"_She_ saw it," said Esther in a low voice, "though I did essay to turn her away therefrom by bidding her to observe the fair carving on the other side the way; but it was to no good. She caught the two names--`Thomas Rose' and `Margaret Van der Velde.' And she brake forth when she saw them. I thank the All Merciful we two were alone in the cloister." "But what said she?" "`Margaret Van der Velde!' she cried. `I am _not_ Margaret Van der Velde! I am Marguerite Rose. I have borne his name for two and twenty years, and shall I cast it off now at the Bishop of London's bidding? No, not if he were the Pope and the whole College of Cardinals!' Then she fell into French and Spanish mixed together. And `Parted by consent!' quoth she. `_Ay Dios! que veut-on dire_? what consent is there? They thrust us asunder with halberds, and then say we have parted by consent! God! art Thou in Heaven, and dost Thou see all this?' she cried." "Poor soul! And what saidst thou, Esther?" "I said little, only essayed to draw her away and to comfort her. It is hard work to bear such things, I know. But I think we be too apt to seek to be our King's kings--to bring down the Holy One that inhabiteth eternity to the measure of our poor knowledge. 'Tis not alway when _we_ think Israel at the lowest that Othniel is raised up to judge us. He will come at the right time, and in time to save us; but very often that is not the time we would choose." Poor Mrs Rose! Isoult could scarcely wonder at her words of indignation. But she had not seen nor borne the worst yet. "Isoult!" said Dr Thorpe, coming in on the 8th of April, "there is a jolly sight in the Chepe. I take it, a piece of some Lutheran's or Gospeller's work, whose wit and zeal be on the thither side of his discretion. On the gallows in Cheapside is a cat hanged, arrayed in vestments, all proper, her head shaven, and her forefeet tied over her head with a round of paper betwixt them for a wafer. What say you to that for a new thing?" "Poor cat!" said Robin; yet he laughed. "Nay, I know not that they killed the cat o' purpose," said Dr Thorpe. "They may have taken a dead one." "But what say the folk thereto?" asked Isoult. "Some laugh," he answered, "and some rail, and some look mighty solemn. Underhill was jolly pleased therewith; it served his turn rightly. I met him on my way home, and he asked me first thing if I had seen Sir Cat." "I warrant you," said John, "'tis a piece of his work, or else of George Ferris. Mind you not how he told us the tale of his [Underhill] stealing the copper pix from the altar at Stratford on the Bow? I will be bound one of those merry twain hath done it." "Little unlike," said Dr Thorpe.