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who seemed to be the chief speaker, "are you not, good friend, a clerk in orders ?"

"My history," replied Brother Ambrose, without returning a direct answer to the question, "might be interesting, if it were not that our kind friends here have heard it so often, and will be wearied by the repetition ; besides you must have heard many such."

“ Pray tell it again, Brother Ambrose," eagerly cried Walter, flinging another log on the fire, "it will never become stale in Clairton. You know," said he, addressing one of the strangers next to him, "we all call Brother Ambrose a martyr; and nothing he likes to be called so much. He tells us we all ought to be martyrs in some way or another; so I suppose my turn will come some day."

"GOD Almighty give thee strength to bear it, my son!" exclaimed the old man, with an unwonted solemnity and earnestness of tone that quite thrilled through all hearts. "Mine indeed," he continued, "was a martyrdom, but not such as these our guests may understand; nor am I at all times willing to speak of it, lest peradventure that which the LORD wrought good in me should be evil judged or spoken of by evil minds. Nevertheless, it requires but few words and little space to relate. You remember, friends, how King Henry VIII., GOD rest his soul in peace! set himself to destroy the holy monasteries and religious houses of the land, what havoc he made of them, what treasures he gathered, what works of piety he frustrated, what companies of saints he scattered, what.”

Here one of the strangers slightly coughed, and significantly glanced at his companion. Perceiving this, a transient pallor passed over the speaker's face, and he suddenly checked himself. "Be it kept in mind," he

said, in an altered tone, "that no good child of the Church presumed to rebel against the Royal reformer's decrees in this matter; nor do I, poor ignorant Brother Ambrose, door-keeper of Clairton Abbey, set up myself to be his judge. He had doubtless the best of motives, the LORD's honour and service. His heart longed after the welfare of his country. He had sage and potent counsellors. He hath a Master in heaven, King of kings and LORD of lords, to Whom he must render an account. And now, GOD be merciful to him; his great stewardship is over. Not against him is my heart bitter, but in the memory of sorrows itself suffered through him. I can at this moment vividly recall the wild March night when the summons of the Lord Commissioner's agents was heard at Clairton Abbey gates. No miserere was chanted; no lamentations were uttered; no vain counsel of the brotherhood was taken. In mournful silence we obeyed the summons to the refectory. We passed each other on the staircase, without a word, without a look; for we knew that we should be scattered every man to his own place, and meet in our hallowed home no more.

"I was the last but one called up by the Commission. 'Brother Ambrose,' quoth the Lord Bishop of Chichester, with a consoling and winning smile, 'thou wilt of course take holy orders and become a regular clerk, exchanging this vain and idle life of monkery for an active life of holy duty. Read those papers and sign them. Take the requisite oaths and meet me on Friday, at the Archiepiscopal Palace in Lambeth. Thou wilt perceive that chiefly and especially it is required of thee to swear allegiance to His most sacred Majesty as Head of this Church in England.'

"My Lord,' I exclaimed, 'can it be possible thou art to ask so much of me? can so many of these my brethren

have sworn to reverence a man as the 'supreme head' of the Catholic Church in England? Before God I can take no such oath; nor will I sign the papers. I will live and die a layman.'

"Never, never can I forget the scene that followed. I cannot describe it; better silence should cover it. Enough to say, they could not convince me; so I was turned adrift to beg my bread, having in early life devoted mine all to the Abbey. Yet around the hallowed home of nearly twenty years I fondly lingered, weeping over the remembrance of the past, albeit with little hope of the future save when it shall have brought me to my rest on His bosom Who changeth not. And He, my friends, is a Monastery for faithful souls that never can be broken up by tyranny of man. The simple souls of Clairton knew nothing, cared nothing for my scruples. They only pitied my misfortunes and sought to minister to my needs; so for three years I was entirely supported by their bounty, until Father Austin, the old sub-prior of the Abbey, was made spiritual director or rector of Clairton, and made me what I am, 'a door-keeper in the house of my God.'

دو

"Pray, good brother," here inquired the less talkative but more attentive of the guests, "do you not in your heart secretly love the papacy, and wish it back again as once it was in England ?"

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Many things I wish restored," answered Brother Ambrose, with a searching glance at his interrogator, "because many good things were hastily thrown aside; but not the power of the Bishop of Rome, who, according to God's Word, and the testimony of Catholic doctors hath no more power over this Church in England than the Patriarch of Constantinople."

"What then," rejoined the stranger, "thinkest thou

of our most religious and mighty Queen Elizabeth? She still less desires the things you regret than King Henry did."

"She is my Queen, whom I must and do honour," hastily replied the half-suspecting Brother. "What she hath said of and done for England's Church, others may cavil at, I never. To me God hath mercifully given all I need to support and strengthen and comfort my spirit in His Church as at present she is in this land. Why should I murmur at the loss of minor things which never can be restored ?"

"Truly," answered the elder of the two strangers, there thou speakest and actest like a martyr! But, good Brother, suppose there were gaining ground in England the cause of another royal personage more friendly to the papacy, longing for the full restoration of all that was and calling for the sympathy and help of those who think and feel like her, how should you regard her? To be plain, have you not heard at Clairton of Mary Stewart of Scotland? Is she or is she not the enemy of CHRIST'S true Church in England? Are they who wish her GODspeed traitors to their country, or are they not? Fear not us-we are all simple folk here."

"Come, come, this is rather too close questioning," good humouredly interrupted Walter, with a boyish laugh as he sprang up and threw another log on the fire. "We never talk of such grave matters here. As for me, I don't care whether it is Queen Elizabeth or Queen Mary so long as Brother Ambrose is pleased."

"But," said the last inquirer, in a strangely altered voice, rising with his companion, "The old man answers not, and that question shall be, must be, answered elsewhere."

In a moment, throwing aside the travelling cloak that

had so long concealed them, the two strangers appeared two soldiers, fully armed and prepared against resistance. "Brother Ambrose," quietly remarked the one who had been more quiet during the evening, "I am here under orders from head quarters, to arrest thee in the name of the Queen, as a secret friend and fomenter of the Popish conspiracy, set on foot by the unhappy Mary Stewart, commonly called Queen of Scots."

"Nay, young man," he added quietly, as Walter, with a kindling eye, snatched a staff from the wall and assumed an attitude of resistance. "All opposition were but madness. Within call are ten men-at-arms, who would make the resistance of all in this house but brief. Moreover thou too art our prisoner, involved in the same charge, on the same information with the old man. And thy words this evening, as well as this present show of resistance, fully verify our suspicions of thy guilt." So saying, he roughly seized the young man's uplifted arm, and bound him in spite of his struggles. The other had done the same with Brother Ambrose.

The scene that followed can better be imagined than described. The elder Lacy, after gazing for some moments upon the group in a kind of dumb stupor, suddenly flung himself between Walter and his captor.

"What is this? what have I heard? who are you ?" he cried out, with a look of desperate determination. "By whose authority dare you thus act? We are no rebels here but true and faithful servants of Queen Elizabeth. We know nothing of Popery nor its defenders. Go to! Ye are not soldiers nor constables, but robbers, and men of blood. Ask what ye will, pillage where ye will,-but, in the name of the GOD Whose eye is upon us all,—in the name of justice and common affection, let my lad remain. O, sirs, do not break his mother's heart

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