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Ask the Lord what thou wilt, Cis, if it be His will; only remember that His will is best for us the happiest as well as the most profitable." "Wilt shut up o' thy preachment?" shouted Wastborowe, with a severe blow to Johnson. "Thou wilt make the child as ill an heretic as thyself, and we mean to bring her up a good Catholic Christian!" Johnson made no answer to the gaoler's insolent command.
"`Agnes Bowyer'," repeated Wastborowe in some perplexity. "Your name's not Bowyer; it's Bongeor." "Bongeor," said its bearer. "Is my name wrong set down? Pray you, Mr Wastborowe, have it put right without delay, that I be not left out." "I should think you'd be uncommon glad if you were!" said he. "Nay, but in very deed it should grieve me right sore," she replied earnestly.
"Will ye be of as good courage, think you," asked Wastborowe, "the day ye stand up by Colne Water?" "God knoweth," was the reverent answer of Mrs Silverside. "If He holds us up, then shall we stand." "They be safe kept whom He keepeth," said Johnson. "Please, Mr Wastborowe," said Cissy in a businesslike manner, "would you mind telling me when we shall be burned?"
"Where's yon companion that wants baking by Lexden Road?" "I am here, Wastborowe," said Mr Ewring, rising. "Good den, friends. The Lord bless and comfort thee, my sister!" And out he went into the summer evening air, to meet the half-tipsy gaoler's farewell of, "There! Take to thy heels, old shortbread, afore thou'rt done a bit too brown. Thou'lt get it some of these days!"
At the door of the dungeon stood the redoubtable Wastborowe, his keys hanging from his girdle, and looking, to put it mildly, not particularly amiable. "Want letting out again by and by?" he inquired with grim satire, as Mr Ewring put the coin in his hand. "If you please, Wastborowe. You've no writ to keep me, have you?" "Haven't worse luck! Only wish I had.
Not many minutes later, Wastborowe entered the dungeon with the writ in his hand. The prisoners were conversing over their supper, but the sight of that document brought silence without any need to call for it. "Hearken!" said Wastborowe.
The Lamb in the midst of the Throne had led them to living fountains of water, and they were comforted for evermore. "Who was that young woman that swooned and had to be borne away?" asked a woman in the crowd of another, as they made their way back into the town. The woman appealed to was Audrey Wastborowe. "Oh, it was Amy Clere of the Magpie," said she. "The heat was too much for her, I reckon."
Sir John's voice called back. "Take 'em down, Tom," said Wastborowe to his man, not at all sorry to go away from Cissy. He ran back to court. "We are of opinion, Wastborowe," said Dr Chedsey rather pompously, "that these children are too young and ignorant to be put to the bar.
She was the only person in the place who was not afraid of her husband. In fact, he was afraid of her when, as he expressed it, she "was wrong side up." "Come, wife! I can't wait," replied Wastborowe in a tone which he never used to any living creature but Audrey or a priest.
Mr Wastborowe, who was drinking ale out of a huge tankard, removed it from his lips to laugh. "Mighty good care thou'lt take, I'll be bound!" "Yes, I do, Mr Wastborowe," replied Cissy, quite gravely; "I dress Father's meat and mend his clothes, and love him. That's taking care of him, isn't it?"
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