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"EXILED, AND YET AT HOME."
WE rode all that night, and in the morning we found ourselves in a small seaport town, or rather fishing village, for it was little more. There was but scant time for me to observe it. There was a low-lying fog, and we could not even see the edge of the water in the dull twilight. A breeze sprung up with the sun, however, the fog lifted like a curtain, and showed a tolerably-sized vessel lying off shore.
"There she is, thank Heaven!" said our conductor. "But we must waste no time. It will not do to lose this breeze."
We rode straight to the water's edge, where our conductor made a signal. A boat put off from the ship, and in a few minutes we found ourselves on board.
What a strange, desolate thing it seemed to watch the shore of England fading away, and think that in all likelihood, I should never see it again. In truth, we came near to never seeing any shore again, for the breeze increased to a gale, and for some time we were in a good deal of danger. But our ship was stout, and the Dutch are bold and skillful sailors, and so it came to pass that on the fifth morning after leaving England, I opened my eyes, and, looking at the tiny window, I caught sight of a low-lying bit of green.
I was not many minutes in arranging my dress and joining my uncle on deck. What a strange scene it was! We were sailing on what seemed a great inland lake, shifting our course every five minutes. All about, now near at hand, now on the far horizon, were long lines of high green banks, over which peeped, now and then, the top of a tree, or a fantastical church steeple, with a fish-shaped weather-vane. The sky was clear, and a fresh, pleasant breeze was blowing; but the water was still rough from last night's storm, and seemed, even to my inexperienced eye, to be full of currents and eddies.
It was the oddest landscape, if landscape it could be called, that I had ever seen, and seemed as if it might have come up from Neptune's kingdom, like a whale, to have a breath of fresh air and a look at the world, and might be expected to dive again at any moment. And, indeed, it hath a trick of diving at times with unreverent suddenness. More than once while I lived there, we heard of a whole town or district disappearing in the night, leaving no trace to show where it had been.
"What is this, uncle?" I asked.
"This is Holland, my niece—Holland, our asylum, and that of many another wanderer. These are the Isles of Zealand, and we shall soon be at home."
My uncle spoke in a tone of enthusiasm which I could not understand.
"And what are these great green banks which we see on every side? Are they ramparts?"
"Ay, child, ramparts against the Dutchman's greatest foe and best friend, the sea. But for them, all yonder fertile fields would be under water, or at least but stagnant morasses, the haunts of wild fowl."
"The enemy seems to have had the best of it yonder!" said I, pointing to a place where innumerable active little figures were running to and fro, like ants in a disturbed ant-hill.
"Yes, I doubt we shall hear of mischief," said the captain, who could speak English very well. "Such a gale as we have had makes wild work with the dykes, though 'twas not as bad as though it had blown from another quarter."
"But who has built all these great arks?" I ventured to ask, looking with amazement at the high banks and heavy stone-work, which I could now see quite plainly.
"The Hollanders and Zealanders themselves, young lady!" Answered the captain, with justifiable pride. "For three hundred years and more, we have been conquering this country from the sea. Some time or other we may have to conquer it again from another power, who knows?"
Who knew, indeed! Only, a few weeks ago I heard that in their contest for liberty with the cruel Spaniards, the Hollanders had cut these same dykes, and let in the salt sea on their grand farms and beautiful towns. Any one who has ever lived in Holland will understand what must have been their zeal for liberty to make them willing to let so much dirt into their houses. I hope with all my heart they may succeed, for if any people on earth have the right to their own country it is the Dutch.
"When shall we be at Rotterdam?" asked my uncle.
"Why, that is more than I can tell," was the answer, "but if all goes well, I hope we shall find ourselves at the Boomtzees to-morrow morning. You know, my friend, this is not a channel to be walked over blindfold."
I could not help seeing that for myself as I observed how carefully our good captain watched the course of the vessel and how often he heaved the lead. I understood that the gale by disturbing the shifting sand and sandbanks had made the navigation more troublesome than usual. In fact, we were aground once, but our commander's seamanship and the rising tide soon took us off. At every possible interval, the men were busy cleaning and scraping, varnishing and painting, so that the ship began to assume quite a holiday appearance.
I went to bed at last, but not to sleep, except by fits and snatches, awakened every moment by the welcome sounds of cocks crowing, cattle lowing, and the lovely music of church bells playing tunes before they struck the hour. At last, weariness conquered and I fell into a deep sleep, from which I was waked by my uncle's voice.
"Come, my maid. Here we are at home. Hasten your preparations that we may go ashore."
