Mr Anthony Tremayne laughed heartily. His wife merely replied as quietly as before. "So be it, Doctor. I suppose men do fall sick at times, and then they use not to think so for a little while at the least." "Well, I said not you were not in the handful," said he, smiling again. "All that you yourself do know make the handful, I count," said Tremayne. "Ah! Doctor, your bark did alway pass your bite. But who goeth yonder? Come within!" The door opened in answer to his call, and disclosed a good-looking man in the prime of life, whose dark hair and beard were particularly luxuriant in growth. "Ah! Jack Avery, God save thee!" resumed Tremayne, heartily. "Thou art right welcome. What news?" "Such news," was the response, in a clear, musical voice, "as we be scarce like to hear twice this century. May I pray you of a cup of wine, to drink the health of the King?" "Fetch it, Robin," said Tremayne. "But what hath the King's Grace done, Avery? Not, surely, to repeal the Bloody Statute, his sickness making him more compatient [Note 5] unto his poor subjects? That were good news!" "I sorrow to say it," replied Avery, "but this is better news than that should be." And holding up the cup of wine which Robin offered him, he said solemnly,--"The King's Majesty, Edward the Sixth! God save him!" From all except Custance there came in answer such a cry--half amazement, half exultation--as we in this nineteenth century can scarcely imagine for such an event. For the last eight years of the reign of Henry the Eighth, England had been in slavery--"fast bound in misery and iron." Every year it had grown heavier. Murmuring was treated as rebellion, and might have entailed death. To know that Henry was dead was to be free--to be at liberty to speak as a man thought, and to act as a man believed right. "Ay," resumed Avery gravely, "King Henry the Eight is gone unto the mercy of God. How much mercy God could show him, let us not presume to think. We can only know this--that it was as much as might stand with His glory." Dr Thorpe and John Avery left Tremayne together, for both were on their way to Crowe. A walk of twenty minutes brought them to the house of the latter, an erection of some fifty years' standing. Bradmond comprised not only the house, but a large garden and a paddock, in which Avery's horse Bayard took his ease. There was also a small farm attached, with its requisite buildings; and when the gentlemen arrived, Tom [Note 4], the general factotum, was meandering about the flower-garden, under the impression that he was at work, while Avery's little daughter, Kate [Note 4] aged nearly four years, was trotting after him from one spot to another, also under the impression that she was affording him material assistance in his labours.