"Like a hero!" answered my uncle. "Even when he parted from his wife, who by the kindness of the sheriff was allowed to take leave of him just outside the prison gate, he showed no signs of giving way, but kissed her and sent his blessing to his child, as if he had been setting out on an ordinary journey." "And she?" "She was no less brave than himself, poor heart, bidding him have no care for her—she should do very well. He bade her so to live as that they should meet in heaven; whereat one that stood by struck him on the mouth, bidding him be silent for a foul-mouthed heretic. Whereat, Higgins turned to him and said calmly—'God give thee repentance, friend, for an' if He do not, thou art in a worse case than I.' When he had passed, and not before, did the poor wife fall down in a fit, and was charitably cared for by some women of her acquaintance." "And Higgins was brave to the last?" "Yes, to the very last moment. He would not so much as listen to the promise of pardon if he would repent, and commended his soul to God as the faggots were lighted. There was plenty of tar and resin among them, and I think he suffered not long." "Thank Heaven!" said my aunt, and I knew by her voice that she was weeping. "But oh, nephew, when will all this end?" "I know not, aunt; but I trust and believe that it will end in the establishment of truth and a free Gospel in all this land. It may not be in our time, but it will surely come." Here I made some movement, and my aunt coming to me, I heard no more. But I often thought of the conversation afterward, and puzzled over it. I had been brought up by my Lady Peckham to think a heretic the worst of criminals. Yet here were mine uncle and aunt, the very best people I had ever known, whose sympathy was clearly on the side of one at least of these heretics. Childlike, I turned the matter over and over in my mind without ever mentioning it to any one, or asking for a solution of my puzzles. It was not thought best for me to return to London that night, and, indeed, I was not able. I staid at the farm some weeks, part of the time having my cousins for company. It was pretty dull at first, but as I grew better and able to go about, I liked it very well. My only trouble was Mistress Jenny Green, whom I came absolutely to hate. She was always catechising me about my uncle's family, what company they kept, what furniture, etc., they had, where we went to church, and all sorts of trifling particulars. At other times she would spend hours in bewailing her hard lot, and describing the fine things she had enjoyed in her London home.