yet his 
 heart misgave him that in the East the tide against 
 Episcopacy might rise higher than in the West of 
 the Kingdom. 
 
 The Bishop asked to see my babe ere he departed. 
 I fetched her from the cradle, and though in sweet 
 slumber she opened her eyes dim with sleep and 
 looked up at the face bending over her, then she 
 gave a little pitiful cry, " like Moses of old in the 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 179 
 
 rushes," the Bishop said ; " she cares not to see a 
 stranger looking at her." 
 
 Then he blessed her solemnly, taking her in his 
 arms and rocking her gently to and fro. Maria was, 
 it seemed, satisfied ; the cry turned into a little rip- 
 pling laugh as she stretched out her hand and stroked 
 the Bishop's face. 
 
 " There ! " he said, giving her back to my arms, 
 "did you doubt if I could quiet a weeping babe. 
 Mistress Winifrede ? Many a time at Hawstead I 
 have paced the room with Bob and Joe, two lusty 
 fellows they were, who refused to lie quiet and let 
 their mother sleep. Grey-haired men now!" and 
 the Bishop sighed, bidding me farewell with another 
 benediction. When he was gone, Alice Friendship 
 came to replace Maria in her cot saying, " even for 
 the Bishop's blessing it was too hard to awake a 
 sleeping child, troubled too with her double teeth and 
 restless enough, as she knew to her cost at nights." 
 Nurses are apt to be peevish if they are meddled 
 with regarding the children, and I could forgive 
 Alice her somewhat saucy and pert words. 
 
 But I sat long in the dim chamber lit by one 
 lamp, and fell to thinking of the Bishop as a father 
 and a husband. 
 
 I could not even imagine Hal pacing the room 
 with Maria when she cried, but then we cannot all 
 be cut to the same pattern. Hal is a soldier and a 
 courtier, and has weighty things demanding atten- 
 tion other than a wailing child ! 
 
' Yet, 1 am lonely at times I I listen for the sound 
 of his step on the stairs, and the weeks go on, and 
 he does not come. 
 
 I went to the casement a few minutes ago, and 
 looking out saw torches flaming by the river and 
 barges still passing full of people, if I can judge by 
 the sound of voices. 
 
 Once — there rose a strain in a solemn dirge-like 
 tone, and I knew it was a company of Puritans on 
 their way to or from some meeting house. It drew 
 near, and louder — then further and fainter till silence 
 reigned — soon rudely broken by other and more dis- 
 cordant voices, shouting, " Away with the Bishops ! 
 To the Tower with the Bishops ! " 
 
 Few who join that cry know aught of its meaning 
 or its significance. One passes it on to another, and 
 a great flame' is kindled by a little spark. 
 
 1642, February. 
 
 The events of the month of January have been so 
 strange and full of omens for the year of which it is 
 the fore-runner that I must strive to gather my 
 thoughts and write down here what has happened. 
 
 It was at nine o'clock on the night of the 30th day 
 of December that I, going to the casement, saw the 
 sky red with an angry light, and heard a great ring- 
 ing of bells and distant shouting. 
 
 The river ran with a lurid glow as it reflected the 
 flame which lighted with a horrid glare the murky 
 sky above. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. i8l 
 
 " Something has happened more than usual," I 
 said ; " run, Alice, to the serving men's hall, and bid 
 them go forth and inquire." Ere she had time to 
 do my bidding, Michael Bond, the elder of the two 
 servants, came hastily into my chamber crying out, 
 
 " The Bishops are sent to the Tower, madam, and 
 the Bishop of Norwich is one. I have seen one of 
 his servants, who says in the bitter frost of this 
 night it is like his master will die of cold in a bare 
 room in the Tower." 
 
 Alack ! what news was this, and I helpless to do 
 aught for my dear Bishop's comfort. 
 
 The night passed slowly, and the hubbub raised 
 by the rabble had scarce died down when the grey 
 wintry dawn broke. 
 
 About noon Hal to my great joy came home. I 
 was overjoyed to see him, for despite the goodness 
 and trustiness of his servants who have been loyal 
 to me as their mistress from the first, I felt lonely 
 and unprotected with only my babe and Alice 
 Friendship to bear me company. Even Hal was 
 full of gloomy fears and forebodings, though con- 
 fident that if once the King raised the standard he 
 would crush those who had dared to defy him. 
 
 Hal was- out most of the days, returning late and 
 as it seemed to me always with fresh cause for fear. 
 
 "True and loyal as I am to His Majesty," Hal 
 said, " he is lacking in the commonest wisdom. 
 After attempting to arrest the five members he 
 should take to the sword at once ; instead, with the 
 
I82 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Bishops in prison he is suffering the renewal of the 
 bill for depriving them of their votes in the House 
 of Lords. Mad folly! and due to evil councillors ; 
 the King has forgot his father's oft-repeated excla- 
 mation, ' No Bishop, no King,' and he will prove it 
 is true." 
 
 It was on a soft February day that Hal coming 
 quickly in asked me if I would like to visit the 
 Tower, for he had gained permission from the lieu- 
 tenant and governor for Mistress Hall to do so, and 
 I might accompany her. I had no notion that Mis- 
 tress Hall was in London, and I was overjoyed at 
 the thought of seeing her and weeping with her 
 if needs be over this trouble. Hal manages all 
 things with cleverness and speed ; he bade me put 
 on my long black cloak and hood fur-lined, and be 
 ready when Michael Bond gave the word for me to 
 descend the stairs to the hall below. I sate in 
 eager expectation of the summons and could scarce 
 restrain my impatience. 
 
 At last I found myself conducted by Michael 
 Bond down the garden where many people were 
 collected, talking of what was going on or what 
 would come to pass, and at the landing place Hal 
 was awaiting me. 
 
 I stepped into the barge, and there I found Mis- 
 tress Hall. 
 
 "A strange meeting, dear child," she said; and 
 now I was lost in wonder at her quiet calm manner. 
 " We must assume cheerfulness, dear child, if we 
 
WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 183 
 
 feel it not. My little Nan would have broken into 
 weeping at sight of her dear father a prisoner. li 
 my Mary had been on earth, I should have sought 
 for her company, but failing that support I ask for 
 yours in her place." 
 
 So touching a tribute was this to the love I bore 
 Mistress Rodd that I could only press Mistress 
 Hall's hand and promise to do as she bid me. 
 
 I heard from her that she had travelled for two 
 days in a coach to London from Exeter with her 
 daughter Ann, a large baggage waggon following on 
 the way to Norwich. The Bishop had ordered her 
 to put things in train for removal of the goods and 
 chattels, and that he would see her in London, 
 and join her in the forward journey while Master 
 Edward Hall and the servants should proceed to 
 Norwich beforehand. 
 
 " And now I find him in prison and set fast there 
 by the machinations of wicked men — but I can 
 trust in God ! " Mistress Hall said, " thus I am not 
 utterly cast down." 
 
 The Tower looked extra gloomy as we neared it, 
 for the day was dark and doleful like our feelings. 
 
 I thought of those who had passed under those 
 frowning portals, of whom Master Buckingham had 
 told me, to go out no more ; of the fair lady, the 
 Queen of but a few days, whose learning and good- 
 ness he bade me emulate, of the many victims of a 
 cruel King's tyranny, chief almost and foremost, Sir 
 Thomas More, and near our own time, so near as to 
 
i84 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL, 
 
 be in the recollection of Mistress Hall, Sir Walter 
 Raleigh. 
 
 We were suffered to pass the first gateway, which 
 is near the river, but there was great drawing of 
 heavy bolts and clanking of warder's keys, and as the 
 great iron doors closed behind us, I could not help 
 shuddering. 
 
 But I had promised Mistress Hall to be calm, and 
 indeed I should have been ashamed to falter when 
 she, advanced in years and full of sorrows, walked 
 bravely onwards with a firm step, and erect mien, 
 through the ranks of soldiers keeping guard, who 
 suffered us to pass on the word being given by 
 Hal. 
 
 It did not fail to strike me that the salutes made 
 to my gallant husband were not over-respectful, and 
 I fancied, nay, I am sure, I heard' a mutter from 
 one, 
 
 " One of the fine gallants, see his love-locks." 
 
 I thought we should never reach the place where 
 we should find the Bishop, so many were the corri- 
 dors we passed along and doors made fast with 
 bolts and bars. 
 
 At last pacing up and down a straight courtyard 
 fenced in with high walls we came upon the vener- 
 able and familiar figure wc sought. 
 
 A door in the wall opened and shut behind us, and 
 two of the guards who had escorted us stationed 
 themselves against it as if escape were possible ! 
 
 " Well, dear heart," the Bishop said cheerily, em- 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 185 
 
 bracing his wife, " you have found me in a different 
 sort of palace from that of Exeter or maybe of 
 Norwich. 
 
 " But it is only for a time, dear husband," Mistress 
 Hall said, " under no pretext can you be kept here ; 
 it is not possible such tyranny should go unavenged, 
 and you will be set free to come and go." 
 
 " It does not seem like it yet, dear wife, but mind, 
 I am here, with my brethren who are all confined in 
 other parts of the Tower, for no fault save loyalty 
 to the Church and the King." 
 
 The Bishop turning quickly said, " Ah ! Mistress 
 Winifrede, and Sir Hal. I am right glad to see you ; 
 come into my chamber and I will give you an account 
 of yesterday's proceedings." Hal and I stood back, 
 thinking we might intrude on the sacredness of this 
 meeting between husband and wife, but the Bishop 
 repeated, 
 
 " Come in ! come in, see ! one chair for my wife, a 
 stool for Dame Winifrede, a seat on the truckle bed 
 for Sir Hal ; and for me, I can balance myself on the 
 edge of this rickety table, which fairly represents 
 another seat I have ! " 
 
 The room was bare of all comforts, and but a 
 small log of wood smouldered on the narrow hearth. 
 
 The Bishop gave the log a kick with his foot, and 
 when Mistress Hall exclaimed, "You will sure catch 
 a rheum here, dear husband," he replied, 
 
 " I am better off than most of my brothers in 
 adversity save my Lords of Durham and Lichfield, 
 
i86 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 who by reason of age somewhat greater than mine 
 are committed to the custody of Black Rod." 
 
 Then the Bishop began to recount what had hap- 
 pened on the day before. It would seem that the 
 Bishops all prayed to be put on their trial for high 
 treason, being well assured not even by false swear- 
 ing it could be proved against them. 
 
 " Two hot-headed ruffians," the Bishop said, " one 
 well named Wild, had made fearful accusations 
 against us, but though we had counsel ready at 
 the bar yester even for our defence, it was ruled 
 it was too late for them to be heard, we should 
 have another day ! which day, so I believe, will 
 never come. We were all penned like sheep wait- 
 ing the slaughter,' in a strait place before the bar, 
 that, it seems, the whole House of Commons might 
 glut their eyes on a parcel of old men on their 
 tired feet all that afternoon, in torture, sweating 
 and struggling as we were pressed from behind by 
 a merciless multitude. When dismissed we were in 
 a still greater danger. The night was pitch dark, 
 and our barge struck the bridge with no small force. 
 But God was with us, and here we are once more 
 awaiting judgement." 
 
 " Oh, the villains ! " Hal exclaimed, " these base 
 villains who now swarm in the House of Commons ! 
 There will be no peace till they are crushed out as 
 we crush vermin that torment us ! " 
 
 " Gently, gently, good Sir Hal," the Bishop said ; 
 " there is ground of complaint, and there are valiant 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 187 
 
 and true men, if so be fanatics amongst them. I am 
 too old now to cherish or indulge in railing, to which, 
 as God knoweth, I have had at Jimes sore temptation ; 
 but to pray is better than to rail, and so let us before 
 we part, dear wife, ask help of the same sure Refuge." 
 
 Few were the words the Bishop said, beginning 
 with the Collect he always loved to use. It is that 
 for the Sunday called Quinquagesima, and with true 
 fervour did the words fall from those venerated lips 
 as he prayed that the most excellent gift of charity 
 might be poured into our hearts. 
 
 Then he lifted his voice in the Psalm for the 
 twenty-sixth day, which day it was, and bade us 
 say it with him as in the chapel at Exeter we . had 
 often said it at Daily Prayer. 
 
 Wonderful it is to note, how often the Psalm ap- 
 pointed for the day suits the time and place and our 
 need. And sure on this day it was proved to be so. 
 
 Righteous art thou, O Lord, and true is thy judgement. 
 
 The testimonies that thou hast commanded are exceeding right- 
 eous and true. 
 
 My zeal hath even consumed me because mine enemies have for- 
 gotten thy Word. 
 
 Thy Word is tried to the uttermost, and thy servant loveth it. 
 
 I am small and of no reputation, yet do I not forget thy command- 
 ments. 
 
 Thy righteousness is an everlasting righteousness, and thy law is 
 the truth. 
 
 Trouble and heaviness have taken hold upon me, yet is my de- 
 light in thy commandments. 
 
 The righteousness of thy testimonies is everlasting : O grant me 
 understanding, and I shall live. 
 
188 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL 
 
 After the Psalm the Bishop pronounced the bene- 
 diction, and sorrowfully we left him in that cold 
 lonely prison. As we seated ourselves again in the 
 barge, I saw a few quiet tears fall from Mistress 
 Hall's eyes. 
 
 I put my hand in hers, and she said, " Trouble and 
 heaviness have taken hold of me, dear Winifrede, 
 but I do not forget His commandments." 
 
 Mistress Hall had gone to the Bishop's lodgings 
 in Dean's Yard, and great was her joy when the 
 news came that he was suffered out on bail by the 
 intervention of the Earl of Essex. But her joy was 
 of short duration. It seemed that the Bishop, always 
 delighting in fresh air, had gone to breathe it in St. 
 James' Park forthwith. 
 
 Passing through Westminster Hall on his return, 
 many of his acquaintance welcomed him back to 
 his liberty. Alack ! evil eyes were upon him as well 
 as friendly ones, and thus the report flew that the 
 Bishops were let loose, and the Commons forthwith 
 sent an angry expostulation to the Lords, demanding 
 why they had dismissed so heinous offenders with- 
 out their knowledge or consent. And scarce had 
 the Bishop taken rest in his lodgings when mes- 
 sengers came with the news that he was to re- 
 turn with his brethren the Bishops to the Tower. 
 It was a sore trial, Mistress Hall told me, but she 
 said, " My husband did not flinch ; he kissed me ten- 
 derly, saying, ' Farewell, sweet wife; whence I came. 
 
thithei' 1 must go back again, with a heavy but I 
 thank God not an impatient heart.' " 
 
 March, 
 
 The Bishops are at last free, but it has been de» 
 creed by the House of Commons that" they being 
 deHnquents of a very high nature all their spiritual 
 means should be taken away, and only an allowance 
 made to each Bishop for his maintenance, and our 
 Bishop's share was only four hundred pounds per 
 annum. With this strait income, burdened with 
 costs of removal, the Bishop has departed to Nor- 
 wich, to take possession of the Palace there and to 
 begin the duties which devolve on him. 
 
 April. 
 
 Public aflairs grow worse and worse, and our 
 private ones are not cheerful. Hal was summoned 
 back post haste to Widford to his dying father, the 
 day but one after the liberation of the Bishops. He 
 returned last night, and his troubled face shewed 
 me he had no good news. 
 
 Little Maria climbed on his knee, and he kissed 
 her hastily saying, 
 
 " Poor little one, there is nought but penury 
 before thee ! " 
 
 Then I took the child away, her innocent prattle 
 not being acceptable to her father in his dejected 
 mood. 
 
 Hal soon opened his heart to me, and indeed I 
 cannot wonder that he is sore vexed and troubled. 
 
 His father has bequeathed all the monies to his 
 
igo WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 daughter Joan, cutting off Hal with a scant main- 
 tenance. Widford being entailed — that is, by law 
 to descend from father to son — he possesses it. 
 Joan has dismissed all the servants, and the house 
 will be deserted. She has betaken herself to a com- 
 munity of Papists in Cornwall, for there has been 
 a raid made on the Church of our own faith and on 
 the Papists in Devonshire, and the Commissioners 
 have been at their mad acts of destruction. 
 
 The private chapel at Widford was scented out, 
 and there is scarce anything left there but the four 
 walls. 
 
 " A nest of Papists," the ofificer in command cried, 
 and proceeded to attack Mistress Ley's mansion. 
 Her private oratory was forcibly entered, and 
 stripped, while the old shield on the gateway which 
 had weathered the storms of hundreds of years was 
 torn down, because it bore the Ley arms, which 
 had been granted them in the times of the Cru- 
 sades, and are a cross with three stars and the 
 motto " In hoc signo." 
 
 Could fanatics go further ? 
 
 By Hal's report both places, Widford and Ley 
 Grange, are deserted and will probably fall into ruin. 
 
 Mistress Ley has abundant means, " for," said 
 Hal, " there is no unrighteous father nor spiteful 
 sister to grasp the money ; but she told me she felt 
 bound to depart for a time, and that she would 
 befriend Joan, for," he added, " she needs it, poor 
 soul ! " 
 
WINIFRBDE' S JOURNAL. 191 
 
 " She does not merit it," I cried, " but oh ! Hal, it 
 is I who have brought all this trouble on you. Had 
 you chosen another wife, your father's indignation 
 would not have been roused against you." 
 
 " Well," Hal said, " it is done now, and nought 
 can change it. It may be that these disturbances 
 over, I may so far recover myself as to support you 
 and the child as befits your rank, but now I scarce 
 know which way to turn." 
 
 Hal was called away soon after we had supped, 
 and I was left to think over all he said with a heavy 
 heart. 
 
 Yes, it is done now, and nought can change it ; if 
 he had only added that my love had made the bal- 
 ance equal — but ah ! alack, alack ! 
 
 Now it is weak-hearted of me to let great tears 
 fall on the paper, and thus there is a sad blot on the 
 page, which Master Buckingham always abhorred 
 to see. 
 
 April 26. 
 
 .... So far yester eve, when Michael Bond 
 opened the door of the chamber and announced 
 " My Lady Redvers." I was right glad to see her, 
 and yet sorry she found me weeping. 
 
 " Now, silly child," she said, " of what avail are 
 tears ? I have done with them long ago. I might 
 weep buckets full, and not wash out the pain. 
 Hearken, little Winifrede, I have found the longed- 
 for fruit somewhat bitter to the taste ; if it is the 
 same with you, find as I do something sweeter." 
 
19^ WltlliJRRPpyS JoUh'A'Al, 
 
 Culclbel's handsome face had lost the look of wist- 
 ful sadness and had grown hard and almost defiant. 
 
 " Come," she said, putting her arm round me, 
 " what is amiss ?" 
 
 " Hal is disinherited," I said, " and his sister has 
 got the monies, and only the house and lands of 
 Widford are left, which Hal cannot keep up with 
 the small means in his hands. And oh ! " I said, 
 " it is all through his marriage with me ; if he had 
 only married Mistress Ley, this would never have 
 happened." 
 
 " Married Mistress Ley ! he would have tired of 
 her in a year, a woman near twenty years older 
 than himself. No, no, I know enough of Hal Carew 
 to know he is not one of the steadfast ones of the 
 world. But when all is said, what man is to be 
 trusted ? " 
 
 I did not like to hear Dame Dulcibel speak thus, 
 and though I tried to hide it the pain at my heart 
 grew with her words. 
 
 Presently her mood changed, and she took my 
 Maria in her arms and kissing her fondly said, 
 
 " You have one consolation I shall never know. 
 A childless woman may well envy you. And such 
 a lovely child ! she will turn the heads of many a 
 gallant with those eyes ! " 
 
 " Nay," I said, for Maria is very sharp, though 
 scarce three years old. " Do not flatter, to be good 
 is better than to be fair." 
 
 Dulcibel laughed. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURXAL. 193 
 
 " That is not the creed of the world, I fear me, as 
 you will find out soon or late." 
 
 May. 
 
 When Hal came home again a month later he 
 said the war was imminent, and he must make other 
 provision for me and the child, as he could no 
 longer afford to keep the chambers in the Strand 
 for us, and moreover he must take the two men 
 servants to join the troop which he commanded. 
 
 " Redvers," he said, " has despatched his wife to 
 her old uncle, Amos Meredith in Cheshire, and I 
 must find some place of refuge for you in like 
 manner." 
 
 " I will do as you please, dear husband," I said, 
 " but I would sooner be near you." 
 
 " Near me ? you cannot follow me to battle ; nay, 
 Winifrede, do not be foolish," for I was crying in 
 spite of myself. " Come, sweetheart," Hal said, 
 with a sudden change from indifference to tender- 
 ness, " better days will come, and these rebels set- 
 tled, we shall have peace and who knows plenty ? " 
 
 That was a happy evening. Hal was like the 
 Hal of an earlier time, and I promised to do what- 
 soever he thought fit and right, and put on a cheer- 
 ful face which God knoweth was not the true index 
 
 of my heart. 
 
 July. 
 
 The end has come of my life in London. All 
 things stand ready for departure, and I do but wait 
 Hal's summons. 
 
 13 \ 
 
194 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Little Maria is in joyful case ; she busies herself 
 with peeping into the packages and jumping on the 
 bundles all waiting in the ante-room. 
 
 I know not as I write whither I am going, and 
 Alice Friendship asks mournfully if she shall ever 
 see her mother again or her home. 
 
 I know not what to answer, but I told her if she 
 wished to leave me she must do so, and perhaps she 
 might get a passage in a stage waggon to Exeter. 
 
 This brought a flood of tears from Alice, and a 
 protestation that she would never leave me or the 
 child. 
 
 Poor Alice ! in casting in her lot with me, she 
 did not think that such evil times were at hand for 
 us. 
 
 I must put away my book now for I always pack 
 it safe in a leather bag with my Prayer Book and 
 Bible and quills and paper, so that it may be ready 
 at any moment. Where and when shall I open it 
 again ? 
 
VII. 
 
 Blessed is the, man whose strength is in Thee, in whose heart are 
 Thy ways. 
 
 He led them forth by the right way, that they might go to the 
 city where they dwelt. 
 
 Palace, Norwich, September, 1642. 
 
 I CAN scarce believe the truth of the two words 
 I have just written at the head of this page in my 
 day-book, closed in London, as I see, in July, and 
 opened again two months later in the ancient city 
 of Norwich. 
 
 I made ready according to Hal's orders to start at 
 any moment, with my child and Alice Friendship, 
 and I was preparing to go forth, not knowing 
 whither I went, and only striving to keep a quiet 
 heart, and faith alive, that the hand of our Father 
 in heaven would guide me aright. 
 
 That faith has not been belied. When Hal came 
 at last with the summons, he was followed by the 
 youngest son of the Bishop of Norwich, who bore 
 in his hand a letter from his mother. 
 
 It was but short, but with what thankfulness did 
 it fill my heart ! 
 
196 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Dear Winifrede : — We have tidings that your husband being 
 called to serve the King, you are left desolate and have no home. 
 
 Our son Edward is deputed by his father to gather up from the 
 lodgings in Dean's Yard some volumes, papers and the like, of which 
 he stands in need. He will return forthwith in the stage waggon 
 bearing with him the missing and valuable properties. Come with 
 him, dear Dame Carew, with your child and your faithful servant 
 Alice Friendship, and know this, whatever betides, you have a wel- 
 come and a home with us, till God himself provides you with another. 
 
 I borrow Nan's hand to write this, as you well know I am no 
 scribe. My good lord and husband sends you his blessing and 
 prays you may have a safe journey hither in these unsafe times, and 
 may the Lord guard you, is his prayer and mine. 
 
 Elizabeth Hall. 
 
 This letter I have copied here, fearing such a 
 token of the worth of true friends might be lost. 
 
 Hal was as well pleased as I was, and it was 
 arranged that we should repair in the early summer 
 dawn to the yard in Cheapside, whence the stage 
 waggons start on their journeys. I had some fear 
 lest Master Edward Hall might be less willing to 
 undertake the journey with us than were his good 
 parents to propose it, but he had courtly manners, 
 and if he felt reluctance, he did not show it. 
 
 I knew full well that the sight of tears fretted my 
 husband, and I tried to be brave. 
 
 But that last night when I knew at dawn the 
 parting must come, my heart failed me. 
 
 The perils of war were before my husband, for the 
 whole City of London, and the counties from north 
 to south, are now sure that war must come. 
 
 The militia are rapidly enrolling, and my Lord 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 197 
 
 Warwick has the command of the fleet. Money is 
 sorely needed, and they are raising a loan in the 
 City, to which women, Hal says, are bringing their 
 wedding rings. 
 
 He made a feint of taking mine from my finger, 
 and said, " Shall it go, sweetheart ? " 
 
 " Nay," I said, " not while I live, the posy forbids : 
 For weal and for woe." 
 
 " Poor child," he said tenderly, " the woe has been 
 the greatest for you." 
 
 " Nay," I said again, " it will be ever weal, while 
 you love me." Then I could not help it, I threw 
 my arms round my husband and whispered, 
 
 " Hal, do you love me still ? Sometimes I have 
 
 fancied " He broke off my words abruptly. 
 
 " Fancied ! do not be given to fancies, they do not 
 befit a learned lady like you," and then he laughed, 
 called me a little fool, and toyed with my hair, and 
 stroked my cheek as in days past in the Bower 
 Cottage at Exmouth. So sweet it was, to be called 
 " my lady Winsome," to feel his arms round me, to 
 hear a hundred endearing words, that my heart felt 
 light of a sudden, and these our last hours together 
 were happy hours. Even as the river is calm and 
 smiling in the sunshine, within but an inch of a 
 sudden fall over a rocky precipice, where all is 
 tumult and noise, and the little boat that has trusted 
 to the smooth water, is engulfed and wrecked. 
 
 Early as it was when we made our way to Cheap- 
 side, there were many people in the streets. All 
 
igS WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ■ faces wore an anxious, some a stern expression. 
 Women were talking in high pitched voices, and the 
 keepers of the shops were betimes at their doors. 
 
 We found Master Edward already in the yard, 
 and two gentlemen were talking to him of the state 
 of the City. 
 
 The monstrous propositions made by the House 
 of Parliament were discussed, but I listening dis- 
 covered that there was a division of opinion. 
 
 The King has a strong party in the Parliament, 
 and many great and good men are of that party : 
 Falkland and Hyde, and good Sir Edmund Verney, 
 who has declared that having eaten the King's 
 bread for thirty years, he will not now basely desert 
 him. 
 
 The stage waggon was long in starting, so that 
 the pain of parting with my husband was length- 
 ened out, but it came at last, and as the big heavy- 
 laden coach lumbered out of the yard, I .saw Hal 
 with the morning light upon his face, wave his 
 farewell to me, smiling at the child in my arms. 
 
 I tried to smile in answer to him, and I managed 
 to restrain myself till we had fairly turned out of 
 the yard, and then clasping little Maria close, I let 
 my tears have their way. 
 
 A terrible dread overcame me, and haunts me 
 still, that I may never again see the noble form of 
 my gallant husband as I saw it then with the early 
 sunshine striking athwart his heavy curls, and send- 
 ing out sparks of light from the hilt of his sword 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 199 
 
 — a sword soon to be drawn in the service of the 
 King. 
 