It did not seem much like home to me as I followed my uncle along the quay, having a line of ships on one side and a row of fine painted warehouses, and dwellings on the other. I felt more like somebody in a fantastic dream. Here was a warehouse where great foreign looking bales were being carried in, while in the window stood pots of flowers behind the clear glass. There, we met a group of what were evidently country women, who yet wore bands and headdresses of gold and silver, with great gold earrings dangling over their cheeks and bosoms. And again, two maid-servants in the same odd attire were cleaning the outside of a house, yea, scrubbing the very bricks, with as much zeal and apparent pleasure as my Lady Frances would have shown at her music.
And then the language! I could not understand it, and yet it sounded as if I ought to know every word. Presently we turned off the quay, the Boomtzees as they call it, and went through two or three narrow streets, and over more bridges than I ever counted afterward. At last we came into a kind of little place or square where grass was growing, and flowers blooming in little parterres like the figures in a Persian rug. This square was surrounded by neat houses, as fantastically decorated as those we had seen before, and looking as if no dust or smoke had ever dared to come near them. At the largest and handsomest of these, my uncle stopped.
"This is our house," said he. "Pray God we find all well."
He knocked as he spoke, but had hardly withdrawn his hand from the knocker, when a light foot was heard on the stairs, and Avice, looking not at all like a heart-broken widow, threw herself into her father's arms, and drew him into the house. I followed, feeling somehow inexpressibly forlorn and lonely.
"Why how is this?" asked my uncle, holding Avice off and looking at her. "Methinks my drooping flower is blooming again."
"Ay, and with good reason," answered Avice. "After all our fears, Garrett has come home safe and sound, and not much the worse for his captivity among the Moors."
"Heaven be praised! But, daughter, you do not speak to your guest. Do you not know her?"
Avice turned—I verily believe she had taken no note of me before—and looked at me for a moment with a gaze so like one of her old innocent looks of wonder, that I could not forbear smiling.
"Loveday, it is Loveday!" she exclaimed, and I had no cause to find fault with my welcome. I was led up stairs all in a moment, and into a parlor where sat my Aunt Holland, looking not so much older than when I saw her last. What a meeting it was. How we women talked and laughed and cried, and asked endless questions and staid for no answers. How old Sambo, his wool whiter than any sheep's, kissed my hand and blubbered and giggled, all in a breath, and afterward danced a dance of triumph out in the courtyard. By and by Avice would lead me to my room to refresh myself with a change of dress before eating.
I declare, when I was left alone in the room, I was afraid to stir. I thought we had been neat at the convent, but our utmost cleanness was sluttery compared to that which reigned here. The glass windows, which were seen every where in Holland long before they were common in gentlemen's houses in England, were clear as air, and the laced curtains which veiled the lower parts whiter than any snow. Beautiful pots of Delft ware, holding growing and blossoming plants, stood in the window-seat, and the very floor was of rare wood waxed and polished like a mirror, so as to make walking somewhat perilous to the unaccustomed foot. The bed was all in white and pale blue, and there was not so much as a speck of dust to be seen any where.
Avice left the room, and presently came back with an armful of clean linen and a gown. She would help me to dress, but that I would not allow, so bidding me come down when I was ready, she left me. I dressed myself at last, and went back to the room I had left, where I found a table spread with all sorts of good things, while a tall, handsome, solemn-looking maid-servant, wearing the same sort of head ornament I had seen in the street, kept bringing still more. Here I was introduced to my cousin's husband, a stately gentleman, but looking worn and sunburned. I had found my appetite by this time, and did full justice to the dainties before me.
"And Katherine is well?" asked my uncle.
"Yes, very well; and her new babe. The little lad hath had the ague, but is recovered—so she writes."
"Ay, they are like to have a fine wreath of olive branches," said Mynheer Van Alstine, with something of a sigh. "Methinks they might spare us one."
"All in good time," returned my aunt. Then to me: "So you have never married, sweetheart?"
"No, dear aunt," I answered, feeling my cheeks grow red.
"We must find her a husband somewhere," said Mynheer Van Alstine. "It will never do to leave so fine a maid to comb St. Catherine's hair, as they say in France."
"All in good time," repeated my uncle, smiling.
"Loveday is not so old or so foul-favored but she can afford to wait a while to comfort her poor old uncle. What, sweetheart—wilt thou live single for my sake, since my own girls have been carried away captive by these piratical Dutchmen?"
"I desire no better fate," said I.
