After a brief delay, Bonner ascended the pulpit, and taking for his text Saint Paul’s words to the Galatians, “_I would they were cut off that trouble you_,” he preached a violent sermon on the necessity of punishing heretics and false brethren with death, citing many authorities in favour of his views, and asserting that to maintain that heresy ought to go unpunished would be to maintain that the worst crimes should be unchastised. “Heresy,” he said, “being treason against Heaven, deserves the punishment of treason. As such a traitor,” he added, turning to Rogers, “thou wilt be consigned to a fire, which will be to thee a foretaste of the flames in which thou shalt burn everlastingly. Thy fate will be a terrible lesson to all who think with thee.” “It will be a lesson to them how to testify to their faith,” rejoined the prebend. Bonner having descended from the pulpit, a votive mass for taking away schism was performed by Gardiner, who solemnly pronounced the oration:—_Deus qui errata corrigis, et dispersa congregas, et congregata conservas; quæsumus, super populum Christianum tuæ unionis gratiam clementer infunde: ut divisione rejecta, vero Pastori Ecclesiæ tuæ se venies, tibi dignè valeat famulari_. Mass ended, the _Dies Iræ_ was sung by the choir of the Black Canons, and, while this was proceeding, the _cortége_ began to move, passing slowly before the altar, preparatory to quitting the church. As before, a long array of priests with banners walked with noiseless tread, bowing reverently as they passed the altar. Then came the recusants, carrying their lighted tapers, but not a knee was bent amongst them, not a head inclined. Last amongst these walked Constance, alone. She had to pass close by Philip, who was seated on the faldstool, with Gardiner and Father Alfonso beside him, and as she approached him, her strength began to fail, and her knees tottered. She tried to summon all her energies, but in vain. In another moment she felt she must sink. Philip’s gaze was fixed steadily upon her. A desperate effort to pass deprived her of the little strength left, and with a cry she let fall the taper, and would have sunk upon the pavement if the King himself had not caught her. “Oh that I could die!” she gasped. “No, you must live for me, Constance,” whispered Philip, passionately. She looked at him for a moment with mingled fear and aversion, and then closed her eyes. “She has swooned,” said the King, consigning her to Rodomont, who had been marching behind her. “Take her where she can be tended.” In obedience to the injunction, Rodomont bore her to the sacristy, where restoratives were applied by a monk, who acted as physician to the brotherhood of the Black Canons.