 The journey was long and toilsome, and my child 
 got restless and ill at ease, while Alice Friendship 
 grumbled at every jolt, and said she was sure she 
 should be shaken to pieces and never get to 
 Norwich ! 
 
 It would be ill-spent time and space to go through 
 those three days of travel, with any detail. 
 
 We stuck fast in ruts again and again, and all had 
 to alight while passengers and coachman and guard 
 laboured to get the coach off again. Heaps of ref- 
 use as we passed through small villages and towns 
 made frequent hindrances, and the inns where we 
 tarried to sleep on the road were none of the best. 
 
 Master Edward Hall had the cheerful brightness 
 of his father, and made light of all difficulties. 
 
 He had a merry jest ready in return for grum- 
 bling, and kept up the spirits of the passengers in a 
 wonderful fashion. 
 
 He rode mostly on the roof, and several times he 
 would have little Maria handed up to him, take her 
 on his knee and divert her by counting the geese on 
 the common or the pussy-cats at the cottage case- 
 ments, and throwing down farthings to the white- 
 headed urchins who always came screaming and 
 shouting out of the cottages as the stage waggon 
 rolled on. 
 
 We slept at Newmarket on the first night, at 
 Wymondham the second, and an hour before sunset 
 
200 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 on the evening of the third day, Master Edward 
 bade me look out, for I should see the spire of 
 Norwich Cathedral. 
 
 The flat country bounded by the sky, in one great 
 circle, was a strange sight to my West Country eyes 
 used to blue hills and knolls, and craggy tors and 
 broken ground. 
 
 There were ripening cornfields and rich meadow 
 land and fields of turnips, and straight road.s, stretch- 
 ing on to the city over which the lofty spire kept, 
 as it seemed to me, watch and guard. 
 
 That spire was indeed a contrast to the old Nor- 
 man towers of Exeter as it pointed to the glowing 
 .sky of the August evening. 
 
 It seemed to bring my poor heart a message, that I 
 must lift my eyes heavenward instead of earthward. 
 
 As we got near to the city we saw many orchards 
 with heavily laden boughs of apples, and the cot- 
 tages and houses of the gentry had fair gardens 
 round them. 
 
 Master Edward Hall bade me look at them, and 
 said, 
 
 " Some folks call Norwich a city of orchards and 
 gardens, and not without reason." 
 
 The stage waggon stopped at an inn in the mar- 
 ket place, and here two men-servants awaited us from 
 the Palace. They stowed the baggage in a small 
 handcart, and I was glad to walk to the Palace after 
 so long and wearisome confinement in the stage 
 waggon. 
 
Norwich Cathedral. 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 201 
 
 Little Maria and Alice Friendship seemed also 
 glad to be free from their imprisonment, though 
 Alice protested she could not feel her legs, they 
 were so cramped. 
 
 Little Maria felt hers, for she capered and danced 
 with joy as she stood on the paving stones of the 
 inn yard. 
 
 We passed through the market square, and Mas- 
 ter Edward Hall bade me notice the noble Church 
 of St. Peter's Mancroft, and the buildings, which 
 flanked a slight rising of the ground, and were built 
 of flint masonry peculiar to this part of the country. 
 
 In truth I felt as if I were in a foreign land, the 
 voices of the people so strange and high pitched, 
 and even the dress different, and the women's caps 
 of thick stuff with flapping frills. 
 
 We went down a narrow lane where however 
 much business seemed to be done, and then came to 
 a large open space and an old burial ground called 
 Tomb-land. Several fine red brick houses sur- 
 rounded it, and two grand gateways led from it — 
 into the close. 
 
 The great gates are locked at night, Master Edward 
 Hall says, and we are all prisoners. 
 
 He bade me look at a mighty grand coach which 
 was passing along with outriders and pursuivants. 
 
 " It is the Howards' equipage," Master Edward 
 said, " on the way to the Duke's Palace, which is 
 somewhat finer than the Bishop's, I warrant." 
 
 We passed under one of the fine gateways, called 
 
202 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the Erpingham gateway, and soon were at the 
 Palace, which is entered on this north side of the 
 vast Cathedral. 
 
 I need not have had a sinking of heart as to my 
 welcome. 
 
 Mistress Hall was ready to receive me with out- 
 stretched arms, and Mistress Ann seemed not ill 
 disposed towards me. 
 
 " The good Bishop is absent on a short tour of 
 inspection of the churches near Norwich," Mistress 
 Hall said, " and is at work as if he were as young as 
 Ned here." Then Mistress Hall embraced Master 
 Edward again, and asked somewhat anxiously if he 
 ailed aught. " Nay, mother, I am in robust health," 
 he said laughing, " and so is little Maria. I call her 
 my little ladylove," he said, turning to meet Alice 
 Friendship, who was coming slowly along, carrying 
 Maria, and saying, her legs could scarce support her, 
 she was as stiff as buckram — she gave the child into 
 Master Edward's arms and sank down on a bench 
 in the wide hall. 
 
 " Welcome, little lady," Mistress Hall said ; " sure 
 she does London air credit ; she is as fresh as a 
 flower in May." 
 
 The Palace is a spacious dwelling and under the 
 shadow of the Cathedral. When little Maria was 
 asleep that night in her bed close to mine. Mistress 
 Hall came to my chamber, and looking round asked 
 if all were for my comfort, then smiling she laid her 
 hand on my book and the bundle of quills, and said, 
 
EiiPi.NGHAM Gate, Nouwich. 
 
WINIFREDS' S JO URNAL. 203 
 
 " I see you are yet making a friend of your day- 
 book." 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " dear Mistress Hall, and if on 
 many pages, as I fear, things unworthy of record are 
 noted down, there are some which may be well writ 
 in letters of gold, and they remain as tokens of your 
 goodness to me and mine. And there is, above all, 
 much that tells, of her whose love for me first 
 brought me such friends as my lord the Bishop and 
 you — dear lady. In this extremity whither should 
 I have gone with my child, had you not opened 
 your doors ? " 
 
 " And my heart," was the quick rejoinder. 
 
 " You will make me of use," I said, " let me not 
 lead an idle life. I must needs have work, or I shall 
 be dreaming too much of the dangers which beset 
 my husband." 
 
 Then Mistress Hall told me that the Bishop had 
 
 been received in his new see, with more respect than 
 
 he had hoped for, and that already his sermons so 
 
 full of wisdom and fire had attracted many to hear 
 
 him. But there can be little doubt that the whole 
 
 city and county is teeming with Puritans, and that a 
 
 double amount of grace will be needed to govern 
 
 the see of Norwich, at this juncture. 
 
 September 3. 
 
 News has been brought that the King has un- 
 furled his standard at Nottingham, and that he feels 
 secure of victory if the parliamentary force under 
 Essex meet the royalists in open field. 
 
204 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 September lo. 
 
 A messenger from the army with a letter for me 
 from my dear love and husband ! 
 
 He seems so filled with the heat of the coming 
 conflict, and hungry for victory against the rebels, 
 that he can scarce understand the racking anxiety 
 which I endure on his account. 
 
 Hal writes as a boy might write of a struggle at 
 wrestling or fencing; not as a father and husband, 
 who may soon make his child fatherless and his 
 wife a widow. 
 
 But Hal must ever be light-hearted, and maybe 
 it is as well that he is not given to melancholia and 
 forebodings like me. 
 
 September 23. 
 
 I have found much consolation in the services at 
 the Cathedral, and listening to the discourses of our 
 good Bishop ; I wander through the close with little 
 Maria and Alice Friendship, and as the yellow leaves 
 fall from the trees, so hopes of an earlier time fall 
 with them. My heart is often filled with fears, 
 which may be without reason. 
 
 October 2. 
 
 A strange thing has happened to-day. I was 
 walking down the close to the ferry at the lower 
 end and watching the slow river flow past, when the 
 man came out of the old gatehouse, which abuts 
 on the banks, and asked if I would choose to cross. 
 
 A broad-bottomed boat was fastened by a chain 
 to a thick post at the bottom of three or four 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 205 
 
 wooden steps, and I thought it would be pleasant 
 to go over in it to the farther side. 
 
 I stepped down ; the man unmoored the boat, and 
 taking a pole which he thrust into the water, in no 
 part deep, pushed the boat across. " Where does 
 the path lead ? " I asked him. He told me, to a 
 high road on the right, which was a road to Yar- 
 mouth by the village called Thorpe. But, said he, 
 " There is a narrow lane which takes you to the 
 road above, and you get a fine view of the city from 
 this point. I often pull folks over in the summer 
 to walk up to the copse which lies alongside of the 
 way." 
 
 " I will return," I said, " in an hour. Shall I find 
 you here ? " 
 
 " Aye," he said, " and if not in sight you can 
 hollo, and I shall hear." When the boat had gone 
 back I felt a strange sense of loneliness, such as I 
 had never felt when I had dear Tor to guard me on 
 the Devonshire moorland far away. 
 
 I looked right and I looked left, and no one was 
 in sight. Then I hurried up the lane, shut in by 
 two high hedges, which was steep and rugged 
 enough, and reaching the top, found myself in a 
 path through a copse of tangled shrubs and trees 
 above the city, which lay as it seemed in the bosom 
 of orchards at my feet. 
 
 East Country folk would call this height a hill : 
 to me it was, after all, but a gentle eminence. To 
 my right hand indeed rose what was more worthy 
 
2o6 WimFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 to be called a hill, covered with gorse, and inviting 
 me for a climb. My, old love of such exertion 
 seemed to possess me. It was many a long day 
 since I had taken such a stroll ; the air was keen and 
 fresh, the autumn sky overhead clear, and the sun- 
 shine lay on the roofs of the city and Palace below 
 me, while over all the tall spire of the great Cathe- 
 dral stood up as if on guard. 
 
 I felt a sudden thrill of life and health, and press- 
 ing on reached the foot of the hill, and began to 
 ascend. Divers paths lay between the gorse bushes, 
 and I took one which brought me to the brink of a 
 steep pit of yellow gravel, whence voices came to 
 my ear — men's voices, in somewhat angry tones. I 
 then felt I had come too far alone and unprotected, 
 and was hastening away when I was to my terror 
 followed by two men who demanded who I was, 
 whence I came, and if I had turned eavesdropper. 
 One took me roughly by the arm and said sternly, 
 
 " Answer ! did you hear aught as you stood on 
 the edge of this gravel pit ? " 
 
 " No," I said, " let me go. I heard nought but 
 rough loud voices and could not distinguish words." 
 
 " Is that a lie? " said the other matr. 
 
 " I do not tell lies," I said. 
 
 " You look like one of these gay women who 
 make lies their trade, with all your finery. What 
 are you doing here ? " 
 
 " I am the wife of Sir Harry Carew," I said, " now 
 with the King." 
 
WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 207 
 
 A groan greeted the words, and a third man 
 appeared from the pit. 
 
 " Here's the wife, so she says, of one of the 
 servants of the King ; if she has overheard our 
 deliberation, it will be the worse for us." 
 
 " I heard no word," I said, but my poor heart 
 began to beat so that I was near suffocated with 
 terror. 
 
 Sure I had done a wild and foolish thing to go so 
 far in a strange place unprotected. 
 
 " I beg you, sirs," I said trembling, " to suffer me 
 to pass. I am an inmate of the Bishop's Palace 
 with my child." 
 
 Another groan and a rude laugh greeted my 
 words. 
 
 " Bishop forsooth, Bishop ! we want no Bishop, 
 and it will go hard with this old man, who has come 
 hither where he is not wanted. Bishop indeed ! 
 So you are his friend, and your husband the King's. 
 Well, we must keep you here till we have made 
 pretty sure that you did not eavesdrop. Come, no 
 lies, did you or did you not overhear our consulta- 
 tion ? " 
 
 The man's grip had never slackened on my wrist — 
 I knew to struggle was useless. I could only pray 
 for deliverance. 
 
 It came, and here is the strange and most won- 
 drous part of my story ! 
 
 Just as I was feeling like to swoon, while the pain 
 of the rude clasp on my wrist was all but unbear- 
 
2o8 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 able, a man's figure appeared on the heath above 
 the pit, and a voice called, 
 
 " Hold ! what are you doing to that gentle- 
 woman ? " 
 
 The tone of the voice was familiar. I knew it 
 was James Eland's. 
 
 He leaped down and was at my side in an instant. 
 My back had been turned to him, but now as the 
 villain who held me in his grip released me I fell 
 backwards and was caught by James Eland's strong 
 arm, and he looking into my face cried out, 
 
 " Winifrede, Mistress Winifrede, am I dream- 
 ing?" 
 
 I struggled to my feet, and James Eland, steady- 
 ing me with his hand, turned to the men and said 
 sternly, 
 
 " You cravens to molest a gentlewoman ! stand 
 off, and let me hear you ask pardon for such an 
 offence." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," the chief of the offenders began. 
 " we found this young woman had listened to our 
 deliberation which we were holding below. Of that 
 deliberation you are aware, and these are only your 
 friends who meet in the Lollards' pit on Mousehold- 
 heath." 
 
 " My friends ! nay," James Eland said, " I would 
 scorn to call a man my friend, who could thus ter- 
 rify a respectable gentlewoman." 
 
 Then James Eland turned to me, saying, 
 
 " I will take care you are not further molested, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL, 209 
 
 madam, if you will tell me whither you desire to 
 bend your steps." 
 
 " To the Palace," I said. " I am a guest at the 
 Palace with my child ; I strayed away unconscious 
 of the distance, and I may well repent it." 
 
 " I will gladly protect you thither," James Eland 
 said, " but let me warn you, that these are not times 
 for gentlewomen to roam about without sufficient 
 guard." 
 
 I had never seen James Eland since that night at 
 
 Exmouth, when in the skirmish with Hal, he had 
 
 been wounded in the arm. I could scarce see in 
 
 him a trace of the mercer's apprentice. He had a 
 
 strangely added dignity about him. I was not slow 
 
 to see as I walked by his side, that he wore the strict 
 
 garments of the Puritans ; his hair cut close to his 
 
 head, his collar of thick white stuff, and the inner 
 
 sleeves of his black surtout turned up with a ridge 
 
 pf the same. 
 
 • But if his garments were changed so was his face. 
 
 There was a look in it I had never seen in days 
 
 past, a grave stern look and yet withal a sadness, 
 
 which was shown especially in the lines round his 
 
 firm closed lips. We walked down the hill at first 
 
 without speaking, but afterwards I broke the silence 
 
 by asking him how he came to be in Norwich. He 
 
 told me all with no reserve. That after he had left 
 
 my uncle Jeremy Barter, on account of a wound in 
 
 his arm, he had gone forth not knowing whither he 
 
 went ; then he said, a pedlar he fell in with who had 
 14 
 
210 iVINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 often hawked the refuse silks and stuffs from my 
 uncle's shop and travelled over the country, told 
 him he was bound for Norwich, where he had deal- 
 ings with a great factor of a stuff something be- 
 tween silk and stuff, for which he employed many 
 looms, and was a man of substance. 
 
 " It pleased the Lord," James Eland said, " to 
 guide me to this city ; and to be by this man's 
 good offices named a competent judge of various 
 stuffs, to this worthy gentleman, who is a true ser- 
 vant of God, and a hater of forms and ceremonies, 
 and supporter of the people called in derision Puri- 
 tans and Roundheads. I cast in my lot with this 
 good man Master Hickes, and God has prospered 
 me. I am now sharer in his large profits, and I am 
 often called upon to publish the Word of life in the 
 meeting-house." 
 
 Now there was something in James Eland's man- 
 ner and speech which commanded respect, unlike 
 the self-conceit of Master Amos Angel. The whole 
 man was changed, and I could but confess it to 
 myself. " My arm is yet stiff," James Eland said, 
 throwing back the loose upper sleeve of his surtout. 
 " I cannot bend it from the elbow, as you see." 
 
 " I see," I said, " and I know how it chanced, but 
 it was in fair fight." 
 
 ". I do n«t deny it," James Eland said ; " the Lord 
 has humbled" me since then, and I acknowledge 
 that His ways are just and righteous. Now this 
 tnuch of myself, Mistress — Ishould rather say Dame 
 
Pooi.k's Ff.tcry, NoRwini. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 211 
 
 Carew, and what can you tell me of your own 
 welfare ?" 
 
 " Alack ! " I said, " I bear about a heavy heart. 
 Sir Hal is with the King's army, and they are look- 
 ing for a battle continually. Dangers must needs 
 beset him, and thus I can but be full of fears, but 
 God will defend the right ! " 
 
 " Aye ! " said James Eland, " without that faith, 
 many hearts would fail." 
 
 " For the Church and the King," I said, " is the 
 cry of all loyal hearts. What were those men dis- 
 cussing, that they feared I should overhear? " 
 
 " Nay, I cannot say, if I know. My lips are 
 sealed." 
 
 We were at the ferry now, and standing on the 
 bank James called for the ferryman. 
 
 The broad-bottomed boat came over the stream 
 in due course, and James Eland handed me in. 
 
 " I say farewell here. Dame Carew. I do not fre- 
 quent palaces nor cast in my lot with prelates and 
 prelacy, but if I can at any time serve you, rely on 
 me, for I would, if the Lord pointed the way, serve 
 you even to death." 
 
 " Nay, be not so solemn, Master Eland." I tried 
 to speak lightly ; " things will not come to such a 
 pass, I trust, and I thank you for your courtesy and 
 kindness shown me to-day." 
 
 The stolid ferrynian stood with the pole against 
 his shoulder, expecting James Eland would jump into 
 the boat, but finding he did not do so, he pushed off. 
 
212 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I noted that James Eland stood with his hands 
 clasped together, and as the space between us wid- 
 ened, I heard him pronounce one word, "Divided'' 
 
 He stood thus motionless, till I had stepped up 
 the steps on the further side, and then turning I 
 saw him walk away still with clasped hands and 
 bowed head, slowly but with a firm unfaltering 
 tread. 
 
 Something has marvellously changed James Eland. 
 Is it this Puritan truth which he holds? I cannot 
 answer that question, but he looks like one who 
 would be a staff to lean on in time of need. Poor 
 James Eland ! 
 
 It was not so in the days of his apprenticeship to 
 my Uncle Jeremy Barter at Exeter. 
 
 October 26. 
 
 We were all at morning prayer in the chapel, and 
 had sung the first four Psalms for that day, when 
 the clattering of horse-hoofs was heard in the yard, 
 and, regardless of the sacredness of the place, a 
 messenger entered the chapel and gave a paper into 
 the Bishop's hand, and sank down exhausted on a 
 bench. 
 
 One of the servants fetched him water, and the 
 Bishop seeing he was recovered read aloud the 
 tidings. 
 
 A pitched battle has been fought at Edgehill near to Banbuiy. 
 The advantage on our side. Our loss less than the enemy. 
 
 H. CArew. 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 213 
 
 My heart beat so loud that I heard it as the words 
 fell from the Bishop's lips. 
 
 He raised his hand and uttered a few words of 
 thanksgiving, and then in his own clear voice, still 
 trumpet-like in its tones, and unshaken by age, he 
 Continued the next Psalm, which was indeed as if 
 written for our special need that day : 
 
 If the Lord himself had not been on our side, now may Israel say, 
 if the Lord himself had not been on our side, when men rose up 
 against us, they had swallowed us up quick, when they were so 
 wrathfuUy displeased at us. Yea, the waters had drowned us, and 
 the stream had gone over our soul. 
 
 Never can I lose the remembrance of the Bishop's 
 voice, as he uttered the last verse of the Psalm : 
 
 Our help standeth in the name of the Lord who hath made 
 heaven and earth. 
 
 In the hall of the Palace the household waited 
 for" further news, which the messenger who bore my 
 husband's badge on his arm, when recovered from 
 his hard ride of so many miles, gave us. 
 
 " My master has not been touched," he said to 
 me. 
 
 " Did he send me any message? " 
 
 " His greeting, madam, and you are to take cour- 
 age, for Essex's men cannot stand against us. They 
 are routed at once." 
 
 My heart craved for a few words of love, and I 
 again asked if Sir Hal had entrusted the messenger 
 with no private letter for me. 
 
214 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 " No, madam, nothing beyond the paper I gave to 
 the Lord Bishop ; it is a marvel he wrote that much, 
 for all was confusion on the field, and there was a 
 hubbub and getting help for the wounded, and bur- 
 ial for the slain." 
 
 Several of the gentlemen in Norwich who were 
 eager for tidings on hearing that there had been 
 news at the Palace hastened to the spot, and Hal's 
 letter was handed from one to the other, and his 
 servant questioned as to what he knew as to the 
 future movements of the King's army. 
 
 The King will fall back on Oxford, it is thought, 
 but nothing is known. While all were talking and 
 were saying one this thing and another that, I with- 
 drew to my chamber, where I found little Maria 
 playing with some wooden figures Master Edward 
 Hall had given her, as if there were no care and no 
 sorrow in the world. 
 
 Her merry laugh as she made one of the figures 
 topple over, with a ball she aimed at it, struck my 
 ear as I entered the chamber. 
 
 I caught her to my heart, saying, " Father is safe 
 — father is safe ! " 
 
 Instantly the child looked up at me and of her 
 own accord said, 
 
 " Don't cry, mother, but thank God." This was 
 somewhat extraordinary for a child of such tender 
 years. If only Hal had written me one word ! 
 
 I have penned a short letter to him, for the ser, 
 vant returns at once to his master. He is not one 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 215 
 
 of the old and trusty servants, but a young man 
 whom I did not greatly like. 
 
 When I gave him my letter, and he promised to 
 take it to Sir Hal, he said, 
 
 " Sir Hal. is in good case, madam, no need to fear 
 for him ; he is the life of the army, and was jesting 
 and laughing after the battle as if he had only just 
 risen from a well-spread board, rather than from a 
 sight of killed and maimed around him, which made 
 Sir Faithful Fortescue lecture my master for light- 
 ness of behaviour. But Sir Faithful is a Puritan at 
 heart, and the marvel is, he deserted the rebel army 
 as he did." 
 
 November 20. 
 
 Since the day when the news of the battle of 
 Edgehill reached me, I have been scarcely beyond 
 the gates of the Palace^ nor do I care greatly to 
 mingle with the guests who come and pay respects 
 to the Bishop and his family. 
 
 My little Maria knows her alphabet, and Mistress 
 Hall has given her the horn-book, .preserved with 
 loving care, which dear Mary Rodd once used. 
 
 It often troubles me, that I cannot fulfil my 
 promise to little Bamfilde's dear mother, but Master 
 Rodd is of a reserved nature, and prefers to keep 
 the boy and train him in his own way — avoiding any 
 request made by his grandmother that she might 
 have him here for a space. : 
 
 The length of the journey from Exeter and the 
 separation from the boy may plead Master Rodd'g 
 
2i6 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 excuse — when he refused to permit him to come 
 under safe convoy to Norwich for Christmas-tide. 
 
 November 24. 
 ' Our Christmas-tide bids fair to be anything but 
 jocund. I was passing through the hall this morn- 
 ing, when I saw the Bishop in earnest talk with a 
 gentleman. 
 
 The gentleman was dressed in a plain but hand- 
 some suit, with no lace at the neck or sleeves, and 
 his hair, parted in the middle, fell in curls but was 
 not of great length, and there was no lovelock tied 
 with riband to hang over his shoulder. 
 
 This struck me as unlike the gentlemen who fre- 
 quented the Palace, and yet he was not after the 
 appearance of a strict Puritan like James Eland. 
 
 The Bishop spoke in his accustomed kindly tones 
 to me, saying, 
 
 j« " Come hither. Dame Carew, and let me tell you 
 this gentleman is one of whom Norwich folk have 
 reason to be proud. Dr. Thomas Browne." 
 
 The smile with which these words were greeted 
 was a remarkable smile. It was like the lighting up 
 from within of the whole countenance. 
 
 " At your service, Dame Carew ; your daughter, 
 my Lord Bishop? " 
 
 " Nay, sir, nay ; the dear friend of a daughter 
 taken from us four years ago, of whom I spoke just 
 now, who was smitten in her early youth of this 
 same fell disease." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 217 
 
 "Yes, I remember," Dr. Thomas Browne said, 
 " but take courage, my lord, please God, we will use 
 means which shall restore your son to health. We 
 physicians never lose hope, but cherish it in our own 
 hearts and in the patient's. In ours, it iz an incen- 
 tive to the careful study of the disease ; in theirs, 
 the cordial that shall serve to keep a brave front 
 against the enemy." 
 
 Then with a courteous good-morning Sir Thomas 
 Browne was gone. 
 
 The Bishop then beckoned me to his own cham- 
 ber, and sinking down in his chair, he said, 
 
 " 111 news, ill news, Winifrede ; we have, as you 
 know, been full of fears as to our dear son Edward's 
 cough and spare habit. I have consulted Dr. 
 Thomas Browne, and though to Ned and to his 
 mother he spoke cheerfully, he has bid me, if not 
 in so many words, prepare for the worst." 
 
 " Oh ! my lord," I cried, " how is it that God so 
 grievously afiflicts you ? I cannot understand it, you 
 His true and devoted servant." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Winifrede ! Nay, it is not for us to 
 question the wisdom and love of God, though my 
 grey hairs seem like to go down with sorrow to the 
 grave. 
 
 " Did you note the physician ? he is a wonderful 
 man, an expert in many curious researches, and has 
 but lately married a very fair and stately lady, one 
 Mistress Dorothy Mileham. He presented me 
 with a copy of his Religio Medici, on which Sir 
 
2i8 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Kenelm Digby has made sundry strictures, and there 
 I find a somewhat vehemently expressed desire, 
 that marriage was not more necessary to men, than 
 to trees. An instance this of the inconsistency to 
 which we are all prone, for he has now contradicted 
 himself, and eaten his own words ! " 
 
 Then the Bishop looked somewhat earnestly into 
 my face and said, "Are you grieving at this long 
 separation from your husband, Winifrede ? " 
 
 " My lord," I said, " it is hard to bear and " 
 
 " And what ? — hide nothing from me." 
 But I was silent; no, not even to the Bishop, 
 scarce to the pages of this book, dare I confide the 
 doubts which oppress me. 
 
 Idle rumours, no doubt, come from Oxford, where 
 the King is stationed in quarters for the winter, idle 
 tales to which I would reproach myself for taking 
 heed. Mistress Ann is ever disposed to plague me, 
 and how different she is from her sainted sister! 
 She calls me a mope and dull, and a Puritan at 
 heart, because I do not wear my finest gowns, and 
 no ornament but that one precious pledge of the 
 first sweet love of my life, the single string of small 
 pearls. I know not what beset me yester eve when 
 Alice Friendship brought out my silver and blue 
 brocade, and said it was a shame to keep it in t^ie 
 chest, and the long lace apron with the blue riband 
 •bows — I bid her take it away, nor let me see it 
 again, and saying, 
 
 " I will wear the grey taffeta, and the white bod- 
 
WINIFRBDE'S JOURNAL. 219 
 
 ice if you will, and you shall pin my veil with the 
 sapphire brooch, but I not will put on Court finery 
 till Sir Hal conaes." 
 
 " Humph ! " Alice Friendship said, " I vow you 
 jnight as well be a widow outright. I shall soon 
 see you gowned in black with weepers — what avail 
 all your fine garments when you appear like a nun 
 in greys and whites ? and as to waiting for Sir Hal 
 — ^you will have to wait a long time — he will not be 
 here yet." 
 
