"Yes, then, if you must know," returned the jailer. "There was no chance for him. They said he had been respited once before—that his father was burned for a Lollard, while he was pardoned for his youth, and by the intercession of the old knight. Brother Joseph, as they call him, testified that he had overheard the old man instructing you in matters of heresy, and that you had both read from the Lutheran books. He was especially bitter against yourself. Then they went about with the old man to learn who had purveyed him the Testament, but they could get no satisfaction from him. I promise you he answered them roundly. Well, the end of it all is, the poor old father is to be burned tomorrow, and you are to be carried to see the show. So there! It is a shame. I care not who hears me say it, and he like a father to you." "So said one of the priests. ''Tis like seething the kid in its mother's milk,' said he, and old Thomas, who disdained to say a word for himself, plead earnestly for you that you might be spared the sight, but they said it was for your soul's sake, and they would not hear him. What now! Keep up like a man! I have more for you to hear. See, drink this," said the jailer, with rough kindness, holding a cup to Jack's lips. "I have a message for you, and I promised to deliver it." Jack made an effort to overcome the faintness which was stealing over him, and roused himself to hear the rest. "The old man bade me tell you to be of good courage and care not for what was to happen to him; 'for,' says he, 'my pain will be but short and my happiness eternal, and so will yours be, so you be but faithful.' There, I had no business to tell it you, but I am not one to refuse a request to a dying man." "Master Dennett?" asked Jack. "Oh, he hath recanted and confessed all," answered the jailer, with a touch of scorn. "He was a cock of another sort, I promise you. He is to do penance tomorrow in face of the people, and suffer some fine. But I pray you consider well what you are about, for this monk is in fiery earnest, and it were pity of your father's son to suffer such a death." "And will you not let me see my uncle again?" Jack asked. "I could not, if I would," replied the jailer. "The old man is not here, but confined in the room in the church tower yonder. Fare you well." When Jack was left alone, he sat down on his bedside like one stunned. Burned! That good, innocent old man! That one whom he loved like a father—who had been truly, and not in mere name, a spiritual father to him. Burned alive! And he was to see it! There was no escape. He was in hands which knew not how to show mercy, and which would never spare him one pang.