“And so ye be all come with the glad tidings,” he said at last, “which truly are glad tidings for all; and our controversy concerning thy dangerous labor, Mistress Edith, we will end now; for men think otherwise in hazard than they do in hope; and the Lord of the poor will remember thee, little maiden, because thou didst remember the poor of the Lord. Thou wilt have many to hear thee, brother Field, on this fair morrow, and, I pray God, many to heed thee also: for that which is impressed but by disaster is in danger, I fear me, of being erased by deliverance. The good Lord keep us from this evil; but in sooth we grow wanton oft when it is fit we should grow wary, and are liker to lead ourselves into deeds that need to be repented of, through the abundance of God’s mercies, than to endeavor that God’s mercies should lead us to repentance.” “It is but too frequent,” said Master Field; “but this city hath been so sorely smitten, that the remembrance of the stroke will not soon depart. I trust only that the delirium of this joy will not intoxicate the remnant, for indeed the penitence of deadly fear is but a frail trust to lean upon. Nevertheless, brother, what saith thy poet? “‘When the equal poise of hope and fear Doth arbitrate the event, my nature is, That I do ever hope rather than fear.’ “And truly, He who hath done this is the same Lord who hath bruised the head of the enemy.” “Without doubt,” answered Master Chester; “and in terror, even as in tenderness, the same Lord. But thy poet, I pray thee note, is not _my_ poet, brother. Truly, a pestilent sectary, an he were also a noble singer of Heaven’s own proper training. Yet thou knowest, this deadly peril over, that I love not those who forsake order, and e’en would take order with them, though I love them not; for a Church that lacketh government is like to lack goodness, ere long, I fear me; and truthful doctrine hath rightful discipline for its twin brother. An evil-conditioned man this Milton, Mistress Judith; thinkest thou not so?” “Truly, sir, he maketh noble melody,” said Edith. “Ah, little one, thine ear tingleth to sweet music; but these are matters that fit us not thou thinkest, brother, and I doubt not thy thoughts are busy with matters that will fit all. And lo! the people that remain to us how they gather, and shall have gathered somewhat ere they part, I doubt not, that will remain. Now the Lord send seed to the sower, and bread to the eater.” The church was full; a congregation more deeply moved never met together. In their fear they had been solemn and grave, sometimes stern in the austerity of new-born penitence; but now the flood-gates of their souls were opened, and floating over the wrung hearts in the first relief from their long tension, was every where that fluttering tremulous joy.