 Something in my heart told me Alice was right, 
 and I knew full well others beside Alice thought 
 Hal tarried long, and that they wondered thereat. 
 
 But I reproved Alice Friendship sharply for her 
 pert speech, and bade her remember the respect due 
 to me and her master, Sir Hal Carew. 
 
 " It's because I love you I can't hold my tongue," 
 she said, and she burst into weeping, and sobbed out 
 that she craved my pardon, and then as often before 
 I forgave her, for doubtless she means well. - 
 
 January, 1643. 
 
 Sure no year ever began with greater gloom. 
 
 After this interview with Dr. Thomas Browne, — ■ 
 it may be that our eyes were opened, — but certain 
 it is Edward, failed in strength, so that none could, 
 be blind to the truth. 
 
 Like his sister, he had variations which deceived 
 us all at times, and it was hard for his mother to 
 bring herself to believe that she must part with him. 
 
220 WINIFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 He was about in the household to the last day or 
 two, writing for his father some needful letters, — 
 as had been his custom, and as I think hiding his 
 weakness to save him pain. 
 
 Strange it is that as the Christmas chimes were 
 ringing on Christmas Eve as on that Christmas Eve 
 four years ago, Edward Hall breathed his last. His 
 mother was with him, but no one besides. He had 
 not cared for anyone but her to be near him, and so 
 painless was his departure that she had not time to 
 call his father and Ann, and the faithful servant 
 Peregrine Pond, ere he too, like his sainted sister, 
 had heard the angels call, and had gone to swell the 
 notes of praise in the Heavenly Kingdom. 
 
 Again, as in Exeter Cathedral so in Norwich, was 
 a grave opened, and again the Bishop in his old age 
 had to consign to it a dear child in the very flower 
 of his youth, and one of good parts who already was 
 Artium Professor at his College of Exeter, at Ox- 
 ford. It is wonderful to me to note how the Bishop 
 bears his sorrow. He is troubled on every side too, 
 by the disaffection in the city — where the Puritans 
 are gaining ground daily. 
 
 " The Bishop is busy with his pen, Winifrede," 
 Mistress Hall said to me sadly, " and he is trying to 
 calm the fears of some of the good people. Ann is 
 filled with the praise Master Gascoigne Weld lav- 
 ishes on her. Poor lamb ! she has no thought be- 
 yond the present, nor would I damp her joy. My 
 sons and their wives, and my daughter Elizabeth 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 221 
 
 and her husband the Dean, must needs have their 
 own cares and pleasures ; but I cannot forget, and 
 seek only to have my heart where my treasure is." 
 
 March 16. 
 
 The Bishop's faithful servant, Peregrine, came to 
 me this morning, bearing a letter in his hand, say- 
 ing significantly, 
 
 " The messenger waits to see you, madam." 
 
 My thoughts fled at once to Oxford and Hal, and 
 my trembling hand could scarce unfasten the cord 
 which bound the sealed letter. 
 
 " The letter came from a townsman, madam, and 
 is not brought from any far distance." 
 
 This I know was really said by Peregrine to calm 
 my agitation. 
 
 When opened the letter contained but few words: 
 
 I crave a few minutes' audience of Dame Winifrede Carew, on 
 matters of importance which I beseech her not to refuse. I await 
 her answer with all respect. James Eland. 
 
 "Where is the man who brought the letter?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " He came to the back entrance, and he is in the 
 hall which opens on the kitchen." 
 
 " Bid him come round to the front of the Palace," 
 I said. " I will hold no underhand conference." 
 
 " I will ask the messenger to repair to the ante- 
 room of the great hall, and bid him wait your com- 
 ing, madam." 
 
222 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 When Peregrine was gone, I stood irresolute with 
 the letter in my hand. The tone was respectful, 
 and I had confidence in James Eland, yet I felt a 
 shrinking from a colloquy with him alone, recalling 
 the past, and his impassioned love for me, which 
 had carried him away, so that he had even a deadly 
 conflict with my husband. 
 
 I need not have hesitated. When I entered the 
 ante-chamber, I found James Eland standing by the 
 casement, looking out on the walls of the chapel 
 which could be seen from it. 
 
 " Madam," James Eland said, turning with a bow 
 profounder than is usual with the stiff-backed Puri- 
 tans, " I came to warn you, that trouble is nigh at 
 hand." 
 
 " Do you know aught of my husband ? " I cried. 
 " Is it ill news of him ? " 
 
 " Nay, madam, — I know nought of him, nor 
 greatly care to know ! " it was bitterly said, and he 
 added, 
 
 " I am not like to forget him, as I bear about with 
 me a token, which forbids me to forget," and again 
 James Eland threw back the loose sleeve of his 
 Surtout and pointed to his stiff arm. 
 
 " If your news, sir," I said, " has no reference to 
 Sir Hal Carew, it can scarce concern me deeply, but 
 proceed." 
 
 '1 spoke proudly, arid meeting James Eland in his 
 own forrilal manner, yet my heart smote me, when I 
 saw in his face that same wistful sadness which ill- 
 
WINJFREDE • S JO URNAL. 223 
 
 " befitted one of his years. A part perchance of his 
 ^ gloomy creed which tries to take all sweetness and 
 beauty out of the good gifts of God. 
 
 When at last James Eland opened his mission, all 
 my selfish thoughts and fears vanished in a sense of 
 shame. He came to warn me, and through me the 
 Bishop, that he had many enemies in the city, that 
 the Parliament were sending troops to Norwich 
 with Commissioners to seize the goods in the Pal- 
 ace, and that the four hundred pounds income, 
 which had been allotted to him in the autumn of 
 last year, would be taken away. 
 
 "This house," James Eland said, "will be a scene 
 of tumult and confusion. The Bishop may have 
 scant provision for his family, and your presence 
 may be a burden. I therefore propose to you to 
 take up your abode with a true mother in Israel — 
 one Mistress Rebecca Rainbyrde, who will shelter 
 you and your daughter from harm. She lives in the 
 Potter's Gate and has a roomy house near the meet- 
 ing place of the faithful. She ekes out her living 
 by receiving those ministers of Christ who come to 
 preach peace to this poor city." 
 
 " Peace ! " I exclaimed, "nay, rather war, and if, as 
 you say, this woman ekes oiit a scant living by such 
 means, you prove she is poor, and what can she 
 want of me, niy maid and child, to swell the cost of 
 living?" ■' ■• ^-■- ■•■ - 
 
 James Eland was silent, and the stern lines in his 
 face deepened. 
 
224 WmiFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 " You would fain say, only you dare not say it, 
 that you are offering me an asylum for which you 
 are to pay. No, James Eland, I would sooner eat a 
 dry crust with my friends here, than dainty food, 
 with which you furnished the board, you, my hus- 
 band's enemy ! " 
 
 He quailed a little as he said in a low troubled 
 voice, 
 
 " But your friend, Winifrede." 
 
 As my name left his lips, his face was convulsed 
 with what looked a veritable spasm of pain, and I 
 pitied him. 
 
 " Do not think more of the scheme, James Eland," 
 I said more gently. " You must see it is an impos- 
 sible one for me to consider. I thank you all the 
 same for your kindness, and I am grateful." 
 
 " Thank me ! " he repeated, bitterly, " grateful, — ■ 
 but enough," and he prepared to leave the room^ 
 but I said, 
 
 " Shall I repeat your warning to the Bishop and 
 his family?" 
 
 " I leave it in your hands " — then pausing and 
 speaking as if with a great effort, he added, " Though 
 you spurn my offer now, it may be that driven to 
 extremity you may need my poor help. Should it 
 be so — remember I am ready to serve you till 
 death " — and then the next minute I was alone. 
 
 Oh ! what constancy and truth is here ! I thought, 
 and I repented somewhat of my hard words and 
 proud mien. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 225 
 
 As I passed out of the ante-chamber I found 
 Master Gascoigne Weld in the hall, who is often a 
 guest at the Palace and as some think a suitor for 
 Ann Hall. 
 
 He is a fine gentleman of good rank in the 
 county, and I thought I would take his counsel as 
 to whether the Bishop and his sons should be told 
 of James Eland's warning. 
 
 Master Weld is a very jovial man who ever sees 
 the bright side of things. He listened to what I 
 had to say, and asked my authority. 
 
 " One Master James Eland," I answered, 
 
 " Oh, ho ! then he, being a Puritan of the Puri- 
 tans along with Master Hickes, the factor in silken 
 stuff, may have some reason in what he says. How 
 is it. Dame Carew, that you knew this would-be 
 saint ? " 
 
 " I had acquaintance with Master Eland long ago, 
 sir; he learned his business in Exeter, where the 
 uncle who brought me up was a mercer of good 
 repute." 
 
 " Ah ! is that so ? The Bishop is away preaching 
 at Catton and Tivitshall, I hear. No need to alarm 
 Mistress Hall and her daughter. We will wait till 
 my lord returns and his chaplain along with him." 
 
 Then we repaired to the large hall where the 
 board was hospitably spread at noon, and where all 
 were welcome. 
 
 To-day there was a large company, and much talk 
 as to the distracted condition of the country. To 
 15 
 
226 WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 all this I listened eagerly — for the movement of the 
 King's army means to me Hal's movements. 
 f Two of the Bishop's sons have been at Norwich 
 of late, anxious to console Mistress Hall for their 
 brother's loss. Master John is next him in age, and 
 greatly beloved ; he has the same fair complexion, 
 and his colour comes and goes too quick for health. 
 
 Master Joseph Hall is of a stouter build, and has 
 a loud voice, which makes itself heard. 
 
 I now heard him say that the King is not in a 
 hurry to leave Oxford where the Court has no ill 
 time of it, and since the Queen has come back from 
 Holland, with a load of arms, the spirit of all con- 
 cerned rises, and they say the next open fight will 
 be decisive, and win for the Church and King. 
 
 " To think of these pig-headed fellows in Parlia- 
 ment sending a demand to the King to return 
 forthwith, and they are trying to force my Lord 
 Essex to march on Oxford. He dare not do that, 
 for he had a taste of what well-disciplined troops 
 could do at Edgehill," said Master Joseph Hall. 
 " I wish to heavens," he added, " Norwich was as 
 faithful as Oxford is, and the cities of the West, 
 notably Exeter, well called the Faithful City." Then 
 Master Weld exclaimed, 
 
 " Come now, sir, we have loyal hearts in Nor- 
 wich; I know at least a dozen of our leading 
 citizens and county esquires who are ready to fight 
 for the King. The Puritans are the thorns in 
 our side with their mean underhand ways, plotting 
 
IVINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 227 
 
 and scheming, and as I believe sending up messen- 
 gers to assure the rebels, that they are ready to 
 help them to smash every church in the city. We 
 still' see them yet, taking aim at the vane in the 
 Cathedral spire, with their blunderbusses and mus- 
 kets, the vane being in the form of a cross." And 
 then another gentleman laughed and said, 
 
 " If there's a cross, there's a cock a-top also ! and 
 the rascals would think that sacred to Saint Peter 
 belike." A laugh still louder went round at this, 
 and I thought how little jests and little foolish 
 matters come to the front when near, while great 
 and serious ones, when at a distance, are cast aside. 
 
 Would Master Weld, I marvelled, give any heed 
 of what I had said to him in the hall and let the 
 Bishop's sons know of what James Eland had in- 
 formed me ? 
 
 But he gave no sign of so doing, and a horn 
 blown at the Palace gate made Master Weld ex- 
 claim, 
 
 " That is a post — post haste," as a second blast 
 was blown oh the horn. 
 
 Every eye was turned to the door, for in these 
 times none knows what news may be on the road. 
 
 " Letters from Oxford," Peregrine Pond said as 
 he presented a packet to me. 
 
 I opened it eagerly, and found a letter addressed 
 in another hand to the Bishop, writ by one of the 
 clergy who were in waiting on the King. 
 
 My own letter I could not read with any eyes 
 
228 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 upon me, and taking leave of Mistress Hall I left 
 the board, and retreated to my own chamber, press- 
 ing it to my lips. How often, how often have I 
 read that letter, missing something, craving for that 
 something, reproaching myself, and angry with my- 
 self, and yet 
 
 The letter telfs me that the King, finding my 
 Lord Essex has feared to advance on Oxford, is 
 despatching a part of his forces to the West to 
 strengthen the hands of Sir Bevil Granville, who 
 has brought about a rising for the King in Corn- 
 wall. 
 
 Hal is in command of one band of this force, and 
 is much honoured at this token of confidence placed 
 in him. He bids me take courage, and says all will 
 soon be settled, the rebel forces crushed and then 
 no more war. 
 
 He hopes I am in good health, and little Maria 
 also, and bids me not to let her forget him ; he 
 hopes further I do not need money with such good 
 friends at hand. 
 
 This is strangely inconsiderate of the real state 
 of affairs. I have in short scarce any money left, 
 and cannot pay Alice Friendship her full wage. 
 
 I have all my fine gowns and jewels, and unless 
 Hal can send me money, I shall have to bargain for 
 them. I could not beg of the dear Bishop, whose 
 income is very scanty for his needs as Bishop of 
 Norwich. 
 
 I had time to answer Hal's letter, for the mes- 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 229 
 
 senger had to rest after a long hard ride of many- 
 miles. 
 
 I had a care how I wrote, knowing there is 
 nothing Hal affects less than sadness and melan- 
 choly. I wrote therefore as if I were well at ease, 
 and Hal will never know how often I had to stop to 
 brush away a falling tear, which by making a big 
 blot would betray me. Hal hates tears, as I well 
 know. 
 
 I took little Maria with me to the hall, when I 
 carried my letter to the messenger, and let her 
 deliver it into his hand, saying as I bade her, " My 
 dutiful love to my dear father." The messenger 
 laughed, more than was seemly I thought, when I 
 asked how Sir Hal Carew bore himself and if he 
 was in good health. 
 
 " He was never in better case, madam," he said, 
 " and he is the favourite gallant, I'll warrant you, 
 with all the fair ladies, and," he added after a break, 
 " gentlemen also as a matter of course, though he 
 has had a skirmish with one, and got the best 
 of it." 
 
 The man's manner displeased me, and I thought 
 him too free in thus speaking of his master, so I did 
 not lengthen out the interview, but withdrew with 
 as much dignity as I could command. His words 
 were like a sword thrust through my heart, and yet 
 why should they so offend me ? Ought I to grudge 
 my husband happiness because I cannot share it 
 with him ? 
 
230 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 May, 
 
 I must try to set down here what has happened 
 since the day when James Eland came to warn me 
 of coming danger. 
 
 It has been like the raging of a fierce storm, and 
 through all the dear Bishop has been like a rock 
 which the waters may assail but fail to shake. 
 
 Verily, though an old man and full of years, he 
 is fuller of the strength and wisdom which cometh 
 from above. In the words of the Psalm, he is not 
 afraid in these perilous times. 
 
 The household in the Palace were rudely awak- 
 ened from their slumbers on the twenty-sixth day 
 of March, by the clatter of horses' hoofs at the 
 outer gate, loud voices demanding entrance, and 
 continued pounding and hammering at the gate, 
 as if to break it down. I threw on my cloak and 
 hood hastily, and going down the wide stairs I saw 
 the Bishop was before me with the servants and 
 Master John Hall who was still at the Palace. 
 Mistress Hall, feeble and alarmed, was endeavour- 
 ing to follow her husband, from whom no danger 
 could separate her, when he signed to her to go 
 back, calling to Mistress Ann to take charge of 
 her mother and not suffer her to descend into the 
 hall. 
 
 Mistress Ann was crying out to know what it all 
 meant, and Mistress Hall entreated me to run and 
 find out. 
 
 Meantime the noise without increased ; there was 
 
o 
 
 M 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 231 
 
 an. angry parley heard between some rough-spoken 
 trooper and Peregrine Pond. 
 
 I kept near the Bishop and Master John and 
 some of the servants, and saw a tall man struggling 
 to get a pistol from the hand of Peregrine. And 
 now it is hard to tell as I would fain tell it — how 
 without a loss of temper, though sternly, the Bishop 
 asked the man's business at such an unseasonable 
 hour when the day had scarce broke. 
 
 Without a gesture of respect the man, as I know 
 now called Wright, a London trooper, said, 
 
 " I am here to search this house in the Parlia- 
 ment's name. I demand free entrance to carry out 
 the order;" 
 
 " You are not over-courteous, sir," the Bishop 
 replied. " Let me inquire what you seek in this 
 Palace ? " 
 
 " I seek arms and ammunition and " 
 
 Master John Hall leaped forward now and said, 
 
 " How dare you thus invade the. Palace of the 
 Lord Bishop, you infamous villain ! " 
 
 " Hush ! Hush ! my son, nor bandy words with 
 this poor man ; he is but the tool doing the work to 
 which others, more to blame than he, have set him." 
 
 A loud laugh broke from the trooper, who said 
 scornfully to John Hall, 
 
 " I am not like to heed what a baby-faced fool 
 like you choose to say ; " then turning to the Bishop 
 he said, " Joseph Hall, called Bishop of Norwich, I 
 demand instant admission into this house." 
 
232 WINIFRRDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " You shall have it, sir. Follow me. The steps 
 of an old man are like to be slow, and I cannot 
 hasten, but I will myself show you my store of arms. 
 Fetch the two muskets, John ; they may be some- 
 what rusty from want of use, but they may be re- 
 covered from that fault ! " 
 
 John and Peregrine Pond did as they were bid, 
 and the Bishop taking the muskets in his own hand 
 said, 
 
 " Here, sir, are the only arms I possess — of am- 
 munition there is none." 
 
 " Do you think we are fools enough to believe 
 that ? " the man said, pushing roughly past the 
 Bishop. " I have orders to search the house from 
 top to bottom." 
 
 " Fulfil these orders, sir, and I wish you a more 
 fruitful errand." 
 
 Then this man Wright proceeded to the cellar 
 and garret, forcing open chests and trunks and hold- 
 ing up some of the Bishop's robes to ridicule, toss- 
 ing one to one of his men, saying, 
 
 " Here forsooth is a fine nightgown for you ! " 
 
 " Drop that garment, sir," the Bishop said, his 
 eyes flaming with righteous indignation. " It has 
 been used for holy offices. I command you to 
 desist." 
 
 The wretch threw the robe aside, and gave it a 
 kick with his great trooper's boot, saying, 
 
 " Sacred ! You'll see what you call sacred mat- 
 ters destroyed ere long." 
 
WINIFREDE' S JO URN A L. 233 
 
 Next the men went to the stables and seized the 
 horses, leaving one as an act of what he called 
 grace, saying rudely, 
 
 " I spare one horse, as I see your old legs can 
 scarce carry you — but a jackass would suit better 
 for the purpose." 
 
 This jest was received with a shout of ribald 
 laughter, and then going into the kitchen the troop 
 demanded meat and wine, and sat consuming them 
 till two o'clock when they departed. 
 
 We had hardly recovered from this uproar when 
 the sequestrators arrived at the Palace and read a 
 notice that the Palace and all the estate of the 
 Bishop was to be seized, and they proceeded to 
 make an inventory of the furniture and goods and 
 chattels. 
 
 The wearing apparel was about to be included, 
 but the sheriff and aldermen gave opinion that 
 this should be spared. 
 
 The whole to be put up for public auction — library 
 of books and household stuff. And now our hearts 
 were cheered by the goodness of Mrs. Goodwin, a 
 gentlewoman who, though she knew not the Bishop, 
 yet was so moved to compassion for him, and his 
 family, that she actually prayed to be suffered to 
 buy the goods at a set price. 
 
 This matter was so speedily and quietly settled 
 that it was scarce known till it was concluded. 
 
 Divers stationers came to view the Bishop's books, 
 but were not forward to purchase, and again a friend 
 
234 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 arose to stand on the side of the Bishop : one Mas- 
 ter Cook gave his bond to the sequestrators and 
 was surety for their value. 
 
 After this followed untold vexation as to the in- 
 come to be set apart for the Bishop. The allow- 
 ance which had been agreed on, was prohibited, and 
 the Committee of Sequestration declared they had 
 no power to pay the one-quarter sum of one hun- 
 dred pounds and that Mistress Hall must send up a 
 petition to the Committee of the Houses of Lords 
 and Commons for a fifth part to be adjudged her, 
 for the maintenance of herself and family. But 
 after distress and uncertainty, this all fell to the 
 ground, and at this moment, as I write, there is 
 nothing left to the Bishop but what may accrue by 
 ordinations and institutions which award him a cer- 
 tain sum. 
 
 And never did I know the Bishop carry himself 
 with greater dignity and yet meekness towards his 
 persecutors. His sons were vehement against these 
 men, and the Archdeacon of Cornwall, who had, it is 
 said, attacked Mr. John Milton with abuse in his 
 father's name but not with his knowledge, raged 
 against those who could thus strive to bring low 
 that hoary head ; but throughout the Bishop and 
 dear Mistress Hall have been following in the steps 
 of that Divine Master, who, when he was reviled, 
 reviled not again. 
 
 " Age has tempered the steel," the Bishop said, 
 " wherewith I was so ready to wage the war of con- 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 235 
 
 troversy. I hold as firmly as ever the blessed Faith 
 of the Church, but I feel less and less bitterness 
 against my adversaries as the years roll on." 
 
 I have besought my good friends to let me go 
 forth with Maria and Alice Friendship, and try to 
 earn a subsistence, for Hal sends me no money and 
 has never writ me one word since that letter sent by 
 the messenger from Oxford. 
 
 . Cornwall is so far off, I know, many days' journey, 
 yet by some means or other I could wonder that he 
 makes no effort to tell me of his welfare. 
 
 June. 
 
 Being determined to be less burdensome for 
 maintenance on my good friends, I bethought me 
 of selling some of the rich brocades and velvets, 
 which I shall belike never need again. I hear of a 
 shop in the street near, the Great Hill of Saint 
 Andrew, where a good price is given for stuffs of 
 every kind. My two chests had not been touched 
 by the marauders when they searched the place, 
 and my possessions were all safe. 
 
 The jewels I will not sell till sore need ; they be- 
 long to my husband's family, and I hold them as it 
 were in trust for my child — his daughter. I bade 
 Alice open the chest, and I chose me three of the 
 finest gowns, one which I wore when little Princess 
 Mary was wed to the Prince of Orange, and two 
 wimples of satin, and an apron richly trimmed with 
 lace. I made these into a bundle and, saying nought 
 to a creature, I rose betimes on a fine morning in 
 
236 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 June, and passed through the Palace gateway and 
 took the road to St. Andrew's Hill. 
 
 There were but few passers-by, and I found my 
 way by asking a question here and there of women, 
 who were sweeping out their doorways, and who, if 
 they eyed me curiously, did not look unkindly at 
 me. 
 
 One said she knew Master Martin's shop well 
 enough ; he dealt in many wares and was an honest 
 man. 
 
 Then this poor woman said, " You look young to 
 be abroad so early, the city is full of folks who go 
 forth picking quarrels about Heaven knows what. 
 Church or meeting, law or Gospel, it's no odds to 
 me. Master Martin is a wonderful upholder of the 
 meeting folks, and there's a meeting-place behind his 
 shop. God bless you, my dear !" this good woman 
 repeated, " have a care of yourself, for you have a 
 fair face, and such faces have brought trouble before 
 to-day." 
 
 Am I still fair and young ? I thought as I wended 
 my way. And then as in a strange vision before me 
 was the pool on the moor, purple with heath and 
 gorse, and a face looking up at me, from its clear 
 waters, in all the joyousness of youth, yes, and its 
 loveliness also. Why should I hide the truth, as I 
 write? I know I was fair to see, and if I am fair 
 even now, beauty is God's gift. Alack, alack ! a 
 gift, as that poor woman said, which oft brings 
 trouble. 
 
WWtFREDE'S JOURNAL. 237 
 
 The old dealer at the shop just on the steep slope 
 of St. Andrew's Hill came out from a chamber be- 
 hind it. He brought back to my memory my Uncle 
 Jeremy Barter's shop in Exeter High Street. But 
 no two men could be so unlike, as my Uncle and 
 Master Martin. His face was all alive with kind- 
 ness and goodness, and when he untied the bundle I 
 laid on the counter, he stroked the contents gently 
 with his hand saying, " You are young to be abroad 
 so early, selling such fine goods ; are they yours ? " 
 
 " Aye, indeed, sir," I replied. " These are evil 
 times. My husband is fighting for the King, and I 
 and my child are in need of money — rather I should 
 say I am living on the kindness of friends who can 
 ill afford to shew it." 
 
 I did not say what friends, I thought it best to 
 withhold so much. Mr. Martin bade me sit down, 
 while he considered what he should give me for the 
 fine clothes : and as I sat a little back from the 
 front of the shop I heard a voice from the chamber 
 behind, raised in prayer. 
 
 I knew the voice, it was James Eland's. Soon it 
 ceased, then stillness and silence, and then a few 
 worshippers came out, for the most part working- 
 men and women. 
 
 I shrank behind a bit of arras which partly hung 
 across the door. I heard the people exchange a 
 greeting with Mr. Martin, and then James Eland 
 came forth. He did not see me, but as he passed 
 through the shop Mr. Martin called him. 
 
238 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " Here, master," he said. " You are as fair a judge 
 of stuffs as any man in Norwich — what do you say 
 to these? " 
 
 " Whence do they come ? " James Eland asked. 
 
 " Yonder young woman owns them and wants to 
 sell them. I suppose it is all right and honest — 
 she says she is the wife of a man fighting for the 
 King and is in want of money." 
 
 I expected James Eland to come to me, but he 
 did not. He fingered the stuffs, he smoothed the 
 lace on the apron, and then, after deliberation, said, 
 
 " These are worth a good sum — if you do not care 
 to bargain for them I will do so." 
 
 "Nay, nay — I will buy them:" and then he 
 named six pounds sterling as the sum. 
 
 " Teh is nearer the mark," James Eland said, and 
 then there was a long whispering and muttering. 
 
 Master Martin hesitated. Presently he called to 
 me to come near the counter. 
 
 " I will give you ten pounds sterling for these, 
 young woman, and I am sorry to see you in this 
 plight." 
 
 My pride rose. 
 
 " I am the wife of a gallant gentleman in the 
 service of the King," I said. " The need of money 
 will be short-lived, but I accept your offer." 
 
 The money was paid me forthwith, and tying it in 
 a leather pouch I was bidding Master Martin goodr 
 day when he said, 
 I " Have a care, Mistress, there are some rough vil- 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 239 
 
 lains lurking about, and you are young to be un- 
 protected in the streets with a bag of gold." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, for your caution," I said, " and 
 can tell you I have no fear." 
 
 James Eland had withdrawn to the step before 
 the shop, and as I passed out he said, 
 
 " I beg leave to bear you company to the Palace 
 gates. Dame Carew. I had news from Exeter last 
 night which concerns you." 
 
 Again my heart misgave me, and I said, 
 
 " Not of Sir Hal — not ill news ? " 
 
 James Eland smiled. 
 
 " Your thoughts ever jump to the same point. 
 No, it is not ill news, at least not grievous news. 
 Your Uncle Master Jeremy Barter is dead, and he 
 has left the business to Will Thornton with the 
 stock in haiid. The monies my informant saith are 
 Mistress Dorothy's by his will and testament." 
 
