voice, as they prepare to read the intercepted
letter of Richard Calle, with sundry glosses.

"Minion," says the mother, "know you
this superscription?"

"It is a letter from my own Richard," cries
the delighted girl; "will you give it me?"

"Assuredly not. It convicts you of being a
false liar,—or it lies itself. Did you not, with
the fear of close custody, and bread and
water, and may be some healing stripes, before
your eyes, affirm that there was no contract
between the dry-goodsman and yourself?"

"Mother, I own my sin; I did affirm it,
but I was wrong, and I am penitent."

"Vile brethel!" exclaims the mother.

"She mentioned it not, even under the seal
of confession," adds the priest.

"Yes, once in the week or twice, and
sometimes twice a day, and she made an excellent
wife, by reason of the frequent beatings, and
brought up her children accordant,"
soliloquises the old lady.

"Daughter, I conjure you to hear what
this vile Richard Calle sayeth to you. Tell
me that it is false—tell me that he is a bold
liar, when he affirmeth that you are
contracted, and you shall at once have all freedom
and reasonable pleasure; but if not—"

"Mother, I listen."

"Hear, then, what this abominable bill
imports. Sir James, please to read."

"'To Mistress Margery Paston:

"'Mine own lady and mistress, and before
God very true wife, I, with heart full, very
sorrowfully recommend me unto you, as he
that cannot be merry, nor nought shall be,
till it be otherwise with us than it is yet; for
this life that we lead now is neither pleasure
to God nor to the world, considering the great
band of matrimony that is made betwixt us,
and also the great love that hath been, and as
I trust yet is, betwixt us, and as on my part
never greater. Wherefore I beseech Almighty
God comfort us as soon as it pleaseth Him;
for us that ought of very right to be most
together, are most asunder. Meseemeth it is
a thousand years ago that I spake with
you—"

Margery here bursts into a passion of tears;
and her mother, almost weeping too, ejaculates,
"My poor child!" The priest looks
at the lady somewhat spitefully, and
proceeds:

"'I had liever than all the good in the world
I might be with you. Alas! alas! good lady,
full little remember they what they do that
keep us thus asunder. Four times in the year
are they accursed that let matrimony—'"

"Accursed, are they?" exclaims the priest.
"Ban and anathema against us, my worshipful
lady! But there are others, I wot, that the
Church holds accursed; and this base
mechanical be one of them, if I mistake not. Did
I not once hear him say—for the varlet ever
had privilege to speak in this house, when his
betters held their peace—did I not hear him
once say that his father had told him that he
had seen the heretic priest, John Waddon,
burnt at Framlingham, and that he (shame
that such an unbeliever might presume to
speak upon matters of the Church!) thought
that the knowledge of the truth was not
advanced by such terrors, and that those who
lit the fires for the Lollards had no sanction
in the Gospel of Christ. For mine own part, I
well believe that he has seduced our daughter
from her obedience by his false and damnable
opinions. Mistress Margery, did he never
open in your presence the book of that arch
heretic, John Wiclif, which is called 'The
Book of the New Law'—the book which, in
the Constitution of Archbishop Arundel, was
forbidden to be read, under pain of the greater
excommunication?"

The maiden answers not. The priest, looking
earnestly at Mistress Margaret Paston,
asks her if she did not think that there was a
possibility of such a devilish corruption having
gone forward; and Mistress Margaret, her
cheek colouring a deep red, and then having
an ashy paleness, speaks no more for good or
evil to her daughter, but quails before the
priest. He has her secret. There is a
treasured volume in that house, which has
been carefully locked up for half a century, to
be looked upon in the secret hour, when prying
eyes are sleeping, and in the hour of
tribulation, when careful eyes are waking.
With Richard Calle, Mistress Margaret had
often spoken of this book; although even to
possess it was to risk a charge of "Lollardie,"
with all its penalties. The priest sees his
triumph; and proceeds to make an end of as
much of the letter as he chooses to read:—

"'I understand, lady, ye have had as much
sorrow for me as any gentlewoman hath had
in the world, as would God all that sorrow
that ye have had, had rested upon me, and
that ye had been discharged of it; for I wis,
lady, it is to me a death to hear that ye be
entreated otherwise than ye ought to be; this
is a painful life that we lead. I cannot live
thus without it be a great displeasure to
God.'"

"He thought not of God's displeasure when
he presumed to speak of love to a daughter of
the Pastons," says the priest. "A
granddaughter of Sir William Paston, one of his
Majesty's Justices," mutters the ancient lady.
Sir James continues to read the missive:—

"'I suppose they deem we be not ensured
together, and if they do so I marvel, for then
they are not well advised, remembering the
plainness that I brake to my mistress at the
beginning, and I suppose by you, both; and ye
did as ye ought to do of very right; and if ye
have done the contrary, as I have been
informed ye have done, ye did neither
consciencely, nor to the pleasure of God, without
ye did it for fear, and for the time, to please
such as were at that time about you; and if
ye did it for this cause, it was a reasonable cause,
considering the great and importable calling
upon ye that ye had; and many an untrue tale