But the pageant was coming past now, and they exchanged the use of their tongues for that of their eyes. It was entirely equestrian, and came over London Bridge, from Suffolk Place, where the King and Queen had passed the night. Our friends were not prepossessed by the royal bridegroom, whose low stature, want of beauty, and gloomy expression, struck them in the same light that they did most Englishmen, as denoting neither grace nor graciousness. Only two persons are recorded ever to have loved Philip--Queen Mary herself, and her successor, the fair and sagacious Elizabeth of France. Just opposite the place where Agnes and the Friar stood was an allegorical group, of which one painted figure, supposed to be Henry the Eighth, was holding out to the Queen an open Bible, inscribed with the words _Verbum Dei_. But before night a warning had been conveyed to the authorities that the Queen was offended with this representation of her father, and the Bible was painted out so hastily that the hand of the figure was partly obliterated with it. When the pageant had gone by, and the crowd had sufficiently dispersed, John Laurence and Agnes set out for their walk to Clerkenwell. They found a shady field, in a corner of which they sat down, and the Friar drew from his pocket a Latin Psalter,--the only form of the Bible with which it was then safe to be caught. From this he read to Agnes the hundred and seventh Psalm, translating it as he went on into the only tongue she knew. "And He led them forth by the right way, that they might go to the City of Habitation." He paused at that seventh verse, and half closing the book, sat looking thoughtfully into the blue heaven. Very vaguely did Agnes enter into his deeper thoughts. Her ideas concerning public events, and possible future dangers, were of a very misty description. She kept silent a moment. Then, when he did not speak, she said-- "Well, John?" "By the right way!" he said dreamily, rather as if speaking to himself than to her. "And He leads them, too, _inportum voluntatis eorum_--to the haven of their desire." "That is, Heaven?" said Agnes questioningly. Her admiration for his knowledge and wisdom was high. "That is Heaven," he replied in the same tone as before. "John, what thinkest Heaven shall be like?" "Like God!" said the Black Friar slowly. "Therefore, glorious-- wonderful--perfect in every part--holy--satisfying." "And right fair and beauteous, doubtless," she added, by way of completing the picture. "That which is perfect must be fair," said John Laurence. "He saith to His Church, `Thou art all fair, My love, and a stain is not in thee.' That is, to thee, and me, Agnes." "To _me_?" she repeated, in an awe-struck voice. "Nay, how so, trow? I am all o'er a stain with my sins." The answer was in inspired words. "`For perfect wert thou, in My beauty which I put upon thee, saith the Lord God.'" Agnes sat still, trying to take in the idea.