 " It is only what I expected," I said. " Mis- 
 tress Dorothy has striven for this end for many 
 years." 
 
 "It. is a gross injustice to you," James Eland 
 said. " Now, once again I say to you, I have 
 wealth, say, will you not take some of it ? Surely 
 better than selling your garments." 
 
 " We have settled that point," I said, " I pray 
 you do not refer to it again. I will take no money 
 from you. My heart is sore for the treatment my 
 good friends are receiving from those with whom 
 you consort. I cannot think well of anyone who 
 
240 WINIFRED E'S JOURNAL. 
 
 supports them in their usage of a saint like the 
 Bishop, much less take favours from his hand." 
 
 " Be it so," James Eland said, " I must be content 
 to be misjudged by you as I have ever been. I 
 will to my latest breath rise in defence of freedom 
 of religion, and I abhor the tyranny of Episcopacy. 
 But, Winifrede, I equally abhor these rough and 
 summary proceedings taken against the hoary head 
 of an old man ! But I stand on the side of the 
 Lord, against the evil counsels of those who would 
 force men to accept a form of prayer and an iron 
 rule of prelates and priests in the place of the gos- 
 pel of grace preached by men whose hearts are 
 turned to God and who can say within themselves 
 that they are saved from the wrath to come." 
 
 " And," I asked, "do you dare to say such men as 
 the Bishop are not saved ? " 
 
 " The souls of the righteous are in the hands of 
 the Lord, nor would I sit in judgment on Joseph 
 Hall or any other prelate — God is the Judge." 
 
 Then James Eland went on to tell me, with an 
 eloquence which amazed me, how his life was 
 changed since he was the mercer's apprentice at 
 Exeter. He spoke of a bitter sorrow and a furnace 
 of afflictions out of which he had come by the grace 
 of God. He said he had left my Uncle's shop 
 ready for any deed of sin, when he was arrested by 
 a Spirit of God in an out-of-the-way village, some 
 twenty miles from Exeter — even Widdicombe on 
 the moor ! 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 241 
 
 " There my wounded arm was tended," he said, 
 " and the fever of body and soul quenched. I lay 
 for many days in torture of body and agony of 
 soul, and then the Lord drew nigh and spoke peace 
 to the sinner. And the woman to whom I owed 
 this healing of wounds of body and soul alike, was 
 one Penelope Angel of the Cross Farm, Widdicombe. 
 She nursed me as a mother would nurse her prodi- 
 gal son, and her love for one I loved, and her sor- 
 row of heart on her account, knit us in a bond of 
 true friendship." 
 
 The name of Penelope called up many tender 
 feelings, and I begged James Eland to tell me if she 
 was happy. 
 
 " Yes, happy in entire surrender of her will to 
 God ! " 
 
 " Where is her husband, that hateful man, who 
 made religion odious in everyone's eyes ? " 
 
 " He was at that time preaching through the 
 country. I do not think his wife has aught but 
 trouble connected with him. Her old father Master 
 Fulford would shake his head sadly when he was 
 mentioned, and say, ' It was a bad day's work when 
 Pen married him.' " 
 
 " And does Penelope love me still ? " I asked. 
 " Oh ! I would like her to know I love her as I ever 
 did." 
 
 -" She thinks perchance as many have done, that the 
 lady of Sir Harry Carew is lifted high above those 
 whom she once lived with in famihar intercourse." 
 16 
 
242 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " High above ! " I repeated. " Ah me ! rather say 
 I am brought very low." We were near the gate- 
 way of the Palace now, and James Eland stood 
 with his hand on the large knocker, two blows of 
 which would bring the porter to open it. 
 
 The light of the summer morning shone on his 
 serious face ; he did not attempt to take my hand, 
 nor make any sign, even the ordinary signs of 
 courtesy and kindness. 
 
 Instead he raised his left hand and said solemnly, 
 " The Lord bless you, and keep you, the Lord lift 
 up the light of His countenance upon you and give 
 you peace. Farewell — Winifrede." 
 
 Then as he turned away my eyes followed him 
 till he reached the corner by the old wall which 
 surrounds the Palace pleasance. 
 
 Here he paused. He did not wave his hand or 
 his cap, but stood for a moment gazing at me, then 
 passed out of my sight. 
 
 True, the religion that is real transforms, nay 
 transfigures the man, be he Puritan or be he Bishop. 
 True, the quarrels and dissensions, the persecutions 
 for difference of creed, and modes of service, belong 
 not to religion as some suppose, but to the frailty 
 and folly of man's sinful heart. I can feel James 
 Eland is a servant of God, even as I feel the dear 
 Bishop is His servant, for, sure, both bear the marks 
 of His service in their lives. 
 
VIII. 
 
 " Cast down, but not destroyed." 
 
 1644. 
 
 Another year has opened — for many months 
 I have been so occupied with striving to render 
 assistance to dear Mistress Hall — in such little 
 matters as I am able — that my journal has been 
 neglected. 
 
 Mistress Ann has been away with her sister at 
 Exeter, conveyed thither by her brother John, who 
 at the close of last year felt the keen Norfolk winds 
 so affect his breath that Dr. Thomas Browne recom- 
 mended the softer climate of Devonshire. 
 
 Then I have striven to be what a daughter should 
 be to my good friends, assisting in household mat- 
 ters — and I am proud to say sometimes employed 
 by the Bishop to write out for him pages of his 
 constant work — letters — and other matters of the 
 kind. 
 
 Never did I feel more grateful to dear Master 
 Buckingham for all he taught me than when the 
 
 243 
 
244 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Bishop pats my head if I take him a fair copy of 
 some sermon or appeal, or work for publication, and 
 praises me saying I write a clerk's hand which he 
 who runs may read. 
 
 If I am tired at times and sad at heart, yet all 
 labours for my lord and dear Mistress Hall are 
 labours of love. 
 
 It is useless to deny that I carry about with me 
 a secret sorrow — that many and many a time when 
 little Maria lies sleeping by my side, bearing the 
 likeness to her father perhaps more in slumber than 
 when awake, I gaze at her till tears rain on her fair 
 face, and entreat the Lord to grant me patience and 
 faith. 
 
 I begin to feel almost as a widow would feel, for 
 hope of Hal's return grows faint. There are ru- 
 mours of great shifts to which the Cornish men are 
 put, and many losses have been reported during the 
 past winter. 
 
 " Will father never come home ? " little Maria said 
 to me last night, when she repeated the daily prayer 
 of " God bless my dear father and keep him safe, 
 and bring him back to me and mother," — " ' poor ' 
 mother," she added, for she felt a tear on her folded 
 hands as they rested against my knee. 
 
 Darling child — she knows not why " poor mother " 
 so truly fits the case. 
 
 I am not slow to notice that Mistress Hall ceases 
 to say, 
 
 " Is there yet no news of Sir Harry ? " 
 
WINIFRED E' S JO URNAL, 245 
 
 She ceases to put the question which can have no 
 answer. 
 
 But I am conscious more by her manner and that 
 of the Bishop that it is in their hearts, if Hal is 
 alive, sure he ought to find means to relieve my 
 anxious thought. 
 
 Many people come and go to the Palace, and as 
 far as may be the Bishop still welcomes them to the 
 board at noon — though the fare is homelier than in 
 other days at Exeter. 
 
 Master Gascoigne Weld is often here, and Dr. 
 Thomas Browne, who grows daily in my esteem. 
 There is in him a noble grace and dignity — and how 
 his eyes search, as it were, the very inmost self. 
 I could almost fancy that my secret sorrow was 
 known to him. And yet the gaze of those earnest 
 eyes from under the thoughtful brow, is ever kindly 
 — nay, even tender. 
 
 Much talk I heard of the great assembly at West- 
 minster, " beginning," quoth Dr. Thomas Browne, 
 " with nine hours' praying and preaching, which 
 ought to have brought about something more to 
 their taste than the continued success of the King's 
 forces." 
 
 Then came the subscription of the Scotch Cov- 
 enant, and it has been decreed that the covenant 
 shall be taken by all persons above the age of 
 eighteen. 
 
 And soon we were again in great trouble at the 
 Palace. 
 
246 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 The Bishop had, as chief pastor, pursued his 
 even and wonted course — the laying on of hands as 
 befitted him to do in his sacred ofifice. 
 
 Again we were all aroused at an unseasonable 
 hour by loud and vehement knocking at the gates. 
 Alice Friendship came to me with a scared face, 
 saying, a band of armed men were shouting loudly 
 for admission with a message from Mr. Mayor and 
 the magistrate. 
 
 I had been in the sweet sleep which comes at 
 dawn, after a time of watching and restlessness ; but 
 I rose at once, bid Alice have a care not to wake 
 my child, and hastened below, as I had done on the 
 first occasion of this unseemly rioting. 
 
 I found the Bishop in the ante-room with Pere- 
 grine Bond and the two serving men — the household 
 had perforce been reduced since the shameful re- 
 fusal of the poor quotient of the income allotted to 
 the Bishop for bare maintenance. 
 
 He put his hand forth and took mine, saying, 
 
 " Hinder my wife from coming hither. Ann is 
 absent — and there are no children to be hurt by 
 whatsoever happens, thanks be to God." 
 
 Presently a message came from the Mayor that he 
 must see the Bishop on important business, and that 
 these people must have an entrance forthwith, or 
 they would force it. 
 
 " Nay," the Bishop said, " I would know the folk 
 better ere I admit them, but I will hear their mes- 
 senger." 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 247 
 
 Then two men came up with an insolent bearing, 
 saying they had a writing from Mr. Mayor, which 
 must be read and answered by the Bishop. 
 
 The paper was thrust rudely before the Bishop, 
 who lost not a whit of his dignity — and after a few 
 moments he said, 
 
 " Sirs, this paper contains a challenge of me — for 
 breaking the covenant in ordaining ministers — and 
 requires me to give in the names of those which 
 were ordained by me — both before and since the 
 covenant. Sirs, let Mr. Mayor know that he has 
 been misinformed by those who have drawn this 
 paper from him — and to-morrow I will send a full 
 answer." 
 
 " Nay, nay, that will not suffice, no writing — you 
 must appear yourself at the Guildhall, no false plea 
 will be accepted." 
 
 "You are ignorant of the courtesy, nay, respect, 
 due to my office, sirs^and I ask you if ever you 
 heard of a Bishop of Norwich appearing before the 
 Mayor. I know my own place, and I will take the 
 way to answer this writing as I see fit." 
 
 Then the Bishop bowed — and something in him 
 seemed to strike awe on those rude men, for they 
 departed quickly, and soon I had returned to dear 
 Mistress Hall to assure her all was quiet. 
 
 But alack ! for the fury — aye, and folly of those 
 wild ignorant people. 
 
 Only a few days later, another band of these men 
 came to the gate, and the porter holding bravely 
 
248 WINIFRBDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 against them, they proceeded to clamber over the 
 walls, and demand to search the house for delin- 
 quents. Again, on the day following, the sheriff 
 and an alderman with a crowd of followers came to 
 the chapel, searching, they said, for idolatrous pic- 
 tures and images. 
 
 So ignorant were they, that they called the figures 
 of some ancient Bishops in the windows popes, and 
 said they must be destroyed. 
 
 The Bishop treated this with a lofty scorn, but 
 promising to remove the offence, he sent for plumb- 
 ers and had the heads taken out of the glass, and 
 hid away in a safe chest in the cellar, and ordered 
 round bits of white glass to be fastened in their 
 stead. 
 
 But such scenes followed in the Cathedral, as even 
 as I write of them, I can scarce believe that I have 
 witnessed. It was vain to stay the fury of these 
 zealots — these cruel and ruthless foes of all that was 
 sacred and beauteous in the vast Church. All day we 
 who are within earshot, heard the smashing of glass, 
 the beating down of walls, the wresting of iron and 
 brass from the graves, the hewing and hammering of 
 fair carving and goodly fret-work. Then they fell 
 upon the organ, and were tooting and piping upon 
 the pipes, torn from their places. 
 
 When the market day came round, and the city 
 was full of country folk, it was as if every one had 
 gone stark mad. 
 
 A profane procession stalked through the streets. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 249 
 
 displaying the trophies of their wicked despoiling of 
 the sacred House of God. 
 
 Organ pipes were blown on, and one man trailing 
 a cope in the mire, with the leaden cross sawn from 
 the Green Yard pulpit carried before him, dared to 
 imitate in impious scorn, the tune and words of the 
 Litany, from a service book in his hand. 
 
 Then there was a great burning of all these things 
 at the public cross, and shouting and rejoicing 
 which resounded through the city and reached our 
 ears in the Close — while the flames leaped up to 
 heaven and cast a ruddy glow upon the battlements 
 of the old Castle. 
 
 Insult followed insult, and the Cathedral was filled 
 on what is called in Norwich the Guild Day, with 
 musketeers, drinking and smoking as freely as if 
 they were in an alehouse. 
 
 It is wonderful to me, and to all who know and 
 revere the Bishop, that he can stand up under such 
 a storm. 
 
 " The heathen have come into Thy inheritance," 
 he said one day — " and verily Jerusalem is a heap 
 of stones." 
 
 June. 
 
 All this history of misrule and wild disorder has 
 been written at odd times during the last weeks 
 and months — and now we are in still worse case. 
 
 The Bishop was advised to hold on at the Palace, 
 as long as possible, but Master Corbet — may God 
 
250 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 forgive him for his persecution — has determined to 
 turn him out of the house. 
 
 In vain Mistress Hall begged to pay rent of the 
 house which the Committee have for their meetings, 
 her prayer is treated with contempt. 
 
 The meetings of these people must be henceforth 
 held in the Palace, which is, they have the impu- 
 dence to say, roomy and public, and suited to their 
 purpose. 
 
 They have served on the Bishop notice to quit at 
 midsummer, and I know not what would have be- 
 come of the family, had not a good and charitable 
 neighbour, one Master Gostlin, a widower, offered 
 to void his house in the Close and make a home for 
 us ; and thither we depart on Midsummer Day. 
 
 My heart is terribly oppressed, when I think that 
 I am a burden on those, whose shoulders are so 
 heavy weighted already — but I have the comfort of 
 knowing I can help somewhat in tending dear Mis- 
 tress Hall — and, as she says often, taking her Mary's 
 place. 
 
 My child too, is her delight, and a gleam of bright- 
 ness in the gloom arises from Master Gascoigne 
 Weld begging for Mistress Ann's hand in marriage 
 — and he will, he says, repair to Exeter and receive 
 her in marriage from the house of her sister, Madam 
 Peterson, the Dean's wife. 
 
 I have thrown the money given me for my gowns 
 into the common stock, and that has been — if un- 
 known — a small help. I remake others of my gar- 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 251 
 
 ments to fit little Maria. All the pride in my own 
 looks, which I know I had once — is gone. I would 
 fain be clothed like dear Penelope — and the only 
 fair possession of my youth that I wear and prize 
 and kiss nightly, as I kneel in prayer for Hal, is the 
 string of pearls — the first token of his love for me. 
 
 Has that love cooled ? am I forgot ? — shall I be as 
 Alice Friendship says — in all respects but name, a 
 widow ? Oh ! cruel thought — haunting me by day, 
 and in my dreams by night ! 
 
 But^no more of this — I tell my trouble to God — 
 and as a Father, He pities me. 
 
 Amongst other little services I can render to my 
 dear afflicted friends is the helping the Bishop to 
 collect and bring in order his written work — not yet 
 in the hands of the printer. I have copied fair 
 The Devout Soul, and he is busy upon a remon- 
 strance addressed to the divines at Westminster. 
 This I write for him, and I am reaping the benefit 
 of Master Buckingharn's practice of making me set 
 down on paper what fell from his lips. 
 
 How wonderful it is to see the Bishop in these 
 times of distress — composing books which will bear 
 witness to those who come after him that he sought 
 peace and diversion from carking care, by leading 
 others to quiet thoughts of contentment and pa- 
 tience in adversity. The Modest Offer of Some 
 Meet Consideration is all but completed, and it is 
 full of the same wit, and knowledge, and teeming 
 with his desire to avert the dangers which threat- 
 
252 WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 ened his dearly prized Church. In his most serious 
 pages there are sparks of humour, and yet he did 
 not once dip his pen in gall. 
 
 Only yesterday, he said to me as I laid down the 
 quill, for a short space — my hand being somewhat 
 stiff and tired, 
 
 " Child, I have learned much since the great con- 
 troversy which I waged against the Smectymnu- 
 ans ; I see, how just soever the plea be, I find such 
 is the self-love and partiality of our corrupt nature, 
 the quarrel is enlarged by multiplying of words." 
 
 And this is now the rule of the Bishop's dealings 
 with his pen and spoken words. His sermons are 
 full of a holy earnestness, but Mistress Hall says 
 the fire and heat which made his words burn in 
 younger days is not in them now. 
 
 And then Mistress Hall will speak of Hawstead — 
 and her pride in her dear lord's eloquence, and the 
 joy with which she heard his sermon before the 
 Prince Henry had been noticed with such praise in 
 high quarters. 
 
 Not less his sermon from St. Paul's Cross — when 
 a listening crowd, with upturned faces, would stand 
 for an hour, as if beneath a spell. 
 
 " All over now," Mistress Hall said, " all over. 
 St. Paul's Cross destroyed, the high and mighty of 
 that time brought low even to the dust — and my 
 husband persecuted and hunted like a poor stag, — 
 yes, hunted to his death — if these Norwich folk 
 could have their way. Oh ! Winifrede, I ask my- 
 
WINIFREDES JOURNAL. 253 
 
 self, why did we ever leave Exeter and come hither 
 for this ? " 
 
 I cannot answer the question — I ask it of myself 
 a hundred times — with others more nearly concern- 
 ing myself which can find no answer in this life. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 2SS 
 
IX. 
 
 They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. 
 
 He that now goeth forth weeping and beareth good seed shall 
 doubtless come again with joy and bring his sheaves with him. 
 
 At Heigham, near to Norwich, 1647. 
 
 It was on Midsummer Eve, 1644, that the Bishop, 
 taking Mistress Hall by the hand, walked out of the 
 Palace for the last time. 
 
 Those who saw that " exodus," as he himself called 
 it, can never forget it. 
 
 The Bishop's calmness seemed to be shed on all 
 around him. But oh ! the cruel shame of turning 
 out of house and home an old man, who, with his 
 aged wife leaning on his arm, passed across the 
 close in the twihght of the summer evening to 
 Master Gostlin's house. Mistress Hall's head was 
 bowed, but the Bishop's was raised ; there was in 
 him no sense of degradation, rather of the uplifting 
 of the martyr for conscience, sake. 
 
 Despite our precaution that this going out should 
 not be made public, there were groups of people 
 17 257 
 
258 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 loitering about to see how the hunted Bishop bore 
 himself. 
 
 It must have been somewhat galling to certain of 
 them to note with what a noble mien and brave air 
 he met his trouble. 
 
 " Take courage, dear heart," I who was behind 
 him with Maria heard him say, " take courage. This 
 is God's will — the wrath of man is but suffered to 
 bring about what He deems right and good." 
 
 But dear Mistress Hall only bowed her head still 
 lower, and so with slow steps we passed beneath the 
 blooming lime trees to the shelter of Mr. Gostlin's 
 roof, with Peregrine Bond, one Margaret Hatley but 
 recently entered the service, and another Edmund 
 Campion. 
 
 And now after so many months, nay years, I nftist 
 take the quill in hand and turn from the story of 
 this noble saintly life to my own. 
 
 I have delayed long, and little Maria has said re- 
 proachingly to-day : 
 
 " Mother's big book is never opened now ! " and 
 then she brought it forth, and rubbing the clasp 
 with the corner of her little skirt she tottered with 
 it to the table against which I sat in the v/indow. 
 " Write, mother — tell the book about meT 
 
 Sweet child ! All I have to tell of her is bright 
 and happy, for she is like an angel of peace and joy 
 to her mother's sore heart. 
 
 I bade her leave the book on the table, and now 
 to-night while she is sleeping I will try to carry on 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 259 
 
 the history from that Midsummer Eve now so long 
 ago. But I must go back to that evening for the 
 better understanding of what is to follow. 
 
 Following my good friends I had just reached the 
 door of Master Gostlin's house when I saw a horse- 
 man riding a jaded steed towards the Palace from 
 whence we had just come. 
 
 Even as I looked at him my heart gave a sudden 
 bound of pain, for something told me he had ill tid- 
 ings for me. 
 
 Presently I saw him dismount, and making his 
 way through the little group of people collected 
 near and about the house he asked where he should 
 find Dame Carew ! 
 
 I gave Maria to Alice Friendship's care, and 
 sprang forward. 
 
 " Here," I said. " I am here — I am Dame 
 Carew." 
 
 The man leaned against the wall which shut off 
 the Deanery garden from the close, and beckoning 
 a lad to hold his horse he unbuckled a leather 
 pouch at his girdle and drew from it a letter. 
 
 I saw the superscription was in a handwriting 
 unlike my husband's, for it was small and well- 
 formed. The light was waning, my hand trembled, 
 and I could scarce see the letters on the outside, 
 much less decipher what was within. 
 
 The rider was faint and exhausted, his horse 
 sweating and covered with foam. 
 
 I had no place to offer him rest and refreshing, 
 
26o WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 
 
 but presently a well-known figure appeared from 
 under the shadow of one of the thick-leaved trees, 
 and James Eland said, 
 
 " Have you had ill news, Dame Carew ? " 
 
 " I do not know, I do not know ! I cannot see 
 to read ! " I said. 
 
 Then James Eland gently took my hand, saying, 
 
 " Come into the house, and a light can be fetched. 
 Do not stand here, many eyes are upon you." 
 Then to the horseman he said, " The lad holding 
 your horse can direct you to the hostel on Palace 
 Plain where I will find you anon, and instruct you 
 as to this gentlewoman's wishes." 
 
 " Always my friend in need," I said, as James 
 Eland led me up the little garden before Mr. Gost- 
 lin's house, where Alice Friendship was awaiting my 
 coming with some curiosity. 
 
 " Take your mistress to a chamber where a lamp 
 can be lighted ; she has a despatch to decipher, and 
 the light fails." 
 
 Clutching the letter with convulsive fingers I 
 followed Alice to the small chamber allotted to me 
 and the child, and where already a lamp was burning. 
 
 Trembling with eagerness I scanned the lines 
 written on one side of the paper, which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 Dear Heart : — Poor Hal has been roughly handled in Cornwall, 
 and is lying here, whither he was got with much pain and trouble 
 last week. His mind is as ill at ease as his body, and I take upon 
 myself to despatch a messenger for you. He does not know that I 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 261 
 
 have done this, but I say come. One whom you know aided his 
 journey here, and set him on his way, but he has fevered since, and 
 the surgeon has let blood. I would fain send you a proper coach 
 or pillion saddle, but money all goes now in this wretched warfare. 
 
 Sir Gilbert is with the King, who is laid siege to in Oxford, and I 
 bide my time here. 
 
 I pray you, little Winifrede, to lose no time — no, not an hour — in 
 starting ; there is risk in your so doing. 
 
 Yours in old affection, 
 
 DULCIBEL ReDVERS. 
 
 This letter, on which my destiny seemed to hang, 
 was written from Hampton on the river Thames. 
 I write it here word for word, as it is, and must ever 
 be, a memorable letter to me. 
 
 I pressed little Maria to my heart, and then 
 sought the Bishop with my letter. 
 
 He was resting quietly in his chair, in the small 
 low parlour of Master Gostlin's house ; Mistress Hall 
 had gone to her bedchamber. 
 
 " The good man who has afforded me this shelter," 
 the Bishop said, " has but now left me. But, Wini- 
 frede, is aught disturbing you ? " 
 
 Then throwing myself on my knees by his side I 
 told my friend and always faithful adviser of my 
 letter. 
 
 " I must start at once, my lord ; you will give me 
 your sanction, and oh ! give me your blessing ! " 
 
 " Yes, dear daughter, you have both. Put your 
 trust in the Lord, and may He grant you a safe 
 journey to your husband. How will you go ? How 
 perform the journey? Would that I could help 
 
262 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 you, but they have robbed me of all my goods, and 
 we can scarce find enow for daily need." 
 
 " I know if, I know it, my dear lord, and I have 
 been an added burden ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, no child of the house is ever a burden, 
 and you have been as such to us since God took 
 from us our dear daughter Mary Rodd." 
 
 Then after a fervent blessing with his hand on 
 my bowed head, I left the parlour. 
 
 James Eland was without waiting my pleasure. 
 
 I did not speak to him, but speeding up-stairs I 
 bade Alice make ready for departure with the child, 
 and then I opened a small box, the key of which 
 hangs at my girdle, and looked at the jewels lying 
 within. 
 
 Little Maria climbed on a chair at my side, and 
 as the rubies shone crimson as the lamplight fell 
 on them, and the diamonds flashed like stars, she 
 put out her hand to grasp them, saying : 
 
 " Pretty, so pretty, and they are mine." 
 
 Yes, they were hers by inheritance, but now I 
 must reach her father by their means in his ex- 
 tremity. 
 
 I hastily chose out two or three sets of the fair- 
 est of the jewels, and replaced the others in the 
 box, locked it, and went down-stairs again. 
 
 "James Eland!" I called, and out of the dim- 
 ness of the summer night he answered : 
 
 " I am here, Dame Carew. What is your pleas- 
 ure ? " 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 263 
 
 " See here ! " I said, " here are jewels which will 
 fetch a goodly sum of money. Take them and sell 
 them, and make ready by their means for my 
 journey to a place called Hampton with Alice 
 Friendship and the child." 
 
 " The stage waggon starts on the next day but 
 one — will you not tarry for it ? " 
 
 " No, I will not," I said. " The stage crawls like 
 a snail. It is life or death to me to make haste. 
 Hire horses and a pillion saddle. Alice and the 
 child and I can ride on one, and on the other some 
 trusty man with the baggage and pistols in case 
 of meeting with marauders or some of the rebel 
 soldiers." 
 
 " I think you run a great risk," James Eland 
 said, "but I go to do your bidding." 
 
 " Let us start at dawn. I am ready." 
 
 James Eland turned away to do, as he said, my 
 bidding, and I heard him speak in severe tones to 
 the loiterers outside, who seemed to gloat over 
 the house where the unhoused Bishop had found 
 refuge. 
 
 " Begone ! " he said, " all of you, to your beds, 
 where all decent folks should be by this hour." 
 
 I know not how the night passed. I left Mistress 
 Hall weeping at my departure, and she prayed to 
 keep the child. So long a journey on horseback 
 would .be toilsome — nay, even dangerous for a child 
 of her tender years, she said. 
 
 But I could only reply, " Her father may crave to 
 
264 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 see her : he loves her, I know, and in the days of 
 her infancy in London made much of her. I must 
 take her with me, dear madam." 
 
 The Cathedral spire was standing clear-cut against 
 the sky of the summer dawn when, according to 
 instructions sent to me by a servant of James 
 Eland's, Alice Friendship and I, with Maria still 
 sleeping in the kind arms of Peregrine Bond, knocked 
 at the great door of Saint Ethelbert's Gateway 
 and were suffered to pass out of the close by the 
 porter. 
 
 There two horses stood with a double pillion on 
 each, and a man at the head of each one. 
 
