There was a hard task yet before John Banks. He had to visit eight houses, and at each to tell his awful tale, to father and mother, brother and sister, son and daughter--in three instances to husband or wife--of the martyrs who had gone home. His first visit was to Seven Roods. "Well, Jack Banks! I thought you'd been dead and buried!" was Tabitha's sarcastic intimation that it was some time since she had seen him. "Ah, Mistress Hall, I could well-nigh wish I had been, before I came to bring you such tidings as I bring to-day." Tabitha looked up in his face, instantly dropped the mop in her hand, and came over to where he stood. "'Tis more than `may be,'" she said significantly, "and I reckon 'tis more than `must be.' John Banks, is it _done_?" "It is done," he replied. "`The Lord God hath wiped away all tears from her eyes.'" "The Lord look upon it, and avenge her!" was the answer, in Tabitha's sternest and most solemn voice. "The Lord requite it on the head of Edward Benden, and on the head of Richard Thornton! Wherefore doth He not rend the heavens and come down? Wherefore--" and as suddenly as before, Tabitha broke down, and cried her heart out as Banks had never imagined Tabitha Hall could do. Banks did not attempt to reprove her. It was useless. He only said quietly, "Forgive me to leave you thus, but I must be on my way, for my tidings must yet be told six times, and there be some hearts will break to hear them." "I'll spare you one," said Tabitha, as well as she could speak. "You may let be Roger Hall. I'll tell him." Banks drew a long breath. Could he trust this strange, satirical, yet warm-hearted woman to tell those tidings in that house of all others? And the white lace, which the gaoler, knowing him to be a Staplehurst man, had entrusted to him to give, could he leave it with her? "Nay, not so, I pray you, and thank you, Mistress. I have an especial message and token for Master Hall. But if you would of your goodness let Mistress Final's childre know thereof, that should do me an easement, for the White Hart is most out of my way." "So be it, Jack, and God speed thee!" Turning away from Seven Roods, Banks did his terrible errand to the six houses. It was easiest at Fishcock's, where the relatives were somewhat more distant than at the rest; but hard to tell Nicholas White's grey-haired wife that she was a widow, hard to tell Emmet Wilson's husband that he had no more a wife; specially hard at Collet Pardue's cottage, where the news meant not only sorrow but worldly ruin, so far as mortal eye might see. Then he turned off to Briton's Mead, and told Mary, whose tears flowed fast. "Will you speak to _him_?" she said, in an awed tone. "No!" said Banks, almost sternly. "At the least--what doth he?"