Never had there been five such years in England. The sanguinary struggles of the Roses, the grinding oppression of Henry the Seventh, the spasmodic cruelties of Henry the Eighth, were not to be compared with this time. Of all persecutors, none is, because none other can be, so coldly, mercilessly, hopelessly unrelenting, as he who believes himself to be doing God service. And now the floods of the great waters came nigh the struggling Church. The storm fell upon her, as it never fell in this island before or since. The enemy had gathered his forces for one grand effort to crush the life out of her. But the life was immortal. The waves beat powerlessly against the frail barque; for it held One who, though He seemed verily "asleep on a pillow," was only waiting the moment to arise and say, "Peace, be still!" The Lord sat above the water-floods; yea, the Lord sitteth a King for ever. Yet the "rough wind was stayed in the day of the east wind." When forty years are to be spent in the wilderness, then the shoes wax not old, nor does the strength, fail. But when the furnace is heated seven times hotter than its wont, then the pain is not for long, and the furnace holds a more visible Fourth, like to the Son of God. Only dying men see angels. The sweet soft light of the Master's shining raiment, which we may pass by in the glaring sunshine, is not so easily left unperceived when it is the sole light of the martyr's dungeon. And God was with His Church, during those five sharp, short years of agony wherein so many of her members went to God. And all opened with a flourish of silver trumpets. There were flashings of jewels, set where jewels should flash no more; white bridal robes, soon to be drenched in blood; ghostly crowns, glimmering for an instant over heads that should be laid upon the block ere one poor year were over. "Man proposed, and God disposed." The incorruptible crown was the fairer and brighter. The last brilliant day which England was to know before that tempest broke, dawned on the morning of the 21st of May, 1553. Early on that day all London was astir. Three noble marriages were to be celebrated at Durham House, in the King's presence; and to Durham House London was crowding, to see the sight. Among the crowd were John Avery, Dr Thorpe, and Robin. Isoult had declined to run the risk of having the clothes torn off her back, or herself squeezed into a mummy; and it was agreed on all sides that there would be danger in taking the children: but nothing could keep Dr Thorpe at home--not even a sharp attack of rheumatism, from which he had been suffering more or less all the spring. Mr Underhill of course would be there, in his place as Gentleman Pensioner; and after a good deal of pressing from more than one of his friends, a dubious consent to go, _if_ he could find time, had been wrung from Mr Rose. The bridegrooms and brides were apportioned in the following order. The Lady Jane Grey to Lord Guilford Dudley.