 The light was yet faint, and I could scarce dis- 
 cern the faces of the two men. My whole heart 
 was filled with the fever .of desire to lessen the dis- 
 tance between me and my husband. 
 
 Peregrine Bond lifted me to the saddle, well 
 cushioned and with a cloak richly lined with fur 
 thrown over it to protect me from cold if the nights 
 were chill. 
 
 For except to bait the horses I determined not to 
 rest till my journey's end was reached. 
 
 Alice Friendship made much ado at being raised 
 to her seat, and little Maria when her position was 
 changed lifted up her voice and cried amain. Then 
 I would have her transferred to my arms, and hold- 
 ing her close I felt a comfort in her nearness, as 
 often before. 
 
 Alack ! I needed comfort, for the words of Dame 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 265 
 
 Redvers' letter kept ever making a sort of tune to 
 the horses' feet : 
 
 " Lose no time, lose no time ; it would be a risk 
 to do so, lose no time." 
 
 James Eland came to my side just at starting, 
 saying : 
 
 " The servants are provided with pistols and food. 
 They will keep behind, and the messenger who 
 brought the news will ride as a van-guard to show 
 the road, and to give warning of any rebels who 
 may be in the way as you get nearer London." 
 
 " The jewels ? " I asked. " Did they fetch money 
 enough to pay for the journey — to pay the cost of 
 the hire of the two saddle-horses ? " 
 
 " There is money enow and to spare," was the 
 reply. 
 
 When we were outside the gates the messenger on 
 his horse passed by us and I envied his quicker pace. 
 
 It was not till the first hostel where the horses 
 baited was reached that I, looking back to see if the 
 packhorse and servants were hard by, saw James 
 Eland had come with us and was the second man 
 in the saddle of the hindermost horse ; when he 
 helped me to dismount I said : 
 
 " You told me two servants should be in charge 
 of the baggage. How is this ? " 
 
 " Am I not your servant ? " was the reply. " Have 
 I not been your servant for many a year ? " 
 
 I had nought to say to this, but I wished in my 
 heart James Eland had stayed in Norwich. 
 
266 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 It were vain to tell how slow the journey seemed 
 to me, nor how when a horse cast a shoe, or we 
 missed the way by reason of alarms as to enemies 
 being on our track, and therefore resorted to bye- 
 roads as a precaution, my spirit chafed and I grew 
 morose and fractious, — far more so than my child, 
 whose sunny temper and light heart are like her 
 father's. 
 
 She took quickly to James Eland, and rode on 
 his knee many a time while he told her stories, 
 always from the Bible : but in so interesting a fash- 
 ion that she would repeat them to me and Alice 
 Friendship afterwards. 
 
 For her part, she alternately dozed and nodded 
 and grumbled, her head bumping against my shoul- 
 der and back, and the pin which held her hat in 
 its place striking into my neck ; but what was a pin 
 prick to the pain at my heart ? 
 
 On — on — under the summer sky, night and day, 
 and I never for one moment really forgot myself in 
 sleep. I heard Dr. Thomas Browne say one day 
 that in the moments before death by drowning, all 
 the past rises up in strong colours — joys and sor- 
 rows, aye, and sins and short-comings all come be- 
 fore the mind in those last moments. And I may 
 say that all along this ride which was to end for me 
 with I scarce dared to think what misery if indeed I 
 was too late, — which would, I thought, be worse 
 than death to me — the past came before me as to the 
 drowning man, and all was clear : alack ! how clear ! 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 267 
 
 That ride in Hal's arms, that secret marriage, the 
 torture of mind I suffered when I was vowed to 
 secrecy, then the bliss at Exmouth, the dear de- 
 lights of his tender love and care for me, my pride 
 in him, my gallant soldier who had as it seemed to 
 me come down from his high estate to lift me up 
 this, this was the reality, and the long separation 
 and the apparent negligence and cooling of affection 
 for me — this was but a phantom ! It was to Hal, 
 my Hal, the lover and the husband of my youth, 
 the father of my child, that my heart clung. 
 
 As we neared the city we met many detachments 
 of irregular train-bands and armed citizens. 
 
 We were again and again challenged as to our 
 errand, and James Eland's answer gave us a free 
 pass : — 
 
 " For the Parliament ! for the Faithful ! no Prel- 
 acy!" 
 
 This and such like watchwords from James Eland 
 were received for the most part with respect and 
 believed in. 
 
 As for our messenger, he had taken to flight on 
 the first meeting with a train-band, and we saw him 
 no more. 
 
 James Eland made for a place called Putney, and 
 here after some haggling with a waterman Alice 
 Friendship and little Maria were put in a barge 
 with me to be conveyed to Hampton. My baggage 
 was stowed into the barge, and I saw James Eland 
 take out some gold pieces, which served to ensure 
 
268 WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 the civil treatment we received. He also put into 
 my hand a bag sealed and tied with many inches of 
 stout cord. 
 
 "This," he said, "is for the value of the jewels, 
 or their value in part. And now, Dame Carew, I 
 part from yoii commending you to the keeping of 
 the Lord, and may you and your child choose the 
 more excellent way, and have grace to cast aside all 
 vile services and vain ordinances of man which can 
 never save a soul." 
 
 " I thank you, James Eland, for all you have done 
 for me, and I pray God to bless and reward you." 
 
 " Nay," he said, " talk not of reward — we who are 
 as dust and ashes before the Lord, have no part in 
 rewards. It is all free grace." 
 
 This was the sort of recognised speech of those 
 Separatists to whom James Eland belonged, but 
 this formality was not really a part of James Eland's 
 real self, as was seen when little Maria clung to his 
 neck and kissed him and said, 
 
 " Do not leave me, ' Meland,' " — a pet name 
 framed by her own childish lips. " I love you. 
 Come in the boat with us. Mother wants you — I 
 want you. Oh ! Meland, do not go from me ! " ""J 
 
 As James Eland put her down and gently un- 
 wound her clinging arms I saw tears on the dark 
 fringe of lashes which shaded his eyes, and he said 
 tenderly, 
 
 " Nay, my sweet child, I must return whither I 
 came. I have done the service I vowed to render, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 269 
 
 and for the rest — be a good child, Maria, and bear 
 in mind the story of the Good Shepherd I told 
 you." 
 
 Then blessing her and wiping away her tears, 
 with one more farewell he was gone. 
 
 Maria flung herself on a bench in the barge, and 
 cried vehemently and passionately. 
 
 " Come, you naughty child, hold such noise, or 
 Master Waterman will throw you into the river," 
 said Alice Friendship. 
 
 Such threats only made Maria cry louder than 
 ever. Then I took her struggling on my knee and 
 told her if she persisted in such naughtiness she 
 would make my head ache. " Besides," I added, 
 " you are going to see dear father." 
 
 " I don't know him," she said. " He has never 
 been to see his little Maria. I want — I want Me- 
 land, — dear Meland ! " 
 
 The dwelling Sir Gilbert Redvers had provided 
 for his wife in these times of danger and tumult 
 stands in the shadow of trees, and in a creek of the 
 river, hidden from sight from the barges passing 
 up and down the river. 
 
 There were rough wooden steps and a post near 
 by, where the waterman made the barge fast, and 
 bade us take the path up to a little wicket gate we 
 should soon see before us. One of the watermen 
 shouldered our baggage and said he would follow 
 slowly, for it was mighty heavy. Alice Friendship 
 with Maria holding her hand came behind me, Alice 
 
270 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 grumbling as is her wont, and Maria stopping now 
 and again to pluck a flower in the long grass, Alice 
 rating her for so doing. 
 
 Now the goal was reached, I had a strange sink- 
 ing of heart ; I now dreaded to hear what might 
 crush me to the earth with grief — what if it were too 
 late ? I 
 
 I passed through the wicket gate and found my- 
 self in a path leading through a tangle of low grow- 
 ing shrubs, then out on to a wider space of turf 
 spangled with daisies, and before me was a low cot- 
 tage with a thatched roof, and covered with climb- 
 ing plants. 
 
 It brought back to my mind the Bower at Ex- 
 mouth, and those early far-off days of love and 
 peace. 
 
 I went slowly up to the door and knocked. A 
 voice from a little square opening by the porch 
 asked-— 
 
 " Who goes there? " 
 
 And I answered — 
 
 "The wife of Sir Hal Carew." 
 
 Soon there was the rustle of silken garments 
 within and a voice I knew, 
 
 " Open at once — it is Dame Carew." 
 
 Bolts were drawn back, and then in another mo- 
 ment I was in Dame Dulcibel's arms. 
 
 My lips refused to frame the words ; I looked up 
 in Dulcibel's face, and she answered the look. 
 
 " Your husband is alive," she said, " and more 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 271 
 
 like to live than a week ago. Sit down and drink 
 this," she continued, holding a cup of wine to my 
 lips. Then there rose the sound of little Maria's 
 voice pitifully calling for mother, then the heavy 
 thud of our baggage in the outer hall, and Alice's 
 voice raised chiding Maria. 
 
 I felt like one in a dream ; nothing seemed real 
 to me, but making an effort to rise I said, 
 
 " Take me to my husband." 
 
 Then Dulcibel took my hand and drew it through 
 her arm, saying, 
 
 " Come to your own chamber and I will tell you 
 what cannot be told here." 
 
 Even in my distress and scarce understanding 
 what I heard, I noted the change in Dame Redvers 
 since she had come into my chamber in the Strand. 
 Her once bright hair was streaked with grey, her 
 cheeks thin, her mouth pinched and fallen in, her 
 beauty of form and colour gone. 
 
 She loosened my cloak and bathed my forehead 
 with sweet water, and then as I leaned back in a 
 settle by the lattice casement, she began the history 
 I longed, yet dreaded to hear. 
 
 It would seem that Hal had led a wild and self- 
 pleasing life at Oxford, and that when he was de- 
 spatched to join the Cornish rising he was ill pre- 
 pared for the privations which beset the valiant 
 band there ; often those in command had but a 
 biscuit a day, and but a handful of powder for the 
 whole force. 
 
272 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Hal had fought desperately, and was sorely 
 wounded after scaling the steep heights of Stratton 
 Hill. Here he was left for dead, but Sir Gilbert 
 Redvers came to his rescue. He was carried in the 
 dead of night to a house where it was said many 
 had found shelter and nursing. 
 
 A band of holy women abode there, and the 
 head of them was Mistress Ley. Joan was amongst 
 them, and here Hal lay for many, many weeks, faith- 
 fully nursed and tended. 
 
 He grew weary of confinement and insisted on 
 leaving the place of refuge, and was bent on making 
 his way with his faithful servant Michael to Lon- 
 don, intending, so he says, to make for Norwich. 
 
 Sir Gilbert Redvers knowing him to be in a weak 
 condition pursued him with a safe convoy, but they 
 fell in with a party of the rebel horse, and another 
 sharp conflict followed. Again Hal escaped with a 
 •fresh wound, and Michael was killed by a pistol 
 shot through his true heart. Hal arrived at this 
 retreat to which Sir Gilbert had directed him, more 
 dead than alive, about two weeks before the time 
 when Dame Dulcibel despatched the messenger for 
 me. 
 
 " I have questioned him many times," she said, 
 " why he has left you without tidings, but I can 
 get no direct reply. In the ravings of his fever he 
 has called upon another name, and talks of sinning 
 against you and wanting your forgiveness. It is a 
 pitiful sight indeed to look on poor Hal laid low, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 273 
 
 and I warn you to expect a change — a great 
 
 change." 
 
 I clasped my hands tightly together as Dulcibel 
 
 spoke, and I suppose the prayer I could not frame 
 
 with my lips went up from my heart and was heard. 
 
 For I felt a sudden calm and strength, as rising I 
 
 said, 
 
 " I am ready to go to him." 
 
 ***** 
 
 As I have written this record of those summer 
 days of 1644 I have often had to lay down the quill, 
 close the book, and gather courage to proceed. It 
 was so as I write the words, " I am ready to go to 
 him." 
 
 Yes, I was ready, and indeed Heaven-sent help 
 alone could have sustained me in all that I had to 
 pass through. 
 
 It was not that my husband was wounded in 
 body, and but a shadow of his old self, that gave 
 me the deepest pain. The glance of his eyes as 
 they we're turned on me when I knelt by his bed 
 and took his hand in mine, will haunt me all the 
 days of my life. 
 
 It was like nothing so much as that of a child 
 who had done some grievous fault, and hoped for 
 pardon, yet feared whether he should receive it. 
 
 " Qh, my winsome lady ! " he burst forth at last. 
 
 " I have sinned against you. I dared not ask you 
 
 to come to me. It has been a dark story since you 
 
 last looked on me, I am not worthy to be called 
 
 18 
 
274 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 your husband. Winifrede — Winifrede — can you 
 forgive ? " 
 
 Then there came borne into my soul the words 
 of the Lord — 
 
 " I say not unto thee, till seven times, but until 
 seventy times seven." 
 
 It would not be possible for me to write here the 
 details of what he truly called a dark history. I 
 have heard of mothers who have loved an erring 
 son better than those who have never wandered. 
 I know that -the parable of the lost piece of silver 
 fastens on women the duteous effort to light the 
 candle and seek for the lost one, and if so be it is 
 possible, find him and bring him back. I have heard, 
 too, of what some harsh judges are fain to call the 
 folly of the weak-hearted who cannot, even in the 
 throes of bitter anguish, cease to love the very 
 cause of such anguish. 
 
 I know not how it may be with other women and 
 wives — I have to tell the' truth here, and this I must 
 write . . . that sinned against as I was, my 
 poor heart yearned over the sinner, and I poured 
 out on him a flood of pity and love which seemed 
 to come, whether I would or not. And even as I 
 write now all is past, it calls up only memories of 
 thankfulness that I was able to comfort Hal when 
 he needed it, and I humbly trust lead him to the 
 dear God and Father of us all for pardon and peace. 
 
 The net had been spread for him, and he had been 
 caught in the toils of the flatterer, then discarded 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 275 
 
 and thrown aside to be as he said reckless, and only 
 longing to end it all with a swofd-thrust. 
 
 From the time of my coming to Sir Gilbert's 
 house I was my husband's sole nurse. A woman 
 who had been hired in from Hampton was no 
 longer needed. I was strengthened in body and 
 mind to tend him, and great was my reward. 
 
 In our retreat reports of the warfare without 
 reached us at times with an ominous sound, and 
 the state of the kingdom grew even more and more 
 troubled. 
 
 Sir Gilbert Redvers came now and again to see 
 that we were well provisioned, and our little domain 
 well guarded, and he would speak cheerfully to Hal, 
 and tell him he would be in the saddle again ere 
 long. 
 
 Alack ! Well I knew that would never be ! 
 
 I noted with pain how little affection there seemed 
 between Dulcibel and Sir Gilbert. After one of his 
 visits she^aid : 
 
 " I am not made of the same stuff as you are, 
 Winifrede. If I am not greatly prized — well, I do 
 not care to grieve over it. I have long ago learned 
 to go one way and let Gilbert go another. My 
 heart is not like to break ! " 
 
 For all this I have seen a look in Dulcibel's eyes 
 which was sadder and more wistful than I could 
 describe, as Sir Gilbert played with Maria and en- 
 couraged her to talk to him. 
 
 One day he said to Hal — 
 
276 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " A man with a wife and daughter like you, Hal, 
 has all reason on his side to pluck up courage and 
 get well and hearty. If I had the like " 
 
 Then he stopped, and Dulcibel said bitterly : 
 
 " If you had a child she would not be after 
 Maria's pattern, she would be more like your wife 
 who is not after Winifrede's neither. So rest con- 
 tent, Sir Gilbert, it is best as it is." 
 
 Then she laughed, but it was a hard laugh, with 
 no joy in it — rather bitterness. 
 
 It was in the autumn of this same year that I who 
 had craved for news of the Bishop received a de- 
 spatch from a special messenger telling me of his 
 finding, with his dear wife Mistress Hall, a home at 
 Heigham, outside the gates of the city of Norwich. 
 
 The letter was written by the Bishop's own hand, 
 and it consoled me to know of his welfare, and I 
 returned by the same messenger a dutiful letter to 
 him, and another to Mistress Hall, telling her what 
 I could not tell to my lord — of Hal, of his state, 
 and of the consolation I seemed to afford him by 
 my presence, of our child, and her winning ways, 
 and how her poor father lying day after day prone 
 on his couch loved to have her near him. 
 
 When I delivered my letter to the hands of the 
 messenger he asked me if I had nought besides to 
 entrust to him ? 
 
 I said, " No, but I send by you greetings to all 
 who remember me." 
 
 " There is one," the man said, " who never forgets. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 277 
 
 Have you no word for him ? It is he who has paid 
 the money for this errand and sent you his humble 
 duty, and earnestly desires your welfare." 
 
 It was James Eland, then, who thoughtfully de- 
 spatched at his own cost these letters by special 
 messenger. 
 
 Is there a heart so hard that the faithful devotion 
 of years unnourished as it is in my case by any re- 
 turn, fails to touch it ? Nor was this the only time 
 that the same good ofifices were bestowed on me. 
 
 All through that year of 1645 at intervals the 
 same messenger brought me tidings of those I 
 loved. Not always sent by the hand of the Bishop, 
 but headed " Norwich News," and then I knew full 
 well who had collected it for my benefit. 
 
 The next year of 1646 was a year when the hearts 
 of the stoutest amongst the King's followers fell, all 
 hope dying. 
 
 Sir Gilbert's visits were few, but every time he 
 came he had worse tidings to tell. 
 
 " A giant has arisen," he said once, " who will 
 crush out the last dying embers of our party ! " 
 And indeed so it proved. 
 
 This man, Oliver Cromwell, is a power none seem 
 able to resist. Yet what a strange ungainly figure 
 is his ! Sir Gilbert describes him with his ill-cut 
 clothes, his coarse linen, his hat with no band, much 
 less plume or riband bow, his face red and puffed, 
 his voice like one rough saw scraping on another. 
 Yet Sir Gilbert said he is worth ten thousand 
 
278 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Essex's in the field, and his brigade presents an iron 
 front and all are, as he would say, " men of reli- 
 gion." " You and I, Hal," Sir Gilbert said, " would 
 come off ill if the fit took us to serve under him. 
 We should soon be penniless, Hal, for he mulcts 
 every man twelve pence for an oath ! " and Sir 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 But Hal turned his head away and said : 
 
 " I would I could wipe out the memory of many 
 an oath by twelve pence paid — nay, by a hundred 
 twelve pences." 
 
 "Poor Hal!" Sir Gilbert said. "Neither you 
 nor I can look back on a blameless life, but we are 
 no worse than scores of others — you somewhat 
 better, methinks." 
 
 Hal raised his hand with a gesture of impatience, 
 and said, 
 
 " Hush, I pray you, Gilbert, unless you would 
 strike another spear into my heart." \ 
 
 It was in the spring when the trees were all bud- 
 ding in the Park around the great Palace of Hamp- 
 ton, and all nature was awaking to great beauty 
 after the sleep of winter, that the few troops yet 
 left to the King were routed at Stow and the strug- 
 gle ended in the utter debasing of the cause of 
 Royalty. 
 
 My husband had been able to pace the little 
 pleasance leaning on my arm for some weeks past, 
 and had seemed almost like to fulfil Sir Gilbert's 
 prophecy that he would be well again with time and 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 279 
 
 care. I began to have hope, though the sudden 
 fits of pain and swooning would come unawares, 
 and crush it out after it had plumed its wings and 
 raised me up on them for the time. But how pre- 
 cious is the memory of this last year, and it will 
 ever be a solace to me in those which are to come. 
 
 It would seem that the tie betwixt me and Hal 
 had never been so strong as now, and I was treated 
 with his entire confidence. He said often that an 
 undisciplined will, a will which bowed to no author- 
 ity, had wrought much woe. for him. He spoke of 
 his irascible father, the terror not the friend of his 
 boyhood and childhood, of Joan's bigotry and ill 
 temper, and of the hatred he took to all religion 
 which seemed to end in nought but praying and 
 fasting, while the heart was hard as stone and the 
 tongue sharp as a sword. Then he would recur to 
 our meeting, his first sight of me at the window of 
 Mistress Rodd's house, the sudden and overpower- 
 ing love he felt for me. Then of the wrong he did 
 in carrying me off for a secret marriage, and the 
 cowardice which kept him back from boldly declar- 
 ing me to be his wife in the face of the world. 
 
 " It was a plant growing from the same evil root," 
 he said. " I must indulge my own will, and as a 
 falcon swoops down on her prey, so did I swoop 
 down on you, my poor white dove." 
 
 This and much more he said, which is not to be 
 written here, but is written in my heart and will be 
 buried with me. In these months of perfect con- 
 
28o WINIFREDE 'S JO URNAL. 
 
 fidence I read much to him from the Holy Bible, 
 and from some of the dear Bishop's works of which 
 I possessed copies and especially from The Balm of 
 Gilead and the Comforter. 
 
 Hal spoke much of the future for me and Maria ; 
 he desired me to get back to Norwich as soon as he 
 was gone, " for go I must, dear heart," he said. 
 " Nor do I greatly wish to return to health. To be 
 here with you and. the little daughter we both love 
 so well is sweet, but I should not care to return to 
 the strife and the turmoil, aye, and the temptations 
 of the world." 
 
 Hal said much of the monies which Joan had 
 sunk in the religious community to which she be- 
 longed, but he said, " That is safe. It is not appro- 
 priated by Mistress Ley, but is, though Joan knows 
 it not, saved entire for your benefit." 
 
 Mistress Ley said she had wealth enough and 
 to spare for the maintenance of the gentlewomen 
 with her and the alms which they dispensed, also 
 for the payment to the priests who in these times 
 of Puritan rule were grievously persecuted and 
 could only visit the convent, for such it is, by 
 stealth to shrive them and celebrate the Eucharist. 
 
 Mistress Ley is ever known as " the Mother," a 
 mother in Israel indeed, it seemed to Hal when he 
 was carried to that lone house in the Cornish 
 Coombe more dead than alive, and so fell into the 
 hands of that godly gentlewoman. 
 
 We had a favourite resort in a rude hut which 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 281 
 
 overlooked the river, whence we could see without 
 being seen. Many barges and boats passed up and 
 down between London and Richmond and Hamp- 
 ton. Often on the air was borne the sound of 
 voices singing psalms and hymns. The old songs 
 of the watermen were now deemed profane and 
 savouring of the Evil One. 
 
 Those who approached the house from the river 
 were few, but there were gates at the back of the 
 cottage at which horsemen stopped. 
 
 By this time any who had served in the King's 
 cause were suspects, and it was a constant marvel to 
 us that we had not been hunted out of our retreat. 
 
 So small a place did not attract attention,. Sir 
 Gilbert said, and yet he kept a guard hidden in the 
 copse which surrounded the little domain, to pro- 
 tect us. 
 
 He was oftener abroad than present, and Dulcibel 
 was, I always thought, more cheery when alone with 
 me, my husband and Maria. 
 
 Dulcibel was ever ready with kindness and help. 
 She studied to make dishes such as Hal could 
 fancy ; she and her woman ransacked the chests 
 where her many beauteous gowns were kept, and 
 would make short coats and brocade skirts for 
 Maria trimmed with fine lace which made her look, 
 as her proud father said, 
 
 "A little Court lady!" 
 
 Alack! that description scarce stood for aught 
 now, for there was really no Court. 
 
282 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 "She should be arrayed in the old Carew jewels," 
 he said one day. "Let me see her decked in them." 
 
 " Nay, dear Hal," I said, " it would but fill her 
 head with vanity." 
 
 But he would not be put off, showing the feverish 
 impatience of delay which the sick so often display. 
 And I would not deceive him. 
 
 " Dear love," I said, " when the message came to 
 hasten me hither I had no money. I had therefore 
 to seek the help of a friend to sell some, not all, of 
 the jewels." 
 
 " Sell them ! " Hal said. " It was not well, Wini- 
 frede " — and his brow darkened. 
 
 " Dear one ! I have yet the best left. These 
 pearls are never taken from my neck, though some- 
 times hidden. And I could not have reached you 
 penniless. Nay, Hal, do not be angered against 
 me." 
 
 "As if I could," he said. "You are the best 
 jewel — the only jewel of value to me, and as to 
 the child she has yet enough left." 
 
 Of all the stirring events outside our retreat we, 
 as I said, only heard rumours. The great war was 
 over, but not the strife of contending parties. 
 
 Never was a kingdom more surely divided against 
 itself. There were factions and parties and rivalries, 
 and amidst them all the King was like to be torn in 
 pieces. 
 
 The King had many enemies, but these very 
 enemies were at issue with each other, and thus 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 283 
 
 there was no decided action, and the war broke out 
 
 again. 
 
 ***** 
 
 On one chill afternoon when the mists were hang- 
 ing over the river, I was reading by Hal's side, little 
 Maria at the foot of his couch, when I heard a 
 bustle in the ante-room, and presently the door 
 opened and Dulcibel came in exclaiming, " The 
 King ! " 
 
 All that was gracious and winning was now seen 
 in the King's manner, as he approached Hal's 
 couch, who made a feeble effort to rise. But all 
 sudden movenient always brought a deadly pallor 
 to his face, and the King said, 
 
 " Nay, Sir Hal Carew, my good friend and true 
 and loyal servant, keep your place. I am grieved 
 to see you thus. I have come to speak with Sir 
 Gilbert Redvers and learn if he will forthwith follow 
 me with his troop to Newcastle whither I go to 
 find loyal and true hearts, and help to bring my 
 poor misguided people to reason. I would. Sir 
 Hal, I might count upon your strong arm which 
 has wielded the sword for me to such good purpose, 
 though, alas, to your own loss." 
 
 " Nay, your Majesty," Hal said brokenly, " I do 
 not say to my loss. The sword-thrust had its errand, 
 and I do not sorrow for it. The only pain is that I 
 cannot rise and follow you as I fain would, but am 
 a man ruined in body and estate, having lost all." 
 
 " Nay, not quite all," the King said, " with a little 
 
284 WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 daughter like this," laying his hand on Maria's head. 
 " I too have little daughters, alack, who can no 
 longer please me with their presence, for I have no 
 home for them, but please God this great storm will 
 pass and leave the sky clear. There are words con- 
 cerning even-tide light which perchance may shine 
 on me and mine, and this unhappy kingdom." 
 
 Dulcibel had fetched the grace cup, and putting 
 it into Maria's hands bade her offer it to his Majesty 
 on one knee. 
 
 How gracefully the child performed this office, 
 and how her poor father's eyes feasted on her love- 
 liness ! To my surprise, and somewhat fearing she 
 was over-bold, Maria said, 
 
 " If I were a boy I would take father's sword, and 
 fight for you, dear King ! " 
 
 The King laughed, and turning to me said, 
 
 " Your mother is thanking God you are not a boy, 
 I know. When can I see Sir Gilbert ? " the King 
 asked of Dulcibel. 
 
 " He is on an errand at Woolwich, your Majesty, 
 but he will wait on you when he hears your com- 
 mands to do so." 
 
 " Bid him find me at Hampton Court as speedily 
 as possible, for there is not a day to lose. I must 
 meet my faithful Scots at Newcastle where the 
 Presbyterians and Sectaries are ready to tear one 
 another in pieces." 
 
