Six Hundred Years ago—What things were like. The afternoon service was over in Lincoln Cathedral, and the congregation were slowly filing out of the great west door. But that afternoon service was six hundred years ago, and both the Cathedral and the congregation would look very strange to us if we saw them now. Those days were well called the Dark Ages, and how dark they were we can scarcely realise... more...

Chapter One. The Dwellers at Selwick Hall. “He would be on the mountain’s top, without the toil and travail of the climbing.”—Tupper. Selwick Hall, Lake Derwentwater, October ye first, Mdlxxix. It came about, as I have oft noted things to do, after a metely deal of talk, yet right suddenly in the end. Aunt Joyce, Milly, Edith, and I, were in the long gallery. We had been talking a while... more...

Preface. More than three hundred years have rolled away since the events narrated in the following pages stirred the souls of men; since John Bradford sat down to his “merry supper with the Lord;” since Lawrence Saunders slept peacefully at the stake, lifted over the dark river in the arms of God; since Ridley and Latimer, on that autumn morning at Oxford, lighted that candle in England which they... more...

Chapter One. The last Night in the Old Home. “Which speaks the truth - fair Hope or ghastly Fear?        God knoweth, and not I.Only, o’er both, Love holds her torch aloft,        And will, until I die.” “Fiddle-de-dee! Do give over snuffing and snivelling and sobbing, and tell me if you want your warm petticoat in the saddle-bag. You’d make a saint for... more...

Preface. This is not a story which requires much preface. The tale speaks for itself. But it is only right to inform the reader, that the persons who play their parts in it (apart from the historical details given) are all fictitious, excepting John Laurence and Agnes Stone. It rests, under God, with the men and women of England—and chiefly with those of them who are young now—whether such events... more...

Castles in the Air. “O pale, pale face, so sweet and meek, Oriana!” Tennyson. “Is the linen all put away, Clarice?” “Ay, Dame.” “And the rosemary not forgotten?” “I have laid it in the linen, Dame.” “And thy day’s task of spinning is done?” “All done, Dame.” “Good. Then fetch thy sewing and come hither, and I will tell thee somewhat touching the lady whom thou art to... more...

Preface. On the crowded canvas of the fourteenth century stands out as one of its most prominent figures that of the warrior Countess of Montfort. No reader of Froissart’s Chronicle can forget the siege of Hennebon, and the valiant part she played in the defence of her son’s dominions. Actuated by more personal motives than the peasant maid, she was nevertheless the Joan of Arc of her day, and of... more...

Preface. The historical portion of this tale has been partially narrated in one of my previous volumes, “In All Time of our Tribulation,” in which the Despenser story is begun, and its end told from another point of view. That volume left Isabelle of France at the height of her ambition, in the place to reach which she had been plotting so long and so unscrupulously. Here we see the Nemesis come... more...

Choosing a new gown. “Give you good den, Master Clere!” said a rosy-faced countrywoman with a basket on her arm, as she came into one of the largest clothier’s shops in Colchester. It was an odd way of saying “Good Evening,” but this was the way in which they said it in 1556. The rosy-faced woman set down her basket on the counter, and looked round the shop in the leisurely way of somebody... more...