"My word on't," saith Dr Thorpe, "but yonder is a jolly hearing. I am right glad my Lord Chancellor got so well swinged!" "Suffered Dr Taylor much, Austin?" asked Isoult. "I trow not," answered he. "When he came nigh Hadleigh, the Sheriff asked him how he did. Quoth he, `Well, God be praised, good Master Sheriff, never better; for now I know I am almost at home. I lack not past two stiles to go over, and I am even at my Father's house.' He was a very tall and great man, with long snow-white beard and head; and he stood in the fire with his hands folded, and never moved nor spake, till one struck him on the head with a halberd (I know not whether it were in malice or in compassion) and he fell down dead into the midst of the fire." "Well!" said Dr Thorpe, "I will tell you a thing: I would my gossips had named me any thing but Stephen." "There was a Stephen the first martyr," suggested Austin; "comfort you with that remembrance." "Verily," answered he; "yet I love not to be called the name which Satan hath chose for himself on his incarnation." One thing strange to human, reason is worthy of note, as showing the good hand of our God upon those who suffered for Him. In the case of the majority of these martyrs, those who had the fear of physical suffering had _not_ the suffering. Ridley and Hooper bore themselves bravely, and knew no terror; and they endured awful anguish at the last. But Archbishop Cranmer, who at first held back for fear, uttered no cry in the fire; Latimer, who did not hold back, yet trembled at what he had to pass through, died to all appearance without pain. Most marvellous of all was the case of Lawrence Saunders, the gentle Rector of All Hallows, a man of delicate feeling, who shrank from the bitter cup, yet drank it off bravely for Christ's sake. And Christ failed him not, but carried him in His own arms over the dark river; for no sooner was he chained to the stake than a deep sleep from God fell upon him, and he never woke to feel the fire at all, but slept sweetly as a child while his body was consuming. "Is any thing too hard for the Lord?" When Isoult and Thekla came in from the market one morning in March, Dr Thorpe, who sat in the chimney-corner, asked them to go up to Mrs Rose. "Yon dolt Carter hath been hither," said he, "and sat with her half an hour; and from what I heard since over mine head, I am afeard he gave her to wit some ill news, for she hath been sobbing ever since his departing. Go you and comfort her." Thekla was up the stairs in a moment; and Isoult followed. Mr Carter [a fictitious person] was the clergyman who had stepped into Mr Rose's place of minister to the Gospellers' gatherings, when they dared to hold them; a good man, but very cold and harsh. "O Thekla! Isoult!" cried Mrs Rose when they came in. "Am I so very wicked as Mr Carter saith me to be?" Poor soul! she had been weeping bitterly. "Mother!" cried Thekla, in amazement, "what meanest thou?"