Whereat he laughed, and addressing himself to his son-in-law, he began to ask about his captivity among the Barbary Moors.
"So they were not unkind to you?"
"Nay, they treated me well enough so soon as they found out I was no Spaniard," answered the gentleman. "They hate the Spaniards, and with good reason."
"I wonder who doth not," said mine uncle, under his breath.
"I had traded with them before now, and could speak their language, after a fashion," continued my cousin Garrett. "I had once been able to do some service to a merchant of Tripoli, and I thought if I could get speech of him, he might do me a good turn. At last, after long waiting, I succeeded in sending him word, and in a few days I found myself in his house and treated with all kindness. He found means for me to go to Smyrna, and from thence the way home was easy."
"It was well you fell into the hands of the Moors, and not into the claws of the Inquisition," said my uncle. "Strange that one should find better treatment at the hands of heathens and infidels than of those who call themselves Christians."
"We may find those same claws clutching at our throats even here, and that before we know it," observed Garrett. "I can tell you, father, I like not the signs of the times. But will you walk to the warehouse with me, and I will see that our fair cousin here hath her finery sent home safely."
"'Tis but little finery the poor maid hath brought with her," answered my uncle, smiling. "Our flight was too secret and sudden for that. But I will walk with you, and we will leave the women to gossip to their heart's content."
"As if they would not gossip worse than any women when they get two or three together," said Avice, laughing. "But sit you down, and rest, Loveday. I will but give some orders, and be with you again directly."
She set an arm-chair for me as she spoke, and I was not sorry to be left alone a few minutes, for my head was fairly whirling.
The room where I sat was wide and high, handsomer than any in Suffolk house, and fairly crowded with carved and inlaid cabinets, damask-covered chairs and little tables. The projecting window was partly veiled by broad white curtains, and just above it was an arrangement of bright mirrors, jointed curiously together, whereof I could not at first perceive the use, but I presently discovered that by it one was enabled to see, without being seen, all that went on in the street. The little square or place before the house was green as emerald, and not a speck or stick was to be seen on its surface, while a pond in the midst gave entertainment to a pair of swans and some white ducks. On the highest chimney of a fine house across the square was a pile of rubbish, at which I was wondering, when I saw a long-legged and long-billed bird alight near it, and begin strutting up and down in a pompous way, that reminded me of the old beadle in our parish church in London.
"What is that bird?" I asked of Aunt Joyce, who just then entered the room.
"Why 'tis a stork, child. The people here treat them as a kind of sacred animal, and the man who should kill one would be looked upon as a murderer. 'Tis counted a very lucky thing to have a stork's nest on one's house. We have a fine one. 'Tis said that the young birds will carry their old parents on their shoulders, and that the parents will perish in the fire rather than desert their young. Every one is glad to see the storks come back in the spring."
"No wonder, if they are such good creatures. But, aunt, are all the people here as neat in their ways as my cousin? The house is so clean, I am almost afraid to move for fear of soiling something."
"You will see," answered my aunt. "I do think, niece, that Dutch women in general think of their houses not so much as places to dwell in, as objects on which to exercise their love for cleansing. 'Tis said that the pastor of Brook, which is the very Paradise of neatness, found it hard to interest the women of his parish in heavenly things, till he described Heaven as a place where golden pavements admitted of unlimited scouring. Avice falls in with these ways easily enough. You know she was always a born housekeeper, but I fancy poor Katherine is looked upon as a helpless slattern by her Dutch neighbors. Happily for her, Arthur's congregation is made up of English and Scotch people, who are not quite so particular."
"And Katherine is happy in her marriage?"
"Oh, yes. Her husband is one of the best of men, and she hath four lovely babes—the last I have not seen. They are not rich, nor ever will be, at least in this world's goods, but they have treasure in Heaven, ay and in this world also. I never saw a better ordered family of children. 'Tis a great grief to Garrett and Avice that they have none; but, as I tell them, there is time enough, and it may be better after all," said my aunt, sighing. "In a gale, those are best off who spread the least sail."
"But is not the Protestant religion allowed here?" I asked, in surprise. "I thought there was no danger on that score."
"'Tis rather winked at than allowed," replied my aunt. "The emperor is a crafty man, and knows well the temper and drift of this people. I believe he will avoid a quarrel if he can, and he is not a man to be driven by the Church of Rome further or faster than he likes to go. But he grows old, and talks at times of abdicating in favor of his son, who is, as all men say, a cold, cruel bigot, valuing nothing so much as what he calls—God save the mark—Christian and Catholic unity. I believe the hour which puts the reins into his hands will be a sad one for Holland."