 The gentlemen waiting in the ante-room were 
 now summoned, and the King was escorted to the 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 285 
 
 small barge awaiting him, Dulcibel and little Maria 
 asking permission to accompany him through the 
 copse. I was left with Hal, of whom the King had 
 taken a most gracious, and even tender farewell. 
 His eyes still beautiful, though less brilliant than of 
 old, were fixed sadly on the dripping branches of 
 the rose-bush trailing over the casement. 
 
 I knew what he felt — his once great strong frame 
 weak as a child's, his breath coming and going in 
 short quick gasps at any movement or sudden ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Knowing this I only essayed to comfort him by 
 silent sympathy, taking his hand in mine and kiss- 
 ing it gently. 
 
 He understood what I fain would say, and whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Dear love, you are very good to me, and patient 
 withal ; perhaps it may not be for long, and for you 
 it will be the lifting of a burden when I go." 
 
 " Do not break my heart by such words," I said. 
 " You know that to be near you is my best enjoy- 
 ment, to serve you and help to cheer you my only 
 pleasure." 
 
 " And all for love, and no reward," he said, " my 
 poor winsome lady ! " 
 
 " Nay, I have my full reward," I answered ; " I 
 want none other." 
 
 Presently Maria came dancing into the room hold- 
 ing up a little silver pouncet box curiously chased. 
 
 " The King gave it to me," she said, " and bid me 
 
286 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 say every night, ' God bless the King and bring 
 
 peace to poor England.' I told him I would never 
 
 forget it when I knelt at your knee and said God 
 
 bless dear father," 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Soon after this the time came for our leaving this 
 quiet retreat, and my heart was filled with fear as 
 to the journey. How could my husband bear the 
 movement, when even to cross the chamber was 
 often too hard for his breath ? 
 
 Sir Gilbert had to go, Dulcibel said, to sell some 
 of his goods for the equipment of his troops, and 
 he could no longer leave a guard with us — nor in- 
 deed bear the costs of the household. 
 
 Dulcibel was to be conveyed, under care of a 
 body of the troop, to Cheshire, which lay not far 
 out of the way which Sir Gilbert Redvers' men must 
 take — and immediate preparations were made for 
 departure. 
 
 We were sore perplexed as to what was the best 
 action for us to take, when we were waited on by a 
 rough sea-faring man, who handed a crumpled letter 
 to me from the pocket of his wide breeches, and 
 said he would tarry for my orders. 
 
 I found this paper was written by James Eland 
 to the captain of a sloop which plied between the 
 mouth of the Thames and Great Yarmouth, with the 
 dyed goods for which Norwich is famed, and of 
 which the chief makers are the family of Hickes to 
 which James Eland belonged. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 287 
 
 The sloop was to sail from London Bridge on the 
 next day, and we were to be taken on board, and 
 conveyed to Yarmouth by the captain, who was 
 under orders from the great dyers and cloth and 
 crepe makers who would pay the cost. 
 
 It was a more formidable journey than any I had 
 before attempted. 
 
 A sick husband and a child of tender years to 
 brave the perils of the wide sea, and not knowing 
 whether Hal would have strength to bear any 
 movement, — so terrible were the spasms of pain, 
 from which he was yet suffering if, forgetting need- 
 ful care, he suddenly rose from his couch without 
 the help of my hand. 
 
 But Dulcibel Redvers encouraged me to pluck up 
 spirit for the effort, saying she must start at dawn 
 the next day, and we could all proceed in a barge 
 to London Bridge where the sloop would take us 
 a-board. 
 
 I did as Dulcibel advised and plucked up courage 
 for what lay before me. That would not have suf- 
 ficed if the God in whom the Bishop had so often 
 bid me trust had not heard me cry and helped me. 
 
 I do not know how it may be with others, but I 
 have ever felt since the time when I first had grave 
 thoughts of-God and faith in Him, that without any 
 intention, blessed words of supplication have been 
 whispered to my troubled heart, and I have sent 
 them up as prayers, or rested in them as promises. ' 
 
 I repeated again and again as I went about my 
 
288 WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 preparations with Alice Friendship, who kept up as 
 is her wont a perpetual sighing and grumbling : 
 
 From the ends of the earth will I call upon Thee when my heart is 
 in heaviness. 
 
 O, set me upon the rock which is higher than I, for Thou hast 
 been my hope, and a strong tower for me, against the enemy. 
 
 And again : 
 
 My trust shall be under the shadow of Thy wings. 
 
 Then as a promise came the sweet words : 
 
 The angel of the Lord tarrieth round about them that fear Him, 
 yea, and saveth him out of all his trouble. 
 
 On sea or land this promise is sure, and I was to 
 find it so. 
 
 All was ready in the early morning of this May 
 in 1646, which month has ever been a memorable 
 month to me. 
 
 Dulcibel Redvers and her woman and our man 
 servant went with us as far as London, and here we 
 parted — not without many tears on my part and an 
 effort at hilarity on hers. 
 
 But she could not deceive me. I knew well her 
 heart was heavy. 
 
 Back again, she said, to her old home, like a bad 
 coin, withdrawn from service. " I would as lief take 
 you along with me, only Hal would never care to sit 
 on horseback as far as Cheshire ; now he will have 
 all smooth sailing, and will be so mended by the sea 
 voyage that soon he will be mounting his horse and 
 riding off to Newcastle." 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 289 
 
 Dulcibel knew as well as I did this was but idle 
 talk, but it was ever her way to hide anxious care, 
 aye, and all deep feeling, by the pretence of a care- 
 nought manner. 
 
 My last sight of her was from the barge against 
 which a small boat had been laid to, and into which 
 we were all packed to be rowed out to the sloop. 
 
 The boat rocked and Alice Friendship screamed, 
 while I could only hold Hal's hand, whose arm was 
 round Maria, while Dulcibel stood waving her fare- 
 well, and laughing said, 
 
 " It is rock-a-bye, baby, not on the tree top, but on 
 the Thames' water ! — God speed you. . ." There 
 was a sudden change in the ringing voice with those 
 words, and as I gazed at her I saw her turn away 
 her head and hide her face in her hands, and I knew 
 that she was weeping, even as I wept. 
 
 We were treated with all kindness a-board the 
 sloop ; the captain's wife, a homely but good woman, 
 did her best to secure our comfort. 
 
 But the air of the hold which smelt of indigo and 
 other dyes, was too heavy for Hal. His breathing 
 grew difificult, and we had to prepare a couch for 
 him on deck. By God's mercy the weather was 
 calm and the sun shone on the waters of the great 
 Northern Sea, over which we sailed along the coast 
 of Eastern England. 
 
 Maria was as happy as a little bird, and was never 
 tired of watching the sea-gulls skim by over the 
 waves, and made friends as was her wont with the 
 19 
 
ago WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 I'ough sailors who treated her as they might treat a 
 i-are delicate piece of porcelain, and the captain 
 Would carry her on his broad shoulders that she 
 ftiight have a wider view of sea and land. 
 
 In these days at sea with the great arch of heaven 
 above and the great sea below us, my husband and 
 I had much sweet communion never to be forgot- 
 ten. 
 
 He spoke much of what I should do when he had 
 left me, and pathetically added, 
 
 " Better, dear heart, without me than with me, 
 for if I live I am but like to be a burden to you." 
 
 I bade him cease from such words, which were 
 pain and grief to me, arid then he went on to say 
 that he hoped to reach Norwich alive, that he 
 might pour out his heart to the Bishop and com- 
 mend me and Maria to his fatherly care. 
 
 The sun was nearing the west on the twenty- 
 fourth day of May when the captain said, we had 
 sighted Yarmouth, and should lie off the harbour 
 till the morning when the tide would serve to take 
 us in with it. The sun cast a wide path of glory 
 across the sea, and presently touched the distant 
 ocean line and seemed for a moment to rest like a 
 ball of ruby flame upon the water. A beauteous 
 sight which Sir Thomas Browne I remember to 
 have heard say is one of the loveliest of this east- 
 ern land of England ; in the summer the sun not 
 only dips below at sunset, but rises above the sea 
 at sunrise. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 291 
 
 It was a clear night, if night it could be called, for 
 scarce had the light faded from the west than there 
 were streaks of dawn in the east. Stars looked 
 down on us with eyes of lovCj and one shone with 
 surpassing brightness. 
 
 Hal, as I said, slept on deck, on a couch made up 
 of sails and matting, covered with the warm fur- 
 lined cloak James Eland had provided for my 
 journey from Norwich. 
 
 I did not go below, but Alice Friendship and 
 Maria slept sound in the cabin. 
 
 The good wife of the captain had made a rude 
 seat for me, from old chests, and on these placed by 
 Hal's side I often had a sweet sleep, my head lean- 
 ing against his shoulder, his hand in mine. 
 
 I had been dozing when his voice awoke me : 
 
 " Winifrede, there is the bright morning star — 
 look ! " 
 
 I raised my head, and there hanging like a silver 
 lamp in the sky which was of the colour of the cow- 
 slips in the meadows by the Yare, shone the planet 
 Venus, so named for its exceeding beauty. 
 
 " Winifrede, I would fain live to see James 
 Eland again." 
 
 I started, for that name had never passed Hal's 
 lips for many a day. 
 
 " I cherished unreasoning hatred against him,- but 
 all hatred has been driven out of my heart by your 
 love. So when I am gone hence mind that Janies 
 Eland is made aware that I think only Icindly of 
 
292 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 him, for his zeal in the service of my wife. Mind 
 that he takes from your lips this message, that I 
 claim forgiveness from him for harshness and rough 
 treatment; let him forgive me, as he hopes to be 
 forgiven. 
 
 " The rest is all settled — Mistress Ley will see you 
 have your rights, and it may be our little maid may 
 return to Widford in the years to come with you." 
 
 " Never again do I wish to see Widford," I re- 
 plied, " I have bidden it a last farewell." 
 
 " Poor little dove," he said, " it was but a troubled 
 nest for you. Ah ! sweet one — once more forget." 
 
 Our lips met in a last kiss. Yes ! it was the last. 
 
 Presently he said, 
 
 " I am very weary — but the fight is fought — and 
 I think it is Victory " 
 
 " Through Jesus Christ our Lord ? " I said. 
 
 He smiled and answered, " Yes." 
 
 Presently I heard him murmur, " Victory ! — The 
 enemy is routed ! " 
 
 Then he sprang up with sudden fervour, gazing 
 straight before him as if he saw some one coming 
 where sky and sea were tinged with rosy hues, 
 mingling with yellow. 
 
 Next a cry of pain which sounded in the stillness 
 of the summer air like a wail of earth-born suffering. 
 
 "That sword-thrust has pierced my heart," he 
 gasped and fell back. 
 
 I, rising to my feet, caught his head in my ^^rms, 
 and it rested on my breast. 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 293 
 
 He looked up with a smile, and then his eyes 
 closed — in sleep I thought, I had so often seen him 
 thus before. 
 
 But it was the sleep which knows no awakening, 
 
 and I was a widow. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The story of those hours of deep anguish which 
 followed cannot be written here. Let me shortly 
 say we — the living and the dead — were put ashore 
 at Yarmouth, and not forgotten. 
 
 The true friend who had never forsaken me 
 awaited our coming, and to his care I owe the 
 reverent burial of my husband in the grave-yard of 
 the great Church of St. Nicholas. 
 
 The Bishop, weighed down by age and the cruel 
 treatment of his foes, must needs take a barge from 
 Norwich on hearing of my forlorn estate, and it was 
 his voice which pronounced these words of comfort 
 in my ear of the burial service. Words that are 
 like the rainbow seen through the blinding tears of 
 those who mourn — but oh ! not as those without 
 hope. 
 
 I lay ill for some weeks — so ill that I took but 
 little heed of what passed. When they could 
 remove me, I was conveyed by water to Norwich, 
 and found this cottage, where I have written this 
 history of the three eventful years, made ready for 
 me. 
 
 Our cottage is on the same road as that house 
 where the Bishop has retired to pass the evening of 
 
294 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 his days. Not in idleness, he is yet at his Master's 
 work, his heart full of charity with his persecutors, 
 and the light of his eventide serene and calm, when 
 to many, in like case, it would have been troubled 
 and restless. 
 
 He is ever meditating on the goodness of God, 
 and sees His Hand working through all the grievous 
 wrong which has been done to him, and now, at 
 over threescore years and ten, he is busy bringing 
 forth a little book which he has with strange signifi- 
 cance called The Remedy of Discontentness. 
 
 Did any one need that remedy less than he ? He 
 bears bodily pain and loss of his worldly goods with 
 a like composure. His power of speaking and writ- 
 ing seems by no means decayed, and the little sal- 
 lies of wit and sharp rejoinder often bring back 
 the Bishop of a former day when I first knelt for 
 his blessing at Exeter ten long years ago. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 29s 
 
X. 
 
 Yet what thou canst not, always shouldst thou will. 
 Or gratified thy wish may cost a tear, 
 And bitter prove what seemed most sweet to view ; 
 Last in thy heart this truth we would instil : 
 Wouldst thou to self be true, to others dear, 
 Will to be Me, what thou oughtst to do ! 
 
 — Leonardo da Vinci. 
 
 Heigham, near to Norwich, i64g, January. 
 
 Since I, not without some pain and difficulty, 
 wrote the history of the past few years, moved 
 thereto by my little daughter, I have not kept any 
 regular entries in this book. 
 
 Through the kindness of Master James Rodd of 
 Exeter, I have had my worldly affairs settled to my 
 advantage on the death of my husband's sister Joan 
 Carew, which took place soon after my return, a 
 widow, to Norwich. 
 
 By his advice, Widford was put into some order, 
 and for little more than the cost of keeping the land 
 cultivated, it was made over to one Sir Bernard 
 Drake, who had suffered great loss.es during the 
 war. 
 
 297 
 
298 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Mistress Ley being now fixed in Cornwall, Ley 
 Grange was by her made over to a cousin in the 
 third degree — she being left undisputed and sole . 
 heiress by her father, who died many long years ago. 
 
 This kinsman, Sir Geoffrey Ley, though young is 
 I hear a good Churchman, and befriends the many 
 ordained ministers of our Faith who are shamefully 
 turned out of Church and house and home under 
 the tyranny of those who had none but self-consti- 
 . tuted rights — the Puritan preachers, who are now 
 filling the pulpits whence many learned divines 
 had proclaimed the Gospel of Christ. 
 
 The year opens in gloom. The King is a pris- 
 oner, and was arraigned before those who had no 
 right to judge him, and as we heard yesterday, 
 the trial is going against him, and the measure of 
 iniquity is like to be filled up by the murder of the 
 Lord's anointed King of this realm. 
 
 I lead a peaceful and retired life in this cottage, 
 with my child and Alice Friendship and one serv- 
 ing man who keeps the little pleasance in order, 
 and tends the poultry and the horse which feeds in 
 the paddock, and on which I sometimes exercise 
 myself, but oftener send Maria with Alice, the serv- 
 ing man guiding the horse. 
 
 I busy myself in many ways, and teach Maria as 
 Master Buckingham taught me, and also bid her 
 learn those things necessary for a woman — spinning, 
 tapestry work, and the like — which I never suffi- 
 ciently practised. 
 
WINIFREDE • S JO URN A L. 299 
 
 N^ver a day passes but I open the little wicket 
 gate at the back of the cottage, and pass through it 
 to the orchard behind the house where my dear and 
 long-tried friends are spending in retirement the 
 evening of their days. 
 
 There in good sooth I learn the lesson of submis- 
 sion to God's will, if example can teach it. • 
 
 In that house, with its stone walls picked out 
 with flint ornament round its bay-windows and 
 pointed gables, is to be seen a picture which I would 
 fain my child should keep fresh in her memory 
 through life. 
 
 The walls of the chamber where the Bishop mostly 
 lives, are of carved oak, and above his head is a won- 
 drously fine ceiling with strange devices ; one that 
 of a Crown, and Cross laid athwart it ; and it ever 
 seems to me as if he who wrought it and placed it 
 there, must have had some foreshadowing of the 
 Bishop who was to sit beneath its shadow. 
 
 This may be fanciful, and I leave fancies for real- 
 ity, and will tell how on the snowy night of January 
 31st of this year all was warmth and brightness; 
 the logs blazed on the wide hearth, and the flames 
 flickered on dear Mistress Hall's silver hair, as she 
 sat supported by cushions on the settle, and on the 
 golden locks of my fair child Maria, who, nestling at 
 her side, was lost in the pages of a book the Bishop 
 had given her to read, and into which, despite her 
 tender years, she was fully able to enter — The Ar- 
 cadia and Defence of Poesie, by Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
300 WimFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 A bit of tapestry work lay across her lap, and the 
 skeins of silk were lying unheeded at her feet. 
 
 I could not chide her too sharply, for a fault 
 which was my own — namely a great preference for 
 books when compared with any handicraft, but I 
 said, " Maria, see ! the cat is toying with your 
 silks, and the gold thread will be all tangled. It 
 would be better to finish your task of needlework, 
 before burying yourself in your book." 
 
 " Ah ! sweet mother," my child said, looking up 
 with a smile, and instantly doing my bidding. " I 
 do love reading better than dull needlework." 
 
 The Bishop, seated on the other side of the hearth 
 at his table covered with papers and books, had 
 thrown down his quill, and now said, 
 
 "The wise man saith, little maiden, there is a 
 time for everything — a time therefore for books, and 
 a time for work, but always a time to do a mother's 
 behest." 
 
 I had been copying some leaves for the printer, 
 of the Bishop's new book, by the light of the lamp 
 hanging over the table from the groined roof, by 
 the bay-window. 
 
 " I can do no more this evening, Winifrede," the 
 Bishop said. " This is doubtless a time for anxiety. 
 I grow impatient for news, and I marvel that my 
 son-in-law Gascoigne has not come as he has prom- 
 ised, to bear me any tidings from London ; evil they 
 are sure to be, I fear me ! " 
 
 I rose and looked out on the narrow pleasance 
 
WINIPREDE'S JOURNAL. 301 
 
 which separates the house from the road, and saw 
 that the snow had fallen since sun-down, and that 
 there was a man's figure at the little outer gate, his 
 cloak streaked with white patches. 
 
 It was James Eland, I felt sure, and as he was 
 now risen to a high place as a city alderman, it was 
 borne in on my mind that he brought news. 
 
 I dreaded lest the news should be too suddenly 
 conveyed to the Bishop, who was now, as often, suf- 
 fering great pain of body, and would, I thought, ill 
 bear to hear our fears for the King's safety were but 
 too well grounded. 
 
 I therefore slipped quietly out of the room, and 
 asked Peregrine Bond to tell Master Eland to go for- 
 ward to my house and that I would meet him there. 
 I threw on my long black cloak, and stepped over 
 the new-fallen snow to my own door, opening into 
 the kitchen, where Alice Friendship sat spinning. 
 
 I tapped at the casement, and though I often did 
 so, she screamed amain, as if it were a new thing. 
 Then she opened the door a crack, and declared I 
 had scared her out of her seven senses. 
 
 " I did not know," I said sharply, " you had seven. 
 Certain it is you behave as if you had lost some of 
 them at times." 
 
 But there was no time for parley. I passed her 
 quickly and slid back the bolts of the front door, 
 where as I expected, James Eland stood. 
 
 He followed me silently into the httle parlour, 
 where a fire was smouldering on the hearth. 
 
302 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " Have you brought news ? " I said. 
 
 " Yes : a messenger has ridden post haste from 
 London, bearing to the Guild hall the news that 
 Charles Stuart suffered death this morning." 
 
 Now though we had all but given up hope, yet 
 we had not been able to face the reality of this 
 dreadful deed. 
 
 "May God forgive his murderers," I said. 
 
 " They are but the instruments of God for the 
 welfare of this unhappy country," James Eland 
 replied. 
 
 " Unhappy indeed ! " I said, " and now with the 
 full measure of unhappiness meted out." 
 
 " Not so. Dame Carew ; we were drifting into the 
 condition of slaves to a tyrant, and now we are free 
 men ! " 
 
 " Free men, forsooth ! " I exclaimed. " Time 
 will show what that freedom is worth. Cromwell 
 will teach you this fast enough, but oh ! the King ! 
 the King ! Have you any details of the cruel 
 end ? " 
 
 " Charles Stuart was, so the missive brought by 
 the messenger to the Mayor sets forth, greater in 
 his death than in his life, meeting his dooni with 
 dignity and calmness. A prelate, Juxon, was with 
 him at the last moment, and may God have had 
 mercy on him at that eleventh hour." 
 
 " I cannot suffer you to speak thus of one who is 
 now a martyr as well as a saint." 
 I "Tutjtut !" James Eland said, "neither can I bear 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 303 
 
 to hear you call a man who by dishonest means did 
 his uttermost to ruin his country, a saint ! " 
 
 I was deeply moved, and my tears fell fast as I 
 said angrily, 
 
 " I want to hear no more — it is enough. Now I 
 must return to the Bishop and go nigh to break his 
 heart by the tidings." 
 
 " You need not hasten to do this," James Eland 
 said. "Even as I left the door Master Gascoigne 
 Weld galloped up, and by this time Master Joseph 
 Hall knows all there is to be known." 
 
 " Why will you persist in depriving him of his 
 just title ? " I said. " Remember, he is a bishop, 
 consecrated to that holy office, and you cannot 
 alter it." 
 
 "Well, I would not pursue the matter further; 
 let nothing disturb the peace which now reigns 
 between you and me. Dame Carew." 
 
 " No," I said. " It wOuld ill become me to let 
 aught come between me and my good friend whose 
 kindly ofifices were remembered gratefully by him 
 who was so dear to me, when he lay a-dying. I 
 must return whence I came now, and see how the 
 Bishop and Mistress Hall support this great trial. 
 Verily they have a double portion of sorrow." 
 
 " The heart knoweth its own bitterness," Janies 
 Eland said. " Mine has this knowledge in fullest 
 measure." 
 
 " I grieve to hear it," I said gently. " But time 
 brings healing on its wings for all sorrows." 
 
304 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 "You could heal mine with a word," was the 
 answer. " It rests with you to give me my heart's 
 desire." 
 
 Now since that day when I recovered from my 
 long sickness at Great Yarmouth, being tended 
 there by Mistress Rainbyrde, whom James Eland 
 summoned for this end, — and delivered to him my 
 husband's last message, no word like this has passed 
 from James Eland's lips. He has visited me from 
 time to time at regular intervals of once a week. 
 He has constantly sent silent tokens of his affection 
 for Maria, and many are the proofs of his love for 
 my child. I had hoped that the passionate love he 
 had entertained for me had quieted down into the 
 friendship of which I had so many tokens. Now, 
 as he repeated with strange fervour : 
 
 " Yes, Winifrede, my heart's desire ! " 
 
 I felt that this grave man of dignified bearing, in 
 his plain Puritan coat and close-shaven head, bore 
 for me the same love as did the gay apprentice in 
 my uncle's shop at Exeter, and what woman could 
 fail to be moved by such devotion ? But I could 
 only shake my head as he repeated, 
 
 " Grant it, Winifrede, give it to me — give me 
 yourself ! " 
 
 " No," I replied, " my kind good friend — anything 
 but this — it is in vain to ask it." 
 
 Then James Eland pressed his hand against his 
 breast as if to keep back some great agony, and 
 bowing his head, said : 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 305 
 
 " It is God's will, and it must be good. Fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 I returned to the Bishop chilled at heart, and as 
 cold as the snow which was now falling thick and 
 fast. 
 
 I found not only Master Weld there, but several 
 other gentlemen of the city and neighbourhood, all 
 talking of the dreadful deed on which the sun had 
 risen that day. I sat down by Mistress Hall, who 
 took my hand in hers, Maria's golden head nestling 
 against her shoulder on the other side. 
 
 Presently Mistress Hall said, looking towards the 
 Bishop and the gentlemen : 
 
 " They are speaking, Winifrede, of all which must 
 follow this cruel deed — of the despot who will rule 
 — of the priests of God who will be turned forth 
 to beg their bread — of the spoiling of goods, and 
 earthly losses. This will not touch my husband — 
 there is nothing left for them to do to him ; he has 
 lost all." 
 
 " All but truth and honour, dear madam," I said, 
 " and he has yet you left to him." 
 
 " Ah, dear heart ! " was the mournful reply, " what 
 am I now but an old feeble woman, trembling on 
 the verge of the grave ? " 
 
 " But ever his dearest of all earthly friends," I 
 said. " Oh, dear madam, give thanks when you 
 think of this." 
 
 Her face brightened, and she said, 
 
 " Yes, Winifrede, I can give thanks for this great 
 20 
 
306 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 mercy — for forty years I have been his only and 
 true love. Blessed thought ! " 
 
 " Aye, blessed indeed," I repeated. " Blessed in- 
 deed ! " And to myself, though not to her, " What 
 would I not give if it had been given me to say the 
 same ! " 
 
 Sometimes I think if I had died when Maria was 
 born, as they thought I should, how much knowl- 
 edge of the snares and temptations of this evil 
 world would have been spared me. Hal would 
 then '- 
 
 But this is vain and foolish — nay, sinful repining. 
 I must take up poor James Eland's cry, and say " It 
 is God's will, and must be good." 
 
 Heigham, near to Norwich, 1652, December 20. 
 
 I have made no entry in this book since that 
 snowy night when they bore the White King to his 
 grave. 
 
 It had a strange significance, this mantle of snow, 
 soft and fine and light, covering him who had that 
 day laid down the corruptible for an incorruptible 
 crown, the robe of ermine and purple for the white 
 robe of those of whom Saint John writes, who have 
 come out of great tribulation. 
 
 It was as dear Mistress Hall said : the Bishop had 
 but little of worldly goods to lose, or of worldly 
 position. Thus the great change and tumult in the 
 kingdom, which succeeded the King's death, did 
 not so much affect him in his retreat. Although 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 307 
 
 taking as ever a keen interest in the affairs of the 
 Church and State, he contented himself so, he would 
 often say, with prayer that God would rule all in 
 His infinite wisdom, and make even the wrath of 
 man to praise Him. 
 
 Let no one think the Bishop passed into the 
 apathy which is sometimes seen to creep upon old 
 age. 
 
 He was in constant communication with learned 
 and zealous men, notably two who had like himself 
 been cruelly and despitefully used by the Puritans. 
 
 With one of these, Master Hammond, he had a 
 peculiar strong tie, as he had been ousted from his 
 living of Penshurst, and, though valued at Oxford 
 where he took refuge, and made Canon of Christ 
 Church, University Orator, and chaplain during the 
 King's residence there to the master he loved, he 
 was, on the death of that master, living in retire- 
 ment at Westwood in the county of Worcester, as 
 our dear Bishop lived at Norwich. - 
 
 The exchange of thoughts with this dear friend 
 was one of the chief solaces of the Bishop's old age. 
 
 And no less valued was the friendship of Arch- 
 bishop Usher, who, like Master Hammond and the 
 Bishop, laboured with the pen, though the voice 
 was silenced. 
 
 It is my happiness to feel I was of use and com- 
 fort to my good and dear friends, and I can bear 
 witness to the absence of querulousness and peevish- 
 ness which do beset old age, especially when, as in 
 
3o8 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 the Bishop's case, much bodily pain sometimes 
 growing to torture is appointed it to bear. 
 
