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Updated: June 5, 2025
Wycliffe always renders "Bisschopis" the word translated "chief priests" in the authorised version. The farewell phrase which has in modern times been shortened into "good-bye." "Christ is at hand to scorn or bless Christ suffers in our strife." Christian Year. In the evening, as previously ordered, Margery quitted Marnell Place in her litter for her prison in the Tower.
And from the outskirts of the crowd comes another voice which is very like the voice of Richard Pynson "The noble army of martyrs praise Thee," softly adds old Carew. Thus did Margery Marnell glorify the Lord in the fires. "So that day there was dole in Astolat." Tennyson. The winter had just given place to spring, and a bright, fresh morning rose on Lovell Tower.
The Abbot cast a glance from the corner of his eye at Lord Marnell, but made no answer, save to tell his beads more devoutly than ever. "Hast no other place to tell thy beads in?" asked that nobleman. The Abbot rose without a word, and, pausing at the door, stretched his hand over the assembled trio, and muttered some words to himself.
He was very sorry, but he really could not ask the King's pardon for a Lollard. Lord Marnell would have given his whole fortune to undo his own work of the last eighteen months. He had never dreamed that Abbot Bilson would have summoned the archbishop to his aid, nor that Margery would have stood half as firmly as she had done.
"And I pray you for to tell me whence you had it, good my Lady?" said he, rather ironically. Margery was silent. She was determined to bear the blame alone, and not to compromise either Pynson or Carew. "Had you this book since you came hither?" said Lord Marnell, varying the form of his question, when he saw she did not answer. "No, my Lord. I brought it with me from home."
Lord Marnell, who kept fidgeting up and down the room, seemed almost annoyed at the Abbot's extreme suavity. "You had this book from a friend, methinks?" resumed the Abbot. "I cannot tell you, father, whence I had it," was Margery's firm reply. The Abbot looked surprised. "Did our brother Rous lend it you?" he asked, his manner losing a small portion of its extraordinary softness. "Nay."
He only knew her as a fragile, gentle, submissive girl, and never expected to find in her material for the heroine or the martyr. Lord Marnell tried to procure the mediation of everybody about the Court; but all, while expressing great sympathy with him, declined to risk their own necks. Even the King's sons said they dared not comply with his request.
"Away with thee, Lucifer, and thy maledictions!" exclaimed Lord Marnell. "There be here who are nearer to the angels than ever thou shalt be!" Suddenly the Abbot was gone. Nobody had seen or heard him depart he seemed to melt into the night, in some strange, mysterious way. "He is gone, and Satan his master go with him!" said Lord Marnell.
"Not I, by Saint James of Compostella!" exclaimed Lord Marnell. "Were the good King Richard alive and reigning, I would soon let both the Archbishop and the Abbot feel the place too hot for to hold them.
The physician reported that the Lady Marnell had undoubtedly been very ill, but was now better, and ailed nothing but weakness; he accordingly recommended that the examination should take place, but that the prisoner, in consideration of her extreme debility, should be indulged with a seat.
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