"Heaven help us," said I. "Is there to be no rest in this world?"
"Not that I know of," replied my aunt, with that sweet, wise smile that I remembered so well. "The Master, at least, has promised us none, and what right have we to expect peace with His worst enemy. Mark my word, child, if the day ever does come that the church and the world have no controversy, that will be the worst day the church will ever see. But now tell me of our friends, the Davises. Were they not greatly relieved to hear of Margaret's safety?"
"They had not heard it, the last I knew," I answered, surprised. "Where is she?"
"At Amsterdam, with her husband, who has fallen on his feet as I may say, having gotten work in one of the great printing houses, where his skill hath already raised him to a high place, and Margaret hath a school for young maids, which is very successful."
"And so it should be. One better fitted for such an office could not be. I hope I may see her, for she hath been one of the best friends I ever had."
But I must not linger over the history of those quiet, happy days; for happy they were spite of the secret grief and longing which no one guessed—or so I believed. I had thought the matter over and over, and had gained all the light I could from an honest Study of Holy Scripture, and I could not see that I was guilty of any sin in loving Walter Corbet. It was not sacrilege, as I had first believed, since no word in the Bible prohibited priests from marrying. I might make my love a sin, it was true, if I let it make me gloomy or discontented; if I brooded over it and occupied my thoughts therewith so as to interfere with my duties to God or man. But this I was humbly resolved not to do. My Father had laid this cross upon me, and I would bear it till he saw fit to remove it, or to change it for that crown which he hath promised to them that endure to the end. I had read some romances and tales of maids who died for love or had unworthily cast themselves away. The first might perhaps come—the last I thought never. It seemed to me, and does so seem now, that the very fact of a woman's loving honestly would make her self-respecting and discreet. Passion might make women act unworthily—true love never!
Thus thinking and resolving, I went to work with all my might at whatever my hands could find to do, and I only wished it were more. Garrett Van Alstine was still rich despite a few losses, and my uncle was also well-to-do. Servants were plenty, and I soon found the Dutch maids brooked little interference with their ways. There seemed to be no indigent people; one never saw a beggar in the street; and even in the poorest parts of the town there were the same comfort and neatness, though of course not the same amount of luxury, which were found in our own neighborhood.
I made a long visit to Katherine, and one to Margaret Hall, in Amsterdam. I could have found plenty to do in either place, for Kate's olive branches, as Garrett called them, had sprung very close together, and though Arthur's congregation gave according to their means for their pastor's support, yet those means were not great. There were plenty both of steps and stitches to be taken in the little parsonage, and I would have liked well to stay with Katherine, whose English ways, to tell the honest truth, suited me better than Avice's Dutch ones.
Margaret Hall was, if not rich, yet well-to-do. Her school had grown to as large a size as she could manage, and both she and her husband would have liked me to take it off her hands, and have her free to help her husband in correcting of the press and the like. The work would have suited me well enough, but my uncle would not hear of my leaving him, and indeed showed more of his old choleric temper on the occasion than I had yet seen. Of course his will was my law, so I said no more about the matter.
At last however, I found work nearer home. There was an English congregation in Rotterdam, at present without a pastor. Many of them were poor people who had fled on account of their faith, losing all for the sake of the gospel. I soon got in the way of visiting among them, and finding there were a good many children, I proposed to my uncle with some diffidence—not knowing how he would like it—that I should set up a small school for the little maids, where they could learn to read, sew and spin, and other such arts as should help them to earn a living. I was pleasantly surprised to find him take up the idea with great pleasure, saying that he had often wished some one would do that work. The parents of the children were equally pleased. My uncle found out and furnished a small room, and I discovered a suitable assistant—such a person as we now should call a dame—in an elderly widow without children, a part of whose house we rented for the school. I soon had my rooms full of the little English girls, and there I regularly spent half my day overseeing the work, teaching the little things to read the Scriptures, and now and then moderating a little Dame Webster's zeal for discipline.
In this way I spent a not unhappy year, attending to my schools, taking lessons in lace-making and entertaining my uncle and cousins in the evening with music when we had no guests, which was not often, for Avice was in great favor with her husband's large family, and the good folks quickly adopted me as a kinswoman. I learned to talk Dutch pretty fluently, by the simple process of talking right or wrong, and by reading such books as I could lay hands on. My cousin's house was one of the gathering places of the distinguished reformers whereof Holland was full of at that time. They were a wonderful scholarly set of men, and much given to long theological discussions on matters which, it seemed to me, were altogether beyond the scope of human reason. Many times the discussion waxed so warm that I thought it would end in a downright rupture, but all would presently be friends again over the dainty supper dishes which Avice provided on these occasions, and I never saw men enjoy good things more.
