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Updated: September 5, 2025
And God give you to know Christ, and send us a happy meeting in that His blessed habitation, unto the great gladding of your most loving and dutiful daughter, Margery Marnell. "Written this second of March, from the gate of the Urbs Beata." "Whether he go to East or West, With Christ he always is at home." Newton.
"Thou hast well done, Madge!" said Lord Marnell, more kindly than before, as he passed the book to the Archbishop. Arundel, with a muttered curse upon all evil teaching, took the book from Lord Marnell with his hand folded in the corner of his gown, as if he thought its very touch would communicate pollution, and flung it into the fire.
Shall I close the lattice?" "I am not cold, good my Lord, I thank you," said Margery, in a different tone; "but I like not to look upon that man." "Why so?" asked Lord Marnell, looking down from his altitude upon the slight frail figure at his side. "Is he not a noble man and a goodly?" "I know not," answered Margery, still in a troubled voice.
"I beseech you commend me humbly unto the Lord Marnell, if you see him or send to him, and also unto Sir Ralph Marston, when you shall have speech of him; and greet well all the maidens and servants from me. Pray salute also Mistress Katherine on my part, and specially Mistress Alice Jordan.
There was no need, had Margery felt any disposition, to attempt further concealment. The worst that could come, had come. "It is a book of mine," she quietly answered, "which I left here a short season agone, when the boy's cry started me." "Hast read it?" asked Lord Marnell, no less harshly. "I have read it many times, good my Lord."
When Lord Marnell returned to the prison that evening, he found Margery in what he supposed to be a swoon. He summoned the jailer, and through him sent for a physician, who applied restoratives, but told Lord Marnell at once that Margery had fallen, and had received a heavy blow on the head.
O good husband, take these as my dying words, and teach them to the child for the same, `Christ without everything is an hundredfold better than everything without Christ!" Those last words were ringing in Lord Marnell's ears when, about eight o'clock in the morning, he stood on the steps of Marnell Place, looking towards the Tower, and fancying the mournful preparations which were going on there.
"Seest thou not that it is the translation of Scripture whereof the Lord Marnell spake, by Master John Wycliffe, the Lollard priest? Mindest thou not that which he said about Lollards?" "An what if it be?" said the confessor, yawning. "I pin not my faith on my Lord Marnell's sleeve, though it were made of slashed velvet. And I trow Madge hath been too well bred up to draw evil from the book.
Had he been questioning Lord Marnell? Margery's breath came short and fast, and she trembled exceedingly. She was annoyed with herself beyond measure, because, when the Abbot named Richard Pynson, she could not help a conscious blush in hearing him mention, not indeed the person who had actually lent her the book, but one who was concerned in the transaction.
"Hast thou prayed ever for me, good wife?" asked Lord Marnell. "Many times, my good Lord, and I will do so till I die." "The Church teacheth that dying stoppeth not praying," said he. "I wis well that the Church so teacheth; but I saw it not in the book; however, if I find it to be so, I will pray God for thee there also."
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