CHAPTER XXI.

THE PILLORY.

"Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,

His face still combating with tears and smiles,

The badges of his grief and patience,

That had not God for some strong purpose steeled
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him."

SHAKSPEARE.

TEPHEN WREN and Dr. Green were lounging in a private room of the Palace before a table on which was a large beaker of brown ale, and tankards for the drinkers. Wren was in a

military undress, worn with slovenly negligence; and Green appeared in his cassock, or soutane,—very new and clean, but which set ill on his thickset, awkward person.

Both looked excited over the theme of their discourse, and Wren warmly exclaimed, "Green, I know not what to make of you! Why such revenge? The cuckoo is content to seize the nest, but suffers the former dwellers to fly away. Why lay hands on Bridge when you have his living?"

"Stephen," rejoined the other, "do you forget your own father, and the Jesuit who inspires him? It is not their will to let these clergy escape, and breed fresh swarms of sectaries over the sea. They will have their will over Bridge

and Allen, as over others already. But what mean you by pursuing Alice? You would never wed the daughter of a ruined and disgraced heretic! What mean you by this wild-goose chase?"

"Wed!" was the tart reply; "of that you give me a fine specimen. What do I mean? I like the girl ;-she has spirit beyond her training. I will not let George have her, come what will. I will spite him to the death."

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'Then,” said Green, "you have a rare chance, for George is to take Bridge and Allen, disguised as sailors, to a lodging in Pocthorpe this night, in hope of escape to Yarmouth. There we can easily apprehend them, and probably George also, without the éclat and opposition of arresting them. at home. We will make sure of the capture, if you will only assist, as a friend, to persuade the victims to enter the decoy."

"Very good," cried Stephen, rising from the table, "I will adjourn to the Sherwoods, and they will consult me as a friend, to their cost."

"Well, well," said Green, with a cold sneer, “farewell. Success attend you."

They parted, and Wren at once found entrance at the hospitable house whose inmates he was ready so basely to trepan. Standing on the threshold, he said to himslf, “Now for a change of parts-the deferential young gentleman, the warmly interested friend, the half-ecclesiastic, and the family confidant! Now, am I ready?" He heard sounds of loud and eager conversation, whose echoes led him to the room where most of the two families of the Sherwoods and the Bridges were met to confer on the danger impending.

"Ah, Stephen!" cried Edward, the first to welcome the new-comer, on whose entrance several of the party looked very gloomily," you can probably throw some light on our anxieties."

'Extremely concerned," said Wren, "to learn your fears, which I know are too true. Your excellent pastor, and my

kind friend, is in real peril. My information leads me to believe that he must quit this neighbourhood for a safer and obscurer place at once, or this night he will be torn from your very midst. Surely some temporary shelter may be found, but here he must not stay."

"Would they dare to take him from his home and parish?" said Alice. "Oh, dear father, for you to hide and skulk !— what a reward for a life of holy blessing!"

"Dearest Alice," returned her father, "it is written of saints 'of whom the world was not worthy' that they wandered in sheep-skins and goat-skins, in deserts and in dens and caves of the earth, being destitute, afflicted, and tormented."

Soon after this conversation the disguised clergymen were escorted by George and his band to one of the poorest houses in Pocthorpe, where they supposed their hiding was quite unknown. Late at night, however, without warning, this refuge was secretly surrounded by agents of the Bishop, who had the refugees in their power before their guards had any idea of their danger. George brought up his force to the rescue, disguising his presence as well as he could, only to find himself the mark for a determined effort to capture his person. He was convinced that the masked leader of his assailants was none other than Stephen Wren, and cursed in his heart the misplaced confidence in such a wretch. He escaped, but only to convey the sad news of the failure of his own plan for the security of those so greatly beloved. The grief and dismay caused by his report may be imagined, specially as in a few days it was learnt that the prisoners were treated with barbarous severity by the cruel Bishop, and that after a mock trial they were condemned shortly to stand in the pillory on Tombland Green, and to be taken thence to the market-place, to be publicly scourged, and branded with hot irons on the face with S.S., or "Sower of Sedition."

Stephen Wren was the bearer of this news,—while he deplored his ill-fortune in having to command the party of

soldiers told off for this distressing duty. Alice, with Harriet Allen, listening to these details with swimming eyes and wringing hands, could not help appealing to Wren: "You in command! Oh, Stephen, then you could contrive, or help, some escape! Pray do relieve our misery!"

"I

Wren, lest he should wholly lose the goodwill of Alice at this crisis, was compelled to appear favourable. would do so gladly, but I fear it would be impossible,— at least before the pillory."

"Well,” said Alice, catching at his exception, "that is the least part-to stand and be gazed upon."

"That is not all," answered Wren; "I don't think you or I would like to stand by them."

"I would like to stand anywhere to be with my father," cried Alice," living, suffering, or dying. But perhaps after the pillory you could save them from the worst. Oh, Stephen, think what gratitude you would earn!"

"If I do," said cunning Stephen, drawing Alice aside, "will you promise to look favourably on my desires? " Alice now saw the peril she had risked, and for a moment an angry refusal was on her lips, but she restrained herself. They were interrupted at this point, and parted in mutual misconception.

The fearful day arrived. Tombland Green, which had so long witnessed the happy festivities of all classes, together with their beloved minister, and which had been the sacred pathway to blessed worship in the adjoining church for so many years, was now prepared for a very different spectacle. A sort of hustings, draped in black, was erected, with its back to the Close, and surrounded by a stout rail to keep back the crowd. Already many of the poorer people were loitering there watching the preparations, and generally with eyes of regret rather than pleasure. Most of the houses had windows and blinds closed as for a general mourning. In one of these houses, poor Ann, by turns dissolved in tears

and spurred to rage, had given her poor Will an uneasy time. "If I were a man," she cried out, "I would tear down the vile pillory and rescue the prisoners. Why don't you do something?—you are all cowards! Where's Master George now?-and Master Allen? Won't they strike for Alice's own father and his friend?"

"What can we do?" muttered Will.

"Oh," said his wife, "I would get a heap of stones beside the pillory, and beat away the crowd."

"What if the soldiers wouldn't let you? But we do hope to get them away after the pillory."

"After they have been disgraced and half-killed with stones and filth, and can hardly crawl away! Oh, if I could only do something!"

"It would be something," said Will, "to save their ears and faces from the hot irons."

"Save them! You talk, but you'll never do it. Oh, oh! -I see the good parson in the hands of the torturers-the blood streaming-the life going!—There is no help,-woe's me! woe's me!" Will tried consolation, but then she became furious; so he went off to consult with his master and others on plans of rescue.

At length a movement was perceptible in the direction of the Palace. The military drum and fife were then heard. A crowd preceded their approach. Two or three horse soldiers were seen, commanded by Captain Wren. There was also a troop of infantry. The prisoners were in their clerical Geneva dress, and their arms were closely bound. They were forced to march rapidly through the crowd to the back of the pillory, to mount the stairs, and to submit to have their heads and hands inserted through holes in a stout plank across the platform, about their height, the upper part of which was lifted to admit them, and then shut and padlocked over them. The grotesque appearance they presented in front of the unpitying mob, and the fearfully strained position of their bodies, constituted