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ANOTHER HOME.
AUGUST had come round again. Such of the Dutch merchants as had places in the country retired to them and passed long hours contemplating their flower beds and their fat cows. For my own part, I liked Rotterdam better since there, at least, we had the fresh sea-breeze. Truth to tell, with all its neatness, Holland is not a savory country in hot weather.
Garrett and Avice had gone down to visit Katherine, and the maids had seized on the chance for a perfect carnival or orgy of brushing and scrubbing, though the house was always as clean as hands could make it. However, Gatty had brought me that morning a very small spider web, tenanted by a very little spider, as a triumphant justification of her proceedings. So I had nothing to say, and, indeed, I always carefully abstained from meddling in the housekeeping. I was tired and discouraged—I suppose such times come to every one—feeling that my burden had been carried long enough, and that I could not bear it any longer. I was not very well either, having been troubled of late with one of those irregular agues which are the plague of that country. I had heard a rumor that morning that a new pastor was coming to the English congregation, but I did not know his name, and felt, just then, no great interest in the matter, beyond hoping that he would not interfere with my little school.
I was glad to find, on arriving at home, that the maids had so far finished their operations that the house was once more habitable. I looked into my aunt's room, and seeing her comfortably dozing in her chair, I went to my own, and indulged in a fit of weeping, which was an unusual thing with me. I was just washing my face and making myself presentable when I heard my uncle's voice calling me. I hurried my preparations, knowing his impatience at being kept waiting, but was not quite ready when I heard him coming up two steps at a time.
"Come, come, girl, what needs all this prinking?" he asked, as I opened the door. "Here is a messenger from our good protector and friend, his Grace of Suffolk."
I was not long in following him down stairs, and into the parlor. The queer feeling of knowing all about it came over me as I entered the room, and was not one bit surprised to see Walter Corbet, thin and worn, and dressed like a common sailor, talking with my Aunt Holland.
Our greeting was quiet and natural enough, but our eyes told their tale to each other, and I fancy also to my aunt and uncle, for I saw a smiling glance pass between them.
"This is the Duke's messenger, and also our new English pastor, albeit he looks not very reverend in his present attire!" said mine uncle. "But ''tis not the cassock that makes the priest,' is an old and pithy proverb. Kinsman, you are most welcome. And how left you the Duke and Duchess?"
"Well in health, but in deep affliction," answered Walter. "They have lost their two promising young sons."
"Alas, the sweet babes, are they gone?" I said. "What ailed them?"
"The sweating sickness. My Lady Frances also had it, but recovered, thanks to her mother's nursing. 'Twas most sweet to see how her Grace put aside her own grief to attend on her step-daughter, and comfort her husband. But the blow hath been a terrible one for his Grace. I doubt he will hardly recover it."
"My mistress was ever a most noble lady, and the best of wives and mothers," said I. "I can believe any good of her, whether in prosperity or adversity."
"And his Grace keeps court favor still?" asked mine uncle.
"Ay—that is, he keeps that of the king, albeit he has enemies enough, for he hath never made any secret of his principles. Gardiner hates him, like the venomous adder that he is."
"Nephew, nephew, deliver all with charity!" said my aunt, rather shocked.
"I crave pardon, madam—of the snake," answered Walter, with a flash of his old fun in his eyes. "The poor reptile at least only acts out his nature, and uses no deceit. Gardiner is as much a Papist as ever he was, and so it will be seen if that side ever again gets uppermost."
"But will it ever, think you?"
"Not if our gracious Prince Edward is preserved to us. But he is a delicate lad, or so it is said, and failing him the Lady Mary is the next heir. Every one knows what her bent is; and besides that, her nature has been cankered and embittered by her own wrongs and those of her mother."
"Small wonder, poor thing!" remarked my uncle. "Yet might she remember that both Tyndale and Luther took her mother's part. But come to my room, kinsman, and change your dress for somewhat more befitting, and then, when you have dined, we will hear your adventures."
Walter's adventures were soon told. He had fallen under suspicion for preaching and teaching, and his Grace had thought it best for him to fly while there was yet time. He had heard that a new pastor was needed in the English community at Rotterdam, and had come hither to offer his services, till the time should come when he could return in safety to his beloved cure in Devon.