 And beyond all this suffering in his own person, 
 there was the sudden death of Master John Hall, 
 who, seized with a virulent illness in February, 
 1650, when on a visit to Norwich, was, for fear of 
 the putrid sore throat which had attacked him in- 
 fecting others, buried on the same day on which his 
 spirit departed, at Heigham church. 
 
 Next followed the death of that clever and quick- 
 witted woman, the wife of the Dean of Exeter, and 
 when the news was brought to dear Mistress Hall, 
 she said : 
 
 " I have scarce a tear left, so many have I shed 
 over the graves of my children ; but, dear Winifrede, 
 this time I feel I shall soon go whither they are 
 gone, and meet them, by God's grace, in the man- 
 sions of rest above. So I need not the relief of 
 tears." 
 
 Very slowly but surely from this time Mistress 
 Hall descended into the valley of the shadow of 
 death, and on the 27th day of August, 1652, the 
 dearly cherished wife, mother, and friend departed 
 hence, exchanging, as the Bishop said, the mortal life 
 of sorrow for the life of joy eternal. 
 
 I would that I could call back but a. tithe of the 
 many beautiful words which fell from the Bishop's 
 lips at this season of added trial. 
 
 He gave utterance to his feelings in Songs in the 
 Night, or Cheerfulness under Affliction, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 309 
 
 He would say to me that he who had been no 
 niggard of good counsel to others needed it now 
 for himself ; he who had taught lessons of patience 
 to many, must strive to bear with meekness this 
 crowning sorrow of his life. 
 
 He struggled to such purpose with pain of body 
 and grief ©f mind, that he attained to a quiet sub- 
 mission and composedness of thought, wonderful to 
 see. 
 
 " Even while I weep," he would say, " I would 
 smile through my tears on the face of my heavenly 
 Father; if God bless mine eyes with this sight of a 
 blissful eternity, I shall not forbear to sing in the 
 night of Death itself — much less in the twilight of 
 all these worldly afflictions." 
 
 Then he would speak of Mistress Hall as having 
 stepped a little before him to the happy rest towards 
 which he was panting like a hart to the water- 
 brooks, and where he should speedily overtake her. 
 
 I must ever account it a privilege to have been 
 associated with this saint of God during his last 
 years, and he was pleased to confide much in me, 
 and I heard from his lips and wrote at his bidding a 
 great part of his books, for the printer, namely 
 The Great Mystery of Godliness and The Invisible 
 World discovered to Spiritual Eyes. 
 
 It were vain for me to attempt to write here of 
 the condition of the Church and country at this 
 time. It was the occasion of the Bishop moulding 
 a society which he called the Holy Order of 
 
310 WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 
 
 Mourners in Sion, a purely spiritual society. Its 
 members, binding themselves by solemn but secret 
 vows, were to have no distinguishing colours, devices 
 or habiliments — rather were they to be known by' 
 devotion, and one day in the week was to be set 
 apart for fasting and prayer, while the hand of God 
 lay so heavily on the Church and Nation. 
 
 1654. 
 
 Mistress Ann Weld is frequently at the house 
 with her little son Joseph, and has conceived a great 
 affection for my dear child. For this I am on some 
 accounts thankful, for though Maria has all the 
 brightness of her father's temper, still it is but a 
 dull life for one so young. 
 
 She has a gift for music, and plays sweetly on the 
 viol, and sings the Psalms in her clear young voice 
 to the great delight of the Bishop. 
 
 All that I have said of the comeliness of her 
 father's appearance may be repeated when I describe 
 his child. She is indeed his image, with her cluster- 
 ing curls and swift-coming smile, her lithe figure, 
 tall and straight as a young sapling, and her head 
 carried with the stately dignity of a young deer. 
 
 But I love to note that added to these gifts of 
 beauty my child has a sweet seriousness and some- 
 times methinks more than befits her age — resulting 
 doubtless from the retirement of her life, and inter- 
 course with those much older than herself. I have 
 inade it my first duty to bring her on in her study 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 311 
 
 of her own and other languages, in which dear 
 Master Buckingham instructed me, and she far sur- 
 passes her mother in her quickness, for learning 
 seems to come to her as naturally as the air she 
 breathes. 
 
 1656, April 6. 
 
 Mistress Weld, when visiting her father to-day, 
 asked leave that Maria should go to Braconash for 
 some pleasant entertainments which were to be held 
 there at Easter-tide. 
 
 " Gascoigne says you should let the world see 
 her, and we shall have a play acted, and dancing, 
 and Maria will shine as a star amongst us." 
 
 I demurred a httle, for I did not care to let my 
 child enter into the gaieties which from inclination, 
 as well as the circumstance of my widowhood, I had 
 renounced. 
 
 Maria has been a guest at Braconash several 
 times, but never when gay company were gathered 
 there. 
 
 " Say yes, Winifrede," Ann urged. " Let her 
 wear the brocades and jewels which I know you 
 possess, stowed away, and depend on it, we will 
 guard her well. I will not take ' No ' for an 
 answer." 
 
 Maria, who now came in from a ride with Alice 
 Friendship, heard Mistress Weld's proposal with 
 cheeks aflame and bright eyes. 
 
312 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " You would love to come, and see a play, Maria. 
 We have some actors who have been at Blickling, 
 poor souls ! They can only act by stealth now ; 
 if caught at it in public they would be clapped 
 into prison, but Gascoigne says his house is his 
 castle, and he defies any man to forbid him to carry 
 on what he chooses there. Say, Maria, you will 
 come?" 
 
 Maria knelt down by my side, and said in her 
 caressing way, [' 
 
 " Yes, mother, I should love to go to Braconash 
 if you give your consent." 
 
 " I will take a day to think over it," I said. 
 
 " Nay, why a day ? I consider it a settled thing," 
 Ann exclaimed as she left our house to cross over 
 the orchard to her father's. 
 
 April i6. 
 
 Finding the Bishop did not think I should do 
 wrong to let Maria go to Braconash, it is settled, 
 and every preparation was complete last evening. 
 
 I dressed Maria in the brocade of silver and blue, 
 and the old lace which- was from Flemish looms, and 
 had, so Hal had often told me, decked his mother 
 at her bridal, edged the veil which was to fall from 
 Maria's head. 
 
 She looked lovely as a fresh-blown rose, and I, 
 being shorter by some inches, had perched on a 
 chair the better to arrange the veil and make it fast 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 313 
 
 with pins, when a well-known knock at the door was 
 followed by James Eland's entrance. 
 
 It was his habit to come once every week, as I 
 have said, and had I thought of it I should not 
 have dressed Maria in her festal garments on this 
 evening. 
 
 But it was too late to regret it now, and I, jump- 
 ing down from my chair, could scarce help joining 
 in the peal of laughter with which Maria greeted 
 James Eland. 
 
 " Ah, Meland ! " she said — for she always held to 
 the pet name of her infancy for him — " Did you ever 
 see me so fine before ? did you think mother could 
 have all these beautiful things and never look at 
 them ? see ! what lovely pearls and blue sapphires. 
 Meland, do not look so grave and angry — nay, sure 
 you are not angry ?" 
 
 " Whither is the child going ? " he asked, turning 
 to me. 
 
 " Only to Braconash on the morrow, where she 
 has often been before — to the house of Mr. Weld." 
 
 For a few moments James Eland did not speak, 
 but continued to gaze at Maria. Like many who 
 hold his iron hard creed, he loved all that was fair 
 and beautiful. His creed taught him that "the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil " lay in fine gar- 
 ments, in laughter and dancing and merriment, 
 though he knew full well the world lay not only in 
 these, but closer in the hearts of every one of us. 
 
 " It is not well done," he said at last. " The 
 
314 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 child's head will be turned by the flatteries of fool- 
 ish worldlings. Were my counsel sought I should 
 say even now, it would be well to refuse to let her 
 
 go." 
 
 "Nay," I said, "that would be impossible now; 
 and do not grudge her, James Eland, this little 
 gleam of brightness in her young life." 
 
 James Eland said no more, for Maria went close 
 to him, dropped a pretty curtsey, and then putting 
 her hands on his shoulder, she looked into his face^ 
 which was near on a level with hers, she being tall, 
 and he of only medium height for a man. 
 
 " Meland," sh.e said, " I will be good. Do not 
 grudge me the pleasure. And be sure I shall be 
 right glad to come back to my mother, when the 
 week is over." 
 
 Then, kissing him on either cheek, she left the 
 parlour saying, 
 
 " I must away and show my fine things to Alice, 
 and hear her say I am not half as fair as my mother 
 was, when she was brought to Widford by my 
 father." 
 
 " It would be true," came from James Eland, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Then he took his accustomed seat in the chair 
 which was called by Maria " Meland's chair," and 
 said, 
 
 " I am made a full partner in the business of 
 Master Hickes — the document was sealed and signed 
 to-day." 
 
WINIFREDS' S JO URNAL. 315 
 
 " I am right glad to hear it," I said. " I hope you 
 will enjoy your wealth." 
 
 " Enjoy it ! " he said, " that is a word of which I 
 have long ceased to know the meaning. But I can 
 now do much for my poorer brethren and con- 
 tribute freely to the maintenance of the chosen of 
 God." 
 
 " I would that you could use some of your money 
 to help the many who are outcast from hearth and 
 home, ousted from their churches, condemned to see 
 their pulpits filled by ignorant men ! " I said this 
 with some heat, for the Bishop had that morning 
 received sad tidings of two or three families of the 
 ordained clergy in the See of Norwich, who were 
 literally begging their bread — beneficed clergymen 
 who refusing to accept the hard Puritan rule lost all 
 things, like their aged Bishop, rather than forswear 
 their ordination oaths. 
 
 It is amazing that good and earnest men like 
 James Eland should think this is the will of God ! 
 
 I can see how the shutting up of places of amuse- 
 ment, the condemnation of the dance round the 
 May-pole, and the forbidding of all finery in dress 
 may be thought acts acceptable to God. But this 
 cruel treatment of good men, this casting out of the 
 Church those who have been her faithful servants, 
 is something which I cannot fit in with any profes- 
 sion of love to God. 
 
 Methinks these stern Separatists do never think 
 of Him as full of Love — rather as some of the books 
 
3i6 wmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 which James Eland has given to Maria — and which 
 I have in some cases destroyed — as an angry and 
 revengeful Judge who is full of wrath and jealousy 
 and other like passions of sinful men. 
 
 A book written by one James Janeway is the 
 story of poor little ones who knew nought of the 
 joys of childhood, who cried amain for their sins and 
 early died, who dreaded the judgement of God and 
 never once were taught to think of His exceeding 
 love in our dear Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 
 
 This book was given by James Eland to Maria, 
 when she was some ten years old, and is called A 
 Looking Glass for Children. I found her weeping 
 over it, and took it from her, determining to keep 
 her young life as far as might be from those dark 
 and gloomy devices of man which obscure the light 
 of God's love, even as the mists of the moorland 
 were wont to hide the trees and wrap the country- 
 side in impenetrable gloom. 
 
 It was James Eland's custom to read from the 
 Bible to me when he visited me, and he had a won- 
 derful power of bringing out the meaning of the 
 Word : " reading with understanding " as dear 
 Master Buckingham would always strive to make 
 me read. 
 
 Then perchance Maria would recite some passage 
 to him, and I would follow, and we had much peace 
 in these evenings. 
 
 This night we were alone together, and James 
 Eland seemed graver and sadder than was his wont. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 317 
 
 I strove to chase away the gloom, but succeeded 
 ill, and I was glad when Alice brought in the spiced 
 posset, and hard bake, which we always partook of 
 at bedtime, and Maria returned, all her finery doffed, 
 and replaced by a white gown — over which her hair 
 rippled like gold. 
 
 \ Sweet child ! Sure during all these sixteen years 
 she has been as the light of her mother's eyes and 
 
 the joy of her heart ! 
 
 May 25. 
 
 Again this month is like to be a memorable one 
 to me. 
 
 Much has happened since the sixteenth day of 
 April when I wrote here of my child's coming visit 
 to Braconash. 
 
 In that hospitable mansion were gathered many 
 guests, and one. Sir Geoffrey Ley, who had been a 
 fellow scholar with a younger brother of Mr. Gas- 
 coigne Weld's at Oxford, came hither to me at the 
 end of Maria's visit as her suitor. 
 
 It must ever be like an awakening from a dream, 
 when the child we have watched from infancy and 
 with whom we have all the dear memories of her 
 dependence on us, is sought in marriage, and, as in 
 my sweet one's case, asserts her womanhood with 
 all gentleness, but sums up the whole matter with 
 " I love him, and I would fain be his wife." Yes ! 
 the child of scarce seventeen has vanished, and in 
 her place I see a tender, trusting woman, who, 
 according to the old law which God Himself has 
 
3i8 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ordained, is ready to forsake her mother, dearly as 
 she loves her I well believe, and go to make the 
 happiness of a brave man's home. 
 
 And a brave man, and a good, is Geoffrey Ley. 
 His age is near upon thirty, and there is in him a 
 steadfastness which gives us good hope for coming 
 years. 
 
 The whole matter was laid before the Bishop. 
 Master Gascoigne Weld and his brother were ready 
 to make this declaration, that as far as man's eyes 
 could read, Geoffrey Ley's life had been pure and 
 without reproach. 
 
 By this marriage Maria will return to the land of 
 her fathers, and be the mistress at Ley Grange, 
 which as I have said was ceded to Sir Geoffrey as a 
 branch of the same family tree from which had 
 sprung Mistress Ley, who had an almost maternal 
 love for Hal. The wedding-day is fixed for the 
 first day of June, and all is preparing for the bridal. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey has returned to Devonshire to make 
 ready for his bride, and the dear Bishop will join 
 their hands in the church of Heigham, as long, 
 long ago he joined mine and Hal's in the chapel 
 at Exeter. 
 
 No one is better pleased at the marriage than 
 Mistress Ann Weld. 
 
 She takes to herself the credit of having brought 
 these two together, and she urges that it is a match 
 all may be proud of. 
 
 She has just left me, — lamenting there can be so 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 319 
 
 little display at the wedding and showing with pride 
 her little Joseph to his grandfather in the most 
 gaudy page's dfess which he is to wear at the 
 wedding. 
 
 The Bishop's health is too feeble to allow of any 
 bustle with many guests ; in good sooth I fear 
 whether he will be able to get through the ser- 
 vice, which is on all grounds so deeply touching to 
 him. 
 
 For some time he has been unable to preach, but 
 he walks leaning on his staff to the church, and on 
 that aged face shines the peace of God. 
 
 Now and again as I look at him I think how 
 little would a stranger dream that this old man 
 with uplifted face and eyes, which, dim with age, yet 
 seem to gaze as if seeing things invisible, is often 
 racked with pain of body. Moreover that he has 
 suffered the bitterest injustice — deprived of worldly 
 goods and wrongfully driven from his Palace, while, 
 added to all this, God has called him to bear the 
 loss of his children in whom he delighted, and their 
 mother who had been the dear companion of nine 
 and forty years ! 
 
 Verily it is the peace that passeth our poor human 
 knowledge. 
 
 June 6. 
 
 Never sure was a brighter day for a bridal than 
 dawned on the first of June, when the eastern sun 
 
320 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 illuminated the chancel of the church at Heigham, 
 and the aged Bishop pronounced my child Maria 
 and Geoffrey Ley man and wife. 
 
 The days preceding had been less joyous ; my 
 child clung to me in that last hour, and many were 
 the questionings which I found it hard to answer as 
 I asked them of myself. 
 
 Would Geoffrey ever love her as now, would he 
 be to her all that he vowed ? Would clouds arise 
 on the fair sky of my child's now perfect bliss — 
 would there be some bitter dregs in the cup, now 
 bubbling over with sweetness, given her to drink? 
 
 God grant that if the trial comes to her, grace 
 may be given to bear it, and that as in the case of 
 her mother bliss may come out of pain. 
 
 Maria stood ready dressed soon after six o'clock, 
 and never was seen a lovelier bride. We had said 
 all our parting words the night before, and we now 
 knelt together to pray as had been our custom from 
 the earliest days of her childhood. 
 
 I dreaded to disturb Maria with my own grief at 
 parting, and when we rose from our knees I gave 
 her one quiet kiss, and summoned Alice Friendship 
 to bring the cup of wine she had prepared and the 
 cakes to break our fast. 
 
 When Alice opened the door, she said, 
 
 " Some one below would fain see you and the 
 child." 
 
 For " child" Maria still was to poor faithful Alice, 
 Then as she gazed at her she burst out, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. jat 
 
 " Oh ! you are like an angel from Heaven — God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 " Who wants me? " Maria asked. 
 
 " I was not to say, but go down to the parlour, 
 mistress, with her." 
 
 We went down together, and there stood, not the 
 bridegroom, as I had expected, but James Eland. 
 
 He was leaning by the open casement, and the 
 song of a throstle hard by was borne in on the air 
 of the summer morning, fragrant with the faint 
 scent of the lilac bushes by the gate. 
 
 There was written on James Eland's face a 
 strange, wistful tenderness as my child went tow- 
 ard him with outstretched hands and kissed him, 
 saying, 
 
 " Have you come to the wedding, dear Melattd ? 
 — it is good of you to come." 
 
 James Eland stood like one in a dream gazing at 
 Maria. Presently he said, 
 
 " Nay, dear child, I do not come to the wedding 
 — I should make but a poor figure in the midst of 
 all the gaudy folk collected to witness it. I only 
 come to tender a gift which is indeed scarce a gift, 
 but a restoration of what was never justly mine." 
 
 Then James Eland put into Maria's hand a silver 
 casket curiously chased, and when opened there lay 
 the jewels which on that midsummer eve, long ago, 
 her childish hands had tried to seize when I selected 
 them to sell, that I might accomplish my journey to 
 Hampton with all speed. 
 
 21 
 
322 WINJFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Maria gave a cry of delight, and I could only 
 exclaim, 
 
 " Oh ! James Eland, why will you ever make me 
 so heavily your dfebtor ? " 
 
 " Can there be a debt when all is of love ? nay, 
 Winifrede, you owe me nought, but that one thing 
 which you deny me." 
 
 Then as if unwilling to bring any element of dis- 
 quiet on this my child's wedding morn, he said 
 cheerfully, 
 
 " See, Maria, I bring you a better jewel than that 
 poor casket encloses," and he gave into her hands a 
 small Bible bound in thick leather stamped with her 
 name in gold letters — " Maria." 
 
 " Within," he said, " is the pearl of great price. 
 Seek it, and, dear child, though despoiled of all 
 earthly goods you will still be rich." 
 
 Then James Eland lifted his hand and blessed 
 Maria with the same words with which he had once 
 blessed me. And as the last word of peace fell from 
 his lips, he quickly and silently withdrew, and we 
 saw him no more that day. 
 
 The bearing of my son-in-law, Geoffrey Ley, was 
 tender and respectful to me. He bade me remem- 
 ber Ley Grange would be my home as well as 
 Maria's, and in a few parting words which on our 
 return from church we exchanged, he assured me 
 that by God's grace he would fulfil the vow I had 
 heard him speak that morning, and love and cherish 
 
WINIFRED.E'S JOURNAL, 323 
 
 till death, the precious child I had bestowed on him. 
 Then, he added, calling me by the sweet name of 
 mother, 
 
 " I have sought that grace of which I speak, and 
 God will I think be with me, for I desire above all 
 things to be His soldier and servant." 
 
 Brave and good words ! This gallant man in the 
 full prime of his manhood was not ashamed to con- 
 fess that he desired above all things to serve God, 
 and sure no mother ever committed her child to a 
 husband's care with more assured confidence of her 
 happiness. 
 
 Heigham near to Norwich, September, 
 
 It was somewhat lonely in this house after Maria 
 had left us, and I had, yes, and still have a hungry 
 craving for the sound of her merry laughter and her 
 sweet voice singing to her viol. 
 
 But soon the dear Bishop's failing powers pro- 
 vided me with constant occupation. 
 
 From the day of my Maria's marriage he never 
 entered the church, soon he never left the parlour, 
 then, early in August, he desired us not to urge him 
 to leave his bed. 
 
 "The time is come," he sa,id,. " for me to die, and 
 He who has been my shield and defence in life will 
 be my rod and staff in death." 
 
 Sure no one was ever more truly like himself to 
 the close of his long life. He took heed of small 
 details as of greater things. The widows of the 
 parish, whom he had helped with small monies 
 
324 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 weekly, came as heretofore to the house, and he 
 would see them, and give each her dole with a 
 blessing. 
 
 * On one memorable day he bade Master Whitefoot 
 to bring to him those who were in need of Confir- 
 mation, and kneeling by his bed-side, he laid his 
 hands on them and administered that holy rite. 
 
 He spoke of death as if it were a short journey 
 which he must take, and would fain have those 
 about him rejoice that it was coming nearer. He 
 would call Death an Angel sent from God, as a 
 messenger to take him home. 
 
 ^ As I said, he could yet take delight in the pros- 
 perity of others, and could weep for their sorrow. 
 The well doing of his sons, the good establish- 
 ment in life of Mistress Weld, and the pretty win- 
 some ways of her two children, were all a joy to 
 him. 
 
 His sons had shared in the many deprivations 
 which the members of Christ's Church were called 
 on to suffer, but his father rejoiced that his eldest 
 son, Robert, had by reason of his marriage with an 
 heiress abundance of wealth with which, true to the 
 principles of his father, he nourished and comforted 
 many of the sequestered, deprived clergy. He was 
 permitted to keep the living of Clyst Hydon, and 
 became a great patron of those who were seques- 
 tered, some of whom he mainly supported. 
 
 One of the chief joys of the Bishop last year was 
 the news that Master George Hall was the preacher 
 
WINIFSEDE'S JOURNAL. 32S 
 
 of the first sermon for that Society which is known 
 as the Corporation for the Sons of the Clergy, and 
 that he had been zealous in founding it. 
 
 It is wonderful to me to reflect on the cheerful- 
 ness of the Bishop, and I scarce ever heard him 
 bewail his own poverty, though he heaved many a 
 sigh when fresh instances of the despoiling of the 
 Church he loved were brought to his notice. 
 
 I was seated by his bed one day when he said, 
 suddenly, 
 
 " You are lonely now, Winifrede, without the 
 child." 
 
 " Yes," I said, " but in her happiness I am 
 happy." 
 
 " That friend," the Bishop said, " who has stood 
 you so often in good stead — the man Eland — would 
 fain I know make you his wife." 
 
 " My dear lord, I shall never wed again," I said ; 
 " and besides, how can two walk together except 
 they be agreed ? " 
 
 " Maybe you are right ; only," and he put his 
 hand tenderly on mine, " I would fain know you 
 were cared for as you have cared for those I have 
 loved and whom I shall soon meet again." 
 
 " I think, my lord," I said, " I shall, as soon as I 
 can gather together my goods and find out my real 
 position, return whence I came and live it may be 
 in the house near Widford, which is close to Ley 
 Grange. This will make it easy to see my child 
 daily." 
 
326 WINIFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 " That is a good intention," the Bishop said, "and 
 may God speed you in your scheme." 
 
 If I had needed anything to strengthen my deter- 
 mination this approval of the Bishop would have 
 decided me. 
 
 He departed in peace some two or three days 
 after this last expression of love for me, for whom 
 he has cared for so many years. 
 
 He desired the utmost- plainness to be observed 
 at his funeral, and I do grieve that his oft-repeated 
 desire to be buried under the open sky was not 
 granted. 
 
 He had been over-ruled concerning his children 
 and his wife, it is true, for they were all buried 
 under the roof of churches or cathedrals, and this 
 may be why those in authority. Master Weld and 
 his own sons, decreed that their father's bones 
 should rest near their mother's, inside the church 
 where last his voice had been heard, and where he 
 had ministered till age and infirmity had overtaken 
 him. 
 
 It was difficult to persuade him to permit a 
 funeral sermon to be preached in his honour, for he 
 said when a man dies, the survivors hasten to shew 
 forth all the virtues and graces that perchance when 
 he lived they were slow to perceive, and he begged 
 Master Whitefoot to have a care to magnify Him 
 who had called him to the high office of the Church, 
 and not one who could from his heart confess that 
 he was unworthy of the least of all God's mercies. 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 327 
 
 Nor was there any dishonesty in these and hke 
 expressions, for surely no words were ever more in 
 harmony with the colour of his life in his own eyes 
 than these which are graven on his monument : 
 " Josephus Hallus olim humilus ecclesiae servus." 
 
 Methinks many of his persecutors might gladly be 
 content to suffer, aye and die, could they deserve a 
 like epitaph, and be as justly called " humble ser- 
 vants of the Church." 
 
 September 30. 
 It was on the eighth day of September that my 
 honoured friend entered into his rest, and the ser- 
 mon preached by Mr. Whitefoot was delivered to- 
 day at the Church of St. Peter's, Mancroft, on the 
 
 words : 
 
 And the time drew nigh that Israel should die. 
 
 There was a large assembly of the chief citizens 
 and gentlemen of the county gathered to pay this 
 mark of respect to the dead Bishop. Amongst 
 them my eyes fell on Dr. Thomas Browne, who sat 
 in the pew allotted to him as parishioner with Mis- 
 tress Dorothy Browne his wife, and a little son whom 
 the proud father held on his knee. 
 
 I can never see Dr. Thomas Browne without a 
 strange thrill of admiration and reverence. 
 
 Sure there are some faces on which is writ the 
 story of their inner life, which those who care to 
 look can read. 
 
328 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 On the countenance of this great physician, who 
 had been ceaseless in his attendance on the Bishop, 
 were the signs of that nobleness of soul and rever- 
 ent attitude before God, which mark in this lover 
 of the works of creation, the deep humility with 
 which he scans them. 
 
 No book is dearer to me than the Religio Medici 
 given to the dear Bishop by the author and be- 
 queathed to me by him with the words : 
 
 " I have no silver or gold to leave you, Winifrede, 
 but here at least is a mine from which you may 
 draw many precious things — better mayhap than 
 the gold and silver which perishes." 
 
 October I. 
 
 I had written thus far last night with the autumn 
 wind blowing the dead leaves against the casement, 
 when the well-known tap at the door was heard, and 
 the serving maid who took Alice Friendship's place 
 when she departed with Maria, opened the door to 
 admit James Eland. 
 
 I began to lay before him my fixed determi- 
 nation to leave Norwich and return to my own 
 country. 
 
 " There seems," I said, " nought to detain me 
 here now ; I am needed by none, and in the retired 
 life I have led I have made but few friends, so now 
 I shall beg you once more to help me to make a 
 journey as you have done in times past." 
 
WINIFREDS' S JOURNAL. 329 
 
 James Eland's whole frame seemed shaken as he 
 said, 
 
 " Going ! going hence ! Oh, I pray you — do not 
 leave me quite desolate ! " 
 
 Then he burst forth into an entreaty which went 
 to my heart. 
 
 " I feel," said he, " as if I could not live without 
 you. These weekly visits, your smile, your voice, 
 are the food of seven days, and then I come hither 
 for replenishment as a hungry man comes for food. 
 In pity for me, as for these poor folk around you, 
 whom you have fed and clothed, do not forsake me. 
 Long — long, since I have ceased to ask for more 
 than the crumbs from your table — if you take these 
 away, I shall die ! — I shall die ! " 
 
 Terrible it was to see how this strong man trem- 
 bled with emotion which all but choked his utter- 
 ance and Convulsed his face as with bodily anguish. 
 
