"I have not been a good or dutiful daughter," said Anne slowly. "I have lived in a strange, foolish dream all my life, but I see all clearly now—how you have forgiven and borne with and pitied me all the time I was fancying myself so superior and learned and wise—so far above all the rest of you. But, father, I did try to serve God—" "I know you did, daughter. I knew it all the time," said her father. "You have been the best of fathers to me, and you will have your reward," continued Anne dreamily. "Father, what became of the little book I sent Jack?" "I do not know, my love. I suppose he took it with him." "That book finished the work which Agnes began," said Anne. "I fought against it—I fought against my own conscience, with all my might, but God would not let me be lost. Father, if you are ever able, I pray you, for my sake and Jack's, to read and study the Gospel. Never mind what men may say or how they may treat you. The truth is worth it all, and the truth shall make you free." These were the last words she said. Cicely would have sent for a priest, but even while she was speaking of it, all was over. The weary overworked body and the wounded spirit found repose. Toward the close of a pleasant day in the latter part of May, 1538, a gentleman rode through the street of Bridgewater, looking around him with great interest, not so much like a stranger as like one who, having been long away, takes cognizance of things which have happened in his absence. He was a scholarly-looking man of perhaps six or eight and twenty, well dressed and riding a good horse. He turned into Bridge Street and alighted at the door of "John Lucas, white and brown baker and dealer in sweetmeats and spices," as was set forth on a huge signboard decorated with a most ramping lion. "I see no changes here, save that the old lion has been regilt and painted since my day," said the horseman, deliberately surveying the front of the house. "And as I live, I should say there was the very same old cat sitting on the end of the counter. But that can hardly be. I do not see my father, but he may be out." A stout, respectable-looking journeyman came forward to attend to the stranger, who looked at him with attention, and then asked courteously— "Are Master Lucas or any of his family within?" "Not at present," was the reply. "My master and mistress have gone to hear the Bible reading, and Dame Cicely has gone out also. Will it please you to sit down and await their return?" "To the church, to hear the Bible reading!" repeated the stranger with a smile. "That would have been a strange sound years ago, when I left this place. Do they then have regular Bible readings in the church?" "Ay, sir, every afternoon." "And do many people attend to hear?' "Oh, yes, sir. My master hardly ever misses, and, beside that, he reads in the Bible to his family every morning. You may see the great book lying yonder beside his chair." "Is your master well in health?"