The effect of this remarkable discourse—remarkable, indeed, as emanating from one who had been designated “The Scourge of Heresy”—was to stay the bitter persecution for a while, but, though momentarily checked, it revived with a greater fury than before. The six unfortunate persons excommunicated by Bonner were consigned to the flames, and urged to greater activity by the Marquis of Winchester, and other members of the council, the zealous prelate looked out for fresh victims. Bonner had long burned to wreak his vengeance upon Derrick Carver, and was at last able to gratify his desire. Having procured a warrant from the Queen for the deliverance up to him of the prisoner, who was still confined in the Lollards’ Tower, he immediately acted upon it. Before he was taken away, Carver, by permission of the Cardinal, was allowed to bid farewell to Constance Tyrrell. The interview took place in the Post Room in the Lollards’ Tower, and in order that there might be no check upon their freedom of discourse, they were left alone together. “Daughter,” said Carver, who appeared more subdued than usual, “I am about to win the crown of martyrdom for which I have so long striven, and to inscribe my name upon that scroll which shall hereafter be a guide to our Church. In quitting you for a while, I expect you to remain stedfast in the faith. Be not shaken by the arguments of the Cardinal, who, though a good man, has been brought up in superstition and idolatry, and cannot free himself from the errors of his creed.” “Have no fear for me,” replied Constance. “I shall soon follow in the same path you are about to tread.” “Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Carver, with an irrepressible shudder. “Oh! Constance, while alone in my cell, I have communed with myself, sounding my breast to its depths, and weighing every thought and action, and I reproach myself that I have led you too far. I have kindled a holy fervour in your breast like that which animates my own, and which incites you to bear witness to your faith by death.” “True. But surely you should rejoice that you have kindled such a flame,” she rejoined. “No; I would quench it,” he cried. “Seek not martyrdom. Rush not upon fiery torments—but live—live a godly life.” “These words are strange from you, who have so often painted the glories of martyrdom to me, and urged me to share them with you.” “I repent that I did so,” he rejoined. “Were you to suffer with me, your torments would afflict me a thousand times more than my own. ’Twere terrible that a frame so fair as yours should be consumed by fire. It must not be. You are young and beautiful. You love, and are beloved. Live and be happy. Live for Osbert Clinton.”