 What could I do ? here was no sudden passion of 
 a boy — no' declaration of eternal attachment arid 
 such like meaningless and fulsome words, which 
 have even since my widowhood been addressed to 
 me. Never once has James Eland taken undue 
 advantage of the friendship I grant him, never once 
 has he done more than take my hand, and kiss it 
 reverently, as he would kiss the hand of the highest 
 lady in the land. 
 
 But now that he was to lose me out of sight, the 
 greatness of his love for me would have its way and 
 burst every barrier ! 
 
33° WINIFRBDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 Deep pity stirred in my heart for this strong man 
 in his suffering, deep pity, aye and gratitude for 
 ceaseless deeds of generous friendship shewn to me 
 and my child. All this was in my heart for him, but 
 I knew it was not love — -not love which could an- 
 swer to his call as the flowers open to the sun — as 
 the bird hearing the voice of her mate wings her 
 way to the nest and is at peace. But oh! I was 
 greatly troubled as James Eland said, 
 
 " I only beseech you not to go hence. I have 
 wealth now — more than I need — far — far more. 
 Take it, it is nought to me, and provide yourself 
 with a house more meet for your abode than this 
 cottage, only do not go beyond my reach, Wini- 
 frede — Winifrede ! " 
 
 He uttered my name with a cry like one in direst 
 distress. 
 
 Should I give way? — Should I, out of pity and 
 gratitude and true regard, give him what could 
 never be my whole heart ? Should I consent to a 
 second marriage and thus reward the faithful love 
 of many years ? 
 
 As I thus questioned myself I saw when I looked 
 at James Eland's face that the storm was spend- 
 ing itself, and that the light of Hope was shining 
 through the cloud. 
 
 But it must not be. I strove to be calm, and 
 going near to him said, 
 
 " My dear good friend, what you ask of me I can 
 never give. I had hoped that this longing for me 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 331 
 
 had died out of your heart, and that the friendship 
 of which you so constantly give proof, was the early 
 love chastened and subdued, and brought into 
 proper bounds. But dear James Eland, as this is 
 not so, it is better for me to return to the country 
 whence I came, and you will be glad when I am 
 gone, and you know I shall have daily intercourse 
 with my child, whom you love and from whom you 
 would sure not wish to part me. I desire to return 
 to Widford, to a house I know of there, and settle 
 myself in it for the evening of my life." 
 
 James Eland urged me no more ; his whole bear- 
 ing became that of one who has braced himself to 
 endure, and bowing low he. said, 
 • " You will let me hear what you would have me 
 do for you at your leisure. Nay, Winifrede, do not 
 weep — " for I felt utterly overcome, " nay, I would 
 not cause you to shed a single tear — see! I am 
 brave now — look up at me — and be assured that He 
 who is my stronghold will not forsake me." 
 
 Gently he raised my head which I had buried in 
 my hands, and pressed one kiss on my forehead with 
 one long earnest gaze. I felt he knew now, that my 
 mind was fixed. After a few minutes' silence, broken 
 only by the tapping of the branches of the rose-tree 
 on the casement, and the sudden gust of October 
 wind which hurled some dead and withered leaves 
 through an opening in the lattice, he said, in- his 
 accustomed voice, grave and slow, 
 
 " I will seek counsel of the Lord, and you shall 
 
332 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 hear from me in a day or two. I vowed to be your 
 servant while Hfe lasted, and I will keep my vow." 
 
 There was in his voice and manner as he resumed 
 his wonted gravity and dignity, touched with an 
 ineffable sorrow, something that moved me even 
 more than his stormy outbreak had done. 
 
 My tears fell fast, and I could only say brokenly, 
 
 " Ah ! I am so sorry — so sorry — I hate to grieve 
 you — but I know I am right — be still my friend — 
 do not speak of service, dear James Eland, take 
 what I can so freely give, my friendship and grati- 
 tude which can never die. Say you will take this 
 and let the rest be buried." 
 
 "At least I promise it shall never arise again 
 from the grave to trouble you," he said ; " I accept 
 your decision, and I know it is final." 
 
 Surely on his face was a light that must have 
 shone on the martyrs and saints of old when they 
 met their fate. Such love as James Eland's is as 
 the elixir of which the ancient sages told, raising 
 the whole manhood to a higher level, and giving the 
 spirit victory over the desires of the flesh. 
 
 But oh ! when he had left me I felt torn with 
 conflicting feelings. 
 
 Had I done right to give this noble and true 
 heart such bitter pain ? 
 
 Yes. I had done right, for time and change and 
 death have not cancelled those vows of love which 
 I had spoken in the fervour of my youth, and which 
 bound me to my husband for ever. Other women — 
 
WJNIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 333 
 
 good women and brave, I know, have wedded twice 
 and have gladdened the hearts of their husbands. 
 Why should I feel differently ? 
 
 It is in vain to lay down hard and fast laws and 
 expect them to be kept by others. But for me — 
 Winifrede Carew — it would be a sin to go to any 
 man as his wife with a heart yearning over my dead 
 love, who was the first and only love of my life. 
 
 As I have written in these pages more than once, 
 the time of separation and the gulf which lay be- 
 tween me and Hal for a few short years is for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Over that gulf the fervent love of my gallant sol- 
 dier in those first sweet days and months of wedded 
 bliss stretched toward the tender confidence of the 
 last months of his life as if it were the two clasping 
 hands. All that lies between is forgotten ! 
 
 God comfort James Eland — and, as he said, I be- 
 lieve God is his stronghold, and he is not forsaken \ 
 
BOOK V„ 
 
 335 
 
XI. 
 
 " In Thy light we shall see light.'" 
 
 Wesicombe, North Devon, i666. June. 
 
 Last evening I was seeking for a book in which 
 the Bishop had written my name, when in the same 
 chest I discovered my old Journal book, unopened 
 for ten years ! 
 
 But a few pages are left vacant, and I am now re- 
 solved to iiU them — not with any precise details, as 
 in my younger days, but with some account of the 
 happiness which God has granted me since leaving 
 Norwich. 
 
 Before beginning upon a new era of my life, I 
 have turned over this record of the past. Lying 
 between the pages of the book are sprigs of lavender 
 and rosemary and dried rose-leaves. Their faint 
 sweet fragrance is like the memories which they call 
 up — for in the past if there was pain, there was joy 
 also. 
 
 When I wrote the first lines in this book, I was 
 scarcely more than a child ; now I am touching my 
 
 22 
 
335 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 fiftieth year! and I am yet blessed by God with 
 powers of mind and body which are indeed a great 
 gift from Him. 
 
 I settled in this place early in the year 1657. As 
 I looked my last at the stately spire of Norwich 
 Cathedral, it seemed to bear the same message 
 which it bore me on the first evening of my ap- 
 proach to that city of the East, pointing heaven- 
 ward to that City which unlike the cities of Earth 
 is a " continuing " city and into which, as a writer I 
 dearly love has said, 
 
 No enemy can enter, nor from whence any friend can go away ! 
 
 Around Norwich there will always gather for me 
 sacred memories of those who are entered into that 
 heavenly city, where in the many mansions all will 
 be peace and love. 
 
 The journey hither was made easy by the thought- 
 ful kindness of my true friend, who after that last 
 scene recorded in this book, has faithfully kept his 
 promise, and never again spoken or written to me of 
 aught but the friendship which becomes more and 
 more precious to me. 
 
 Verily James Eland is as steadfast as one of the 
 big rugged tors on which the summer sun lies to- 
 day as it lay when I was young at the Cross Farm 
 twenty years or more ago. 
 
 Westcombe is a low but somewhat spacious house 
 lying on the land belonging to Widford, and in 
 times past was the dower house of that branch of 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 339 
 
 the Carew race, of whom my dear child Maria Ley- 
 is now the only living representative. 
 
 It is good to me to feel that I am to pass my old 
 age in the very house where it is right Hal's widow 
 should live. 
 
 The repairs which were needful were all carried 
 out under Geoffrey Ley's guidance. What joy it is 
 to me to say that he is my son in love — not only my 
 son in law. 
 
 No mother had ever a more tender and aiTection- 
 ate son. 
 
 My Maria is full of life and happiness ; as I write 
 she is absent from the Grange, and I have the dear 
 delight of her children with me — two girls and a 
 boy, who with his large and lustrous eyes and mirth- 
 ful temper, calls back to me his grandfather. 
 
 Ah me ! I can scarcely believe in the truth of that 
 •word as I write it, and that I am his grandmother — 
 shortened into " Grannie " by the little voices I love 
 to hear echoing through the house in childlike glee. 
 
 Alice Friendship is now head and ruler absolute 
 of the household at the Grange, and though still 
 free with her tongue, is true to the interests of the 
 family she has served so long and so well. 
 
 My son and daughter resort once a year to Lon- 
 don, v/here the King bids all who were loyal to his 
 father welcome. The news from the Court is not 
 what, I like to hear. The stern Puritan rule has re- 
 laxed into much Iposeness of morals, and the joy 
 with which many faithful hearty welcomed back 
 
340 WINIFREDE ' S JO URNAL. 
 
 their lawful sovereign has been clouded by sorrow, 
 that purity of life and manners has been set at 
 naught. 
 
 The King has winning ways, and a smile and 
 happy jest for all who come near him, but the poor 
 Queen, I fear me, bears about a sad heart. Poor 
 soul ! God grant her patience and hope. 
 
 It is strange to note how the tide which ran so 
 strong under Cromwell for the Puritan form of wor- 
 ship is now turned against it. Those called Non- 
 conformists are now as hardly used as they once 
 used the loyal sons of the Church, in the time of the 
 good Bishop — whom they hunted from his Palace, 
 and ejected from his rights as Bishop of Nor- 
 wich. 
 
 It is good to be away from all the ferment which 
 these changes and chances bring about. Here in my 
 moorland home I feel content to live in the sweet 
 intercourse granted me with my children and grand- 
 children, and in the air and scenes which seem to 
 renew my youth. 
 
 I have gathered up the threads of old friendships, 
 and I have often visited dear Master Lyde at Wid- 
 dicombe, and my good cousin Penelope, who, rid of 
 her tyrant, is now in possession of her own again, 
 and is known throughout the country-side as the 
 " Good Lady of the Cross Farm." 
 
 Master Fulford has long ago been gathered to his 
 rest, and as to Master Amos Angel he is troubling 
 the peace of some village in Bedfordshire, and, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. ' 341 
 
 exacting a quarterly advance of money from Penel- 
 ope, leaves her in peace. 
 
 But though retired from the press of life, I yet 
 enjoy converse with those friends who can never 
 change — my books. 
 
 The eldest of my grandchildren, little Winifrede, 
 is quick to learn, and to teach her as I taught her 
 mother is a great delight. 
 
 She is my chief companion as her mother was 
 before her, and being somewhat tender and sensi- 
 tive, she loves the society of her Grannie, and even 
 when her parents are at home she is much with 
 me. 
 
 We ride together, on the country-side, on a sure- 
 footed grey mare named Bet, who knows the roads 
 as well or better than I do, and often we — that is 
 Winifrede and I — start together with our basket of 
 good things for the poor folk scattered in rude 
 huts over the moor. Having dispensed to them of 
 our abundance we eat our own midday meal as we 
 stop to rest under th^ shadow of a great rock, 
 spreading our meal on the soft turf spangled with 
 daisies, and sure no queen and princess had ever 
 more enjoyment in a feast, for ours is served with 
 the sauce of hunger in the crisp air, and sweetened 
 by mutual love. 
 
 I visit Widford at times, where now and again 
 some guests of distinction are bidden by the pres- 
 ent inhabitant. Sir Bernard Drake, a fine old gentle- 
 man who keeps the place, so he says, with due 
 
342 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 regard for the time when Maria's Httle son shall 
 inherit it in right, of her father Hal Carew. 
 
 The chapel has been repaired, and the daily 
 prayer of the Church is said there by old Sir Ber- 
 nard Drake's son, an enfeebled clergyman, who, buf- 
 feted sorely in the evil times, has now but little 
 strength left, and lives with his father, helping him 
 in many ways, and exercising his office for the good 
 of any sick or dying on the moorland, who may 
 need spiritual consolation. 
 
 Every day I kneel in this chapel for matins or 
 evensong, and very great is the edification and 
 comfort I derive therefrom. The memory of the 
 night when I took my vow to love Hal till death, 
 comes back to me with a chastened sadness, 
 mingled with thankfulness that I have kept that 
 vow sacred. 
 
 At Sir Bernard. Drake's house and at Ley Grange 
 I have met again and again the sons of the dear 
 Bishop. George is now Bishop of Chester, which 
 high position in the Church would seem a compen- 
 sation for the cruel deprivation his most worthy 
 and dear father suffered. And to my great satisfac- 
 tion I have entertained in my own house dear Bam- 
 filde Rodd and his wife Elizabeth, who is his cousin 
 by the Dean's marriage with the Bishop's daughter 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 It has been good to me from my first return to 
 Devonshire, to receive affection and kindness from 
 all the Bishop's children. But from Bam.filde Rodd 
 
WmiFREDE'S JOURNAL. 343 
 
 I have had almost the love of a son, and many a 
 time he has bid me recount to him all I remem- 
 ber of his mother called so early to her rest on that 
 Christmas Eve long ago. Ah ! to the dead in Christ 
 those words we often use and write are as nothing. 
 " Long ago ! " to us — " long, long years " we say — 
 but to them what avails our measurement of time, 
 in His presence with whom a thousand years are 
 but as a watch in the night ? 
 
 ***** 
 
 1667, September. 
 
 The conclusion of this journal which I set myself 
 to write in the month of June last year, has been 
 interrupted by unexpected events. 
 
 Soon after that summer evening when I had writ- 
 ten the words on the foregoing page, I was called 
 upon to open my doors and my heart to my early 
 friend Dulcibel Redvers. 
 
 Remembering her goodness to me, when she re- 
 ceived me at Hampton, and all her acts of service 
 for Hal, I could not refuse to let her come as she 
 wished, to spend her last days under my roof ; a 
 widow and childless . . . with the friends of 
 more prosperous days dropped ofT, with much of 
 her old asperity softened, and her love for me 
 unchanged. 
 
 I have set apart, at Geoffrey's advice, two rooms 
 for her use, and she is, having her own waiting 
 woman, in a measure independent of me. 
 
344 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 She is somewhat querulous at times, and has 
 sharp pains in her limbs and head. But I have spirit 
 and health for both, and I will not suffer Maria to 
 pity me as sometimes she does, when Dulcibel is 
 somewhat hard to please. 
 
 It is good for me to have some one to comfort 
 and help, and I can thank God for thus taking me 
 out of what might be perhaps — nay was — a too self- 
 pleasing life : my dear children thinking only how to 
 please me, and my grandchildren a constant source 
 of joy in their bright healthful childhood. 
 
 But there is yet another friend of my past life 
 who must have his name written on the last page of 
 my book. 
 
 Written, if it were possible, in letters of gold — 
 for sur'e no man ever deserved better to be held 
 in remembrance for loyalty and truth. 
 
 From time to time I had received tokens of 
 James Eland's constant remembrance, by gifts 
 which he knew I cared for best, even books, and 
 records of what was passing in Norwich, which he 
 sent me at regular intervals, his letters such as any 
 brother might write to his sister, and with never 
 a word of repining, no, nor longing for my pres- 
 ence. 
 
 I had abstained from any word of invitation to 
 Westcombe, fearing to awake in him a desire for a 
 dearer tie, by actual presence. But as time went on 
 this fear was laid to rest, and I wrote more and 
 more freely to him, telling him of Maria, of her 
 
WINIFREDE' S JOURNAL. 345 
 
 children, and especially of my sweet companion 
 little Winifrede. 
 
 It was one fair morning last June when Winifrede 
 and I set forth on good old Bet's back for a long 
 ride. We had a store of comforts packed away in 
 the saddle bag for two poor old folks who lived in a 
 hut between Widford and Widdicombe. 
 
 Dulcibel stood at the door leaning on her waiting 
 maid's arm, and watched us mount. 
 
 " I vow, Winifrede, you are as active as the child. 
 Ah ! well-a-day ! and I a poor cripple must crawl 
 along in the sunshine like an old fly on the lattice," 
 she said. 
 
 " You must try to ride on a soft pillion, now the 
 summer is come," I said, as I waved my good-bye. 
 
 At the gate we met Maria and Geoffrey and the 
 two younger children. 
 
 I bade them go and cheer Dame Redvers, for she 
 was in low case. 
 
 "Whither away, mother? " asked Geoffrey, look- 
 ing to the safety of the girth of the saddle, and 
 stroking Bet's patient head. 
 
 '* For a ride, father, a ride ! " Winifrede answered, 
 " with physic for Goody Brown." 
 
 " Well, well, I see you and Grannie are too happy 
 together to want aught beside. Don't let the mare 
 stumble," Maria said, "or you'll need physic as well 
 as Goody Brown." 
 
 Thus with laughter and smiles we rode away. 
 
 Looking back, I saw my daughter standing be- 
 
346 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 neath the old stone porch under which we had just 
 passed. 
 
 How beautiful she looked, with her little daugh- 
 ter Margaret clinging to her gown, and little Hal set 
 aloft on his handsome father's shoulder shouting, 
 
 " Bye, bye, Grannie ! " 
 
 Such a picture of blessed wedded life may well fill 
 my heart with thankfulness! 
 
 Winifrede, always with strange understanding, 
 looking into my face said, 
 
 " Mother is a pretty mother, isn't she, Grannie ? " 
 Adding, " And a good dear mother — and you are a 
 dear good Grannie — Winifrede's own Grannie." 
 
 Dear child, what a spring of youth and joy she 
 ever seems to open for me I 
 
 We rode on to see our sick folk, whom we found 
 somewhat grumbling and discontented. Then as 
 the heat grew greater, I turned Bet's head towards 
 the High Cross Farm, for Winifrede said she was 
 aweary. 
 
 We dismounted there, and dear Penelope carried 
 the child into the house and laid her on the couch 
 in the cool parlour, fetching a draught of milk from 
 the dairy, and some broad young leaves of the 
 vine growing against the house which she laid on 
 Winifrede's hot forehead. 
 
 Winifrede seemed well content, and after we had 
 eaten our repast I I'eft her to rest and set out to see 
 Master Lyde. 
 
 He was not to be found, having gone for a day 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 347 
 
 or two to Exeter. Then the desire took me to go 
 towards the moorland, and I gave a tender thought 
 to dear old Tor, as I passed his grave. 
 
 By God's mercy I can yet find pleasure in walk- 
 ing, and scarce know fatigue, by reason of good 
 health and a light figure. 
 
 I did not hasten, notwithstanding, but leisurely 
 took the path up the moor, where the gorse was a 
 blaze of gold, and the fresh sweet scent came like a 
 breath of youth and spring while the little streams 
 made music, and the wild bees hummed a-s they flew 
 hither and thither amongst the golden blossoms and 
 butterflies in airy couples as yellow as the gorse 
 danced in the sunlight. 
 
 There is ever a solace for me in the beauty of 
 God's world, and I felt on this summer day filled 
 v/ith His Love to me, and mine, and every living 
 creature that breathes the breath of life. 
 
 All unawares I came upon a little path dipping 
 down towards a hollow, and soon I was standing by 
 the deep silent pool, where once I had stood in the 
 freshness of youth and hope. 
 
 The blue sky with a white cloud like an angel's 
 wing brooded over it, the yellow flags and tall 
 rushes whispered softly by its banks. 
 
 I went close to the edge, and looking down into 
 the quiet waters, saw in the place of a laughing 
 maiden pleased with her own fairness, a woman from 
 whose head the grey hood of her redingote had 
 fallen back, leaving it uncovered. A head no longer 
 
34S WJNIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 crowned with rippling gold, for the yet thick locks 
 were powdered with white ! No high colour in her 
 cheeks, no rounded outline of chin and neck. 
 
 The sorrows of the past have left their mark, but 
 time has smoothed them somewhat and softened 
 them with a gentle hand. 
 
 I shed no tear as I turned away, rather I snfiiled 
 as I remembered that in my heart of hearts I was 
 true to the love I had borne the lover and husband 
 of my youth, and that I had seen his child and mine, 
 aye and her children, and peace upon Israel. 
 
 I retraced my steps quickly, and at the head of 
 the little glen a man seemed waiting for me. 
 
 " James Eland ! " I exclaimed, springing towards 
 him, with outstretched hands. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " Winifrede, I have come to finish 
 my pilgrimage within sight of you — are you sorry ? 
 Do you bid me depart ? " 
 
 " No," I said, " I am glad you should see Maria 
 and her children — one bears my name." 
 
 " I have seen her," he said, " another ' winsome 
 lady ' at the Cross Farm." 
 
 Then as we walked back to the village James 
 Eland told me that he had left Norwich where utter 
 discord reigned amongst the Nonconformist breth- 
 ren, and that they were divided amongst themselves, 
 and persecuted by those who remembered against 
 them their old sins. 
 
 " For we did sin, Winifrede, in our blindness and 
 ignorance, against many who were the saints of God, 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOUR^'AL. 349 
 
 though bound in the fetters of Prelacy, and unable 
 to break their bonds asunder. The true light that 
 lighteth every man has shined on me and taught 
 me, I humbly believe, that though creeds are diverse 
 the Love of God in Christ is One I One God, one 
 Father above all and in all." 
 
 " Dear kind friend," I said, " there needs be no 
 division between those who are the children of one 
 Father. I thank God this truth has shined in your 
 heart, and in the mansions of the city above all 
 seeming differences will be lost." 
 
 Then James Eland told me that Master Hickes 
 being dead, and his son succeeding to the chief 
 place in the business, a man of a cantankerous and 
 evil disposition, he had demanded his share of the 
 last year's profits and monies, due to him in the dis- 
 solution of the partnership, and with this it seems a 
 goodly sum, he had treated for a small estate near 
 Widford, and that he had brought Mrs. Rainbyrde 
 to manage his house as she had done in Norwich, 
 and there he hoped to abide till called to enter into 
 the rest that remaineth. 
 
 " Once every week I pray to be permitted to visit 
 you as of old. Dame Carew, and methinks you will 
 not turn me from your door. I ask no more," he 
 said earnestly, " nor would I by any rneans say or 
 do aught which might disturb the even tenour of 
 your peaceful life." 
 
 And as if to fill up those last recorded memories 
 of old ties and life-long friendship, in the very hour 
 
350 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 of my return with little Winifrede to the- Grange, 
 I was naet by Maria, holding an open letter in her 
 hand. 
 
 It contained the news that Mistress Ley, known 
 at Mawgan in Cornwall as the Mother of the relig- 
 ious house there, supported and endowed by her 
 bounty, had passed hence to the heavenly inherit- 
 ance of the saints of God. 
 
 A small paper enclosed, set forth that after pro- 
 vision made for the maintenance of this house 
 of charity — where the orphans and the sick were 
 duly tended and cared for — the residue was left in 
 trust to her kinsman Geoffrey Ley for the sole use 
 of his son Harry Carew Ley — grandson to Harry 
 Carew, Knight, who died after years of suffering 
 from a wound received in the service of his King 
 
 and master, the Martyr Charles. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The light of the summer day is fading now, and 
 I think my eyes are not so keen, nor my hand so 
 swift to write, as once they were. 
 
 There is moreover scarce a page left in this book, 
 and now what shall be my last words here ? 
 
 Sure, words of thanksgiving that the eyes of those 
 who may perchance read this journal, may be as- 
 sured that I close it with a grateful heart. 
 
 Goodness and mercy have followed me all the 
 days of my fifty years of life, and I humbly trust to. 
 dwell, when my last day on earth closes, in the 
 House of the Lord forever. 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 35t 
 
 Written by my hand, this twentieth day of June 
 in the year of grace 1667, at my house of Westcombe 
 in the county of Devon. 
 
 WiNIFREDE CaREW. 
 
 1686, February. 
 
 Post Scriptum. In sunshine and rain, in winter's 
 cold and summer's heat, once every week, on Sun- 
 day, James Eland came across two miles of moor- 
 land to visit my precious mother. The snow lay on 
 the ground, and we standing by her grave in the 
 churchyard of Widford on the tenth day of January 
 were clothed in white rather than in the black gar- 
 ments of mourning and woe. We had just taken 
 one parting look at her last resting place, when I, 
 raising my head, saw standing at the head of the 
 grave, the figure of an old man bent with age, and 
 leaning heavily on a thick staff. 
 
 As the crowd of rich and poor, mourning for their 
 benefactress, departed to their homes, I looking 
 back saw that James Eland still stood where we had 
 left him. As his cloak was white with snow, so was 
 his bent head white with the snows of seventy-five 
 winters. 
 
 I loosened my hold on Geoffrey's arm, and has- 
 tening back said to him, touching his shoulder, 
 
 " Come home with me, dear James Eland, come 
 home with mci" 
 
 He looked at me as if he "scarce knew what I 
 said. 
 
352 WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " Nay," he answered, " nay, I am going home — 
 till next week — tAen I shall come again to her." 
 
 " Not alone," I pleaded : " you must not go home 
 alone through the snow." 
 
 He 'only shook his head, gazed down once more 
 into the white grave where all that was mortal of 
 my precious mother lay, and then gently pushing 
 me aside he murmured more to himself than to me, 
 
 " Once a week ! — yes, once a week ! — next Sabbath 
 day I shall come to thee, beloved." 
 
 Then raising his hand as if in blessing, he 
 repeated slowly, 
 
 " Yes, I shall come to thee where they neither 
 marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the 
 angels of God." 
 
 Then as my husband led me weeping away, James 
 Eland passed through the lych gate, and we saw him 
 no more. It was as he said ; the old tryst of the 
 Sabbath day was kept. 
 
 At dawn on the next Sunday James Eland entered 
 into the rest that remaineth, whither my mother 
 had gone before. 
 
 I can add nothing to this last tribute to the 
 noblest and best of friends. For twenty years this 
 book has been closed. Looking over my mother's 
 manifold papers and books I open it reverently, and 
 record here on its last page the faithful and undying 
 love of a man who in that great love forgot self, and 
 hungering to bless was in good sooth a blessing to 
 her, and to the child who now and always must 
 
WINIFREDE'S JOURNAL. 353 
 
 mourn her loss, and amidst the joys of her happy- 
 home must ever miss her dear presence, who was to 
 her children and grandchildren what no tongue can 
 tell. 
 
 Nor is there need to paint her portrait if I would 
 fain try to do so. What is written on these pages 
 by her own hand will surely be her witness, that 
 amidst all the changes, chances and sorrows of this 
 mortal life, she, who was so richly endowed with 
 gifts of mind and person, was above all things the 
 virtuous woman, the true wife, the loving mother, 
 and the faithful friend, " whose price was above 
 rubies." 
 
 Written by my hand on this second day of Feb- 
 ruary, 1686. 
 
 Maria Winifrede Ley, 
 of Ley Grange in the County of Devon. 
 
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SO.MSwr"""™'*^'-"'™'^ 
 
 wimiijfrede's Journal of her life at Exete 
 
 3 1924 Ol'3'''522'o'5T''