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Updated: June 26, 2025
Dalaber's vivid imagination had been a rather terrible companion for him during these days of darkness and solitude. The authorities had shown some shrewd knowledge of human nature when they had shut him up alone. Some of the culprits had been housed together in the prison, but Dalaber had been quite solitary. It was not so evil a cell that he occupied as some of the others.
The monk was out; and as no time was to be lost, Garret asked the servant on the staircase to show him Dalaber's rooms. As soon as the door was opened, "he said he was undone, for he was taken." "Thus he spake unadvisedly in the presence of the young man, who at once slipped down the stairs," it was to be feared, on no good errand.
They were learning something of its sweetness, of its power, as also of its perplexities and pain. There was no doubt whatever as to the fervency of Anthony Dalaber's love for Freda; whilst Arthur Cole paid such marked attention to Magdalen that she could not but believe him in earnest, albeit no word of love had so far escaped his lips. With July came a change in the situation.
To fly before his persecutors was one thing his conscience did not upbraid him for that; but to go into Dorsetshire, to present himself to Anthony Dalaber's brother under a false name, to become curate to a man whose own brother termed him a "rank Papist" was that indeed his bounden duty? Was that a right or righteous course to pursue? But if he gave up that purpose, what next?
His priest's gown and hood would be a protection to him after he had shaken himself clear of the pursuit which might be set afoot by the proctors. He had Anthony Dalaber's letter in his wallet, and bread sufficient for the day's needs.
When Garret was in Oxford, Fitzjames gave up his share of Dalaber's lodging to him, and betook himself elsewhere; but when they reached the room they found somebody sitting there awaiting them in the dusk, and Dalaber hailed him as Fitzjames. But as the stranger rose he saw that he had been mistaken. It was Arthur Cole, and his face was grave as he quietly closed the door.
A slight flush rose to Dalaber's cheek, which else was unwontedly pale. "Alas, no! He has no knowledge of those things which we prize. There is the trouble. He is a rank Papist. But yet he has a kind heart, and there would surely be no need to speak of such matters with him. You would have your duties to do, as in London, in church and parish.
Dalaber's manner was bold, and to them aggressive. The poor youth at heart felt fearful enough as he marked the anger his obstinacy had aroused; but he was resolved not to show fear, and not to betray others. He admitted freely that he had helped Garret in the distribution of the forbidden books.
One man, seeing Dalaber's gaze fixed upon him, went up to him almost defiantly and said: "Are you spying upon us poor citizens, to whom is denied aught but the ashes of the bread of life?" Dalaber looked him full in the face, and spoke the words he had heard from Clarke's lips the previous evening: "Crede et manducasti." Instantly the man's face changed. A light sprang into his eyes.
The piercing gaze of the cardinal was fixed upon Dalaber's strenuous face. All weakness had vanished from it now. It was full of passionate earnestness and dauntless courage. His dark eyes met those of Wolsey without fear or shrinking. The loftiness of a great resolve, a great sacrifice, was shining in them.
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