I know not exactly how the matter was arranged, but Walter was soon installed as pastor over the small English congregation, and delivered his first sermon to the satisfaction of every one; though I believe some of the Dutch scholars who attended on the occasion, thought he was not sufficiently metaphysical, and that he dwelt too much on the need of good works. But his own people were content; so it mattered the less. A small parsonage was attached to the church, presided over by a somewhat severe English dame, and here Walter took up his lodging, though I think he supped as often at our house as at his own.
A month after he was fairly settled in his new home and occupation, Walter asked me to be his wife. It was no great surprise to me, and I did not pretend that it was; but I asked him if his conscience was quite clear as to marrying after he had taken his vow of celibacy.
"Absolutely so!" he answered. "My vow was taken in ignorance, and because I was misled to believe that the Law of God required priests to live a single life. Now I find that not only is there no such law, but that St. Peter himself was married, and carried his wife with him on his apostolic journeys, as did St. James and the brethren of the Lord, and that St. Paul expressly asserts his right to do the same if he chooses. * And I can not bring myself to believe that the state of life chosen by the Holy Spirit as an emblem of the union between the Lord and his church can be of itself unholy. But how is it with yourself, my dear one?"
* Farrar argues very plausibly that St. Paul was probably a widower.
"Oh, I settled the matter long ago!" I answered, incautiously, and then covered my face with my hands, overwhelmed with confusion as I thought of the admission I had made.
"Why, then all is well!" said Walter. "And with your good leave, I will tell your uncle that you are not disinclined to take command of the parsonage and its master."
"And how think you Mistress Jennings will like to have a young lady put over her?" I asked.
"If she be not pleased, she hath an easy remedy—she can retire!" said Walter. "But I think not we shall have any trouble with her."
There was no reason for delay, since every body was pleased with the match.
True, I had not a tithe of the body and house linen considered indispensable for every bride in Holland. But, as I said, the Van Alstine family had kindly adopted me for a kinswoman from the first, and they now came forward with the most munificent presents from their abundant stores. (It grieves me to the heart even now to think how much of my setting out I had to leave behind me.) Such towels and sheets, such table-cloths and napkins, such treasures of old lace and embroidered counterpanes! Every good mother in Holland, as soon as a girl is born to her, begins to prepare these things for her wedding, and by the time the child is old enough to be married, she has linen enough to last her lifetime.
Garrett and Avice would give me my wedding dresses, and my uncle refurnished the house from top to bottom. Arthur and Kate came from Middleburg, and Arthur married us.
Contrary to Walter's expectation, Mistress Jennings took his marriage exceedingly ill, and abdicated at once, saying she would have no fine young lady set over her head. I was not at all sorry. When she found her retirement made no such sensation as she expected, she offered very condescendingly to remain and put the new mistress in the way of managing her household.
But as it happened, the new mistress thought she know how already; so we let her go, and I hired a nice, strong, clever English wench, who I thought would be sufficient for us at present, with occasional help from outside on emergencies.
It was a very happy home which was covered by the many-cornered red-tiled roof of the little parsonage. I think old Madame Van Alstine, Garrett's step-mother, had no fears for us after a pair of storks settled themselves on one of our chimneys. It is the storks in Holland which bring all the babies, but they never brought us any. It was a grief at the time, but we came to see that all was ordered aright, and the want was made up to us afterward. I had the more time to give to the school and the work of the church. After a time, Katherine spared to me one of her daughters who was and hath ever been a great comfort to us.
The year after my marriage, my Aunt Joyce died, at the age of ninety-eight. She was well and able to wait upon herself to the very last day of her life. Avice had a fine little maid by that time, and my aunt was at the christening and gave the babe her own name. The next morning, when Avice went to call her as usual, she was no longer there. She had evidently passed away in her sleep. It was a happy death, but we missed her sorely. Of all women I ever saw, she had the most excellently even temper and discretion. As the saying is, one always knew where to have her. This was the only important change which took place in our family for five years.
I had come to look upon Holland as home, and my English life was almost like a dream. We heard of things going from bad to worse, of the king's uncertain temper and continual change of policy, of Protestants and Papists alike being hanged and burned for their religion. Nor were we wholly without fears for ourselves. There were ominous growlings of subterranean thunder, rumors of the establishment of the Holy Office in Holland, of new imposts and severe laws against sectaries; but as yet the storm which is now raging over that brave and unhappy people did but mutter in the distance. Walter and my uncle used to talk about England by the hour, but for myself, I must say, I was never homesick, save when I thought of certain sparkling springs and the like. I would have loved to see a babbling brook once more.
