"That he will, the good man," returned Mary. "Better man never lived, for all they call him a Lutheran. But you know, Master Jack, my poor husband died without the sacraments, and I would ill like to have such a thing happen again in my house." Jack quieted the good woman with renewed assurances that he would send for Sir William if it became necessary. He reminded her that the stranger was very weak, and it was not worth while to oppose his wishes when a little thing might set him back and perhaps throw him into a fever. "I dare say you are right," said Mary. "I will get you some supper and make ready a comfortable morsel to eat during the night, for you must take care of your own health, you know, and you have been delicate of late." Jack was too much excited with the discovery he supposed himself to have made, to feel hungry; but he was one who could put his own feelings aside for the sake of other people. He consented to eat some supper to satisfy Mary's hospitable thought, and found, as young people are apt to, that he was hungry enough to do full justice to the savory fare she had provided. He then stole back to the sick man's chamber, where a cheerful little fire was already burning, while a pile of wood and fagots offered the means of replenishing it during the night. Mary Brent moved about gently putting matters in order, and covering a little table in one corner with refreshments for the watcher as well as the invalid. Finally she beckoned Jack aside and, with rather a mysterious air, opened a little cupboard, hidden by a piece of tapestry: "Here are some books which belonged to my poor husband," said she. "I found them when I was putting the house to rights, and hid them away that the children might not see them, for I cannot read, and know not whether they be good books or no. But I dare say they will not hurt you, and they may serve to help you keep awake." Jack looked over the books, which were partly written and partly printed. They formed an odd collection of Canterbury tales, lives of saints, and one or two old romances. He turned them over and at last discovered, hidden under the disguise of a volume of ballads, a manuscript book carefully written out. He took it to the fire to examine it, and read on the title— "This boke ys the boke of the prophet Isiach, written out by me from a boke of the Scripture which a man had in Antwerp, and ys doubtless ye trew word of ye livinge God." Underneath was written in the same hand— "O Lord, how long." Jack was overjoyed at the discovery. He had never seen any part of the Old Testament except the Psalms, and could hardly believe in his good fortune. He looked the books over once more, and found a part of St. John's Gospel, evidently copied by the same hand.