There were many anxious hearts in England through that long year of trouble, and the enemies of the king rejoiced. On Christmas Eve, at the great mass at St. Peter’s, the darkness of the church was illumined by a thousand tapers, while the marvellous cap and sword were laid upon the altar, consecrated for James of Scotland to unite the enemies of the faith. And in Flanders, Cardinal Pole looked eagerly for the opportunity to overthrow Henry VIII., and for the return of the supremacy of Rome. Across the Channel, plot and counter-plot were hatched, took their course, and died fruitless; while in England, the one man with an iron will, the privy seal, held on his even course, though the waves of popular fury, beating on the ship of state, threatened to overwhelm the pilot. Norfolk, whose heart was doubtless more with the rebels than with the king, was driven against them. The unhappy Northumberland died faithful to Henry, although the fate of Anne Boleyn had prostrated him. The great rebellion spent itself; one after another of its leaders were brought to the Tower. The unfortunate Darcy died, charging it all on Cromwell, and at last, in July, Robert Aske suffered a felon’s death. The Pilgrimage of Grace was over; it had ended in a futile loss of life to the cause of the old religion. “Twice the children of Israel went up against Benjamin,” wrote Cardinal Pole, “and twice they were put to confusion.” In the midst of trials and executions, Raby yet lingered in the Tower untried. Either overlooked in the great pressure of trouble, or held for stronger proof, he and the wizard languished, each in solitary confinement. The king’s officers had taken possession of the strange house on the Thames and searched it, finding many curious contrivances for the execution of the mummeries which had confused the imagination of the magician’s clients. Yet, so exuberant was the superstition of the times, that the exposure of paltry methods of deceit failed to destroy the dread of the small man who had held such sway there. Even the royal officers shrank from their duty, and no one occupied the house; the official seal was affixed to the doors and it remained empty. The shutters, taken down to admit the light for the search, remained so, and the windows blinked in the afternoon sun like evil eyes suddenly unveiled. No man ventured near it after sundown, and many who passed it, even at high noon, made the sign of the cross. A baleful influence seemed to issue from it; the vine that tried to climb up the door-post hung blasted in midsummer, and the grass did not grow, although no footsteps wore the ground about it. There was not an old wife in the neighborhood who had not a tale of how the wizard visited it every night, and how the smoke came from the chimney of his laboratory at the very hour when he had been in the habit of brewing the devil’s tea.