We had just kept our Christmas holidays, with the usual interchange of gifts and distribution of spiced and gilded cakes. I remember I was putting away a famous one, mounted on a fine china dish, which Wilhelmina Bogardus had sent me for a present. We had begun to get china dishes then, but they were a great rarity, and right pleased I was with my New Year's gift. All at once the door was opened, and in came my husband, my uncle and Garrett Van Alstine, all talking together, and so full of their tidings that they actually forgot to wipe their feet, and brought more mud into my parlor than Garrett would ever have dared to take into his own house, that I know.
"News, my love! Great news!" said Walter. "King Henry is dead. And Prince Edward now is king. Now may we return in peace to our home in dear old Devon, and dwell once more among our own people."
This was the first time that I realized how constantly my husband had cherished the hope of returning to his old cure. I must say the news did not come to me as to him. I had had enough of removing to and fro. I had many friends in Rotterdam, and none that I knew of in Devon, and I would have been content to spend my life in that same little parsonage, waked every morning by the clatter of the storks and the cry of their young ones. I loved our people and the family which had so frankly and kindly adopted me, and my heart sunk at the thought of such another pulling up as this would be. I answered rather peevishly:
"At all events, you need not bring all Holland in upon my clean floor. We are not going to take the country with us, I suppose."
I was ashamed of myself the moment the words were spoken. The men all looked at me in surprise, and I saw in a moment that my husband was hurt by my outburst.
"Why, what ails thee, this morning?" said mine uncle, laughing. "Art become such a thorough Dutch housewife as to think a little mud on the floor of more matter than the death of a king or the well-being of the church?"
Anneke called me out to the kitchen just then, and I was not sorry to get away and recover my composure. When I had settled the domestic difficulty, whatever it was, I retired to my chamber, and strove by prayer and meditation to bring myself to a better temper. I succeeded so far that I was able to meet my husband with a pleasant face when he came in to dinner, and to ask him particulars of the news he had received from England. He was the same as ever, and told me all he had heard; but he said never a word of returning to Devon, and I felt that I would not trust myself with the subject just now.
We were bidden to supper at Garrett Van Alstine's house that night, to meet the guests who had brought the news. I was pleased to meet in one of them a gentleman I had often seen in her Grace of Suffolk's withdrawing-room— one Mr. Evans, a West country man and a great scholar. While I sat talking with him, I heard Avice say to my husband in a tone of surprise—
"But you will never think of leaving us, and returning to England, surely?"
"Of course not," said Mynheer Bogardus, Garrett's uncle, a very rich and consequential merchant, who always seemed to think he was to carry all before him by sheer force of will. "I take it Master Walter is too wise a man to leave certainty for uncertainty."
"I have hitherto found uncertainty the only certain thing in this world," answered Walter, smiling. "I suppose our poor friends in Honak were as certain of rising in the morning as we are." He alluded to a flourishing village, which only a few days before had been destroyed in the night so that not a trace remained, and that not by an inundation, but by that strange undermining of the sea, which gives no warning, and which has destroyed thousands of lives in Holland.
"But why should you wish to change again?" asked another. "I do not understand that your benefice in England is a very wealthy one."
"I would you could see it," said Walter, smiling, and then turning to me: "Tell me, sweetheart, what would Mistress Van Sittart think were she translated to one of our Devon farmhouses?"
"She would think herself transported to some island of savages," said I; and I could not but laugh as I thought of Carolina Van Sittart, who was a wonder of neatness even among Dutch women, in an ordinary farmer's kitchen, or even a gentleman's dining-hall, in our old neighborhood at Peckham Hall.
"Then I am sure Mistress Corbet will not wish to go," said Carolina. "You would not be so cruel as to carry her off among savages," and with that they all fell upon him at once for thinking of such cruelty.
"As to that, different people have different customs," said I, in some heat, for when it came to the pinch, of course I took Walter's part; "and if the people are such savages, they have the more need of one to teach them the way of life. Here in Rotterdam every one can have at least a Testament, or if not, they can hear the Word read and preached every Sunday."
"True, but how many never do?"
"That is their own fault. I suppose if the apostles had waited till every one in Jerusalem was converted before they preached elsewhere, you might be offering human sacrifices to this day, Mynheer Bogardus, as they say your ancestors, the free Frisians, used to do."
Walter gave me a look and smile that went to my heart, and Mynheer Bogardus muttered something in his beard about women minding their distaffs—as if I could not spin as well as Gatty any day.
"Then you would not mind going," said Avice, with one of her innocent looks of wonder. "You would not mind leaving us all and going into that wild West Country among the moors and hills."
A great lump came into my throat, but I swallowed it, and answered resolutely:
"I do not say that I should choose it, but if my husband's duty leads him thither, 'tis clearly mine not to let him go alone. And as to the moors and hills, I am not sure but I would love to see some land not so flat that a tall man can be seen two miles off. And I am very sure I should like a drink of water from a living spring once more."
A call to supper interrupted the discussion, which was doubtless as well, for I was growing warm, as one is apt to do when arguing against one's self. No more was said at that time, but when we were walking homeward, Walter asked me, saying:
"Sweetheart, did you really mean all you said to-night about going back to Devon? Would you indeed go and content yourself?"
"I would go, of course, if you did," I answered. "I don't pretend to say I should like it as well in all ways, but I doubt not I could content myself, and I am pretty well used to changes."
"Ay, that you are, poor child," said Walter.
"But, husband, I would not have you decide in haste," I added. "Take time to consider. You know Mynheer Bogardus says second thoughts are best."
"And do you think so?" asked my husband, with one of his penetrating looks.
"No; honestly I do not," I answered. "I think when one is habitually guided by high Christian principle, as you are, that the first thought is usually the best, because the second is apt to get mixed up with worldly policy. But, husband, I would have you take time to consider and pray over this matter. Take counsel with Mr. Evans. He knows the West Country well, and can tell you what are the prospects, and I know his Grace over held him in esteem as a wise and sober man. Then if you decide that your duty takes you back to the gray parsonage, your wife will not say one word to withhold you."
Walter pressed my hand. "Your counsel is good, and I will take it," said he; but I knew well enough what the end would be. Men are ever ready to take counsel after they have made up their own minds.
Mr. Evans came to give us a visit next day, and he and Walter had a great talk, I sitting by with my knitting, which I have ever found a great soother of the nerves. * He was, as I had said, a wise and sober man, and a devout Christian. He told Walter, he believed the reign of King Edward would see the Reformed faith set on so firm a basis as that no after persecution could overthrow it.
* Women ought to be forever grateful to the Spanish Moors, who seem first to have brought knitting into Europe from the East.
"The truth spreads more and more among the people, and with it the knowledge of letters. Old men and women can then have books, and their criss-cross row, that they may be able to read the Gospel with their own eyes. There have been great stirrings and preachings about Exeter, and those not always of the wisest kind. 'Tis the tendency of poor human nature ever to run to extremes."
"The more need for preachers who shall not run to extremes," said my husband.
"True," answered Mr. Evans. "There is, indeed, great need of wise and sober preachers and teachers, and that especially among our warm-hearted and quick-witted men of Devon. As to the matter of safety, you are as well off there as here—nay, better, so long as King Edward lives, whom God preserve. I did marvel to hear Mynheer Bogardus speak so confidently last night. Does he forget that Holland is wholly in the power of Spain, and that Spain is ruled by the Inquisition?"
"I think he does, just as the Hollanders forget that the sea is ever watching to take back what they have wrested from it. The emperor hath ever been favorable, rather than otherwise, to his Dutch subjects."
"Ay, but the emperor grows old, and also devout, which last is not of good omen to his Protestant people," answered Master Evans, dryly. "Moreover, if he should abdicate, as you know, he often talks of doing—"
"Think you that will ever happen?"
"That is more than I can say, but if it does it will lay a knife to every Protestant throat in Holland—that am I as sure of as of mine own life."
But I must not make my story too long. Walter did wait, and did think, but his mind was made up from the first, and the first of May saw us packed up and ready to go on board a Dutch vessel trading to Bristol.
'Twas a hard parting, and the more that I had to leave my little Kate behind, her mother not being willing to trust her so far from her own home. I did not blame her, for I knew I should have felt just so in her place, but yet 'twas like parting with a hand to leave the dear child behind. We took our old English maid, Mary Thornton, with us, and I had just seen my good Anneke settled in her husband's farmhouse in such comfort as I would I could see any where here. (I suppose the great farm, with all its crops and barns, its warm house and beautiful pictures, is all under water now.) I will not linger on the parting.
Be it enough to say that we reached Bristol after a somewhat tedious, but very safe voyage, that we had a rough journey from thence to Biddeford, in a dirty little coaster, and at last, a month after leaving home, found ourselves at our own house in the little village or hamlet of Coombe Ashton.