Vicar watched them, holding little Edith by the hand. A boy in a neat suit of plain brown livery got up in the back seat, and the little carriage rolled away.

"Where are we going first?" Eleanor asked. "To the school to see Freddie?"

"Yes; if we go to the service we shall be too late to see him teaching. He takes the class of little boys at three o'clock, and I do so want you to hear him.”

The national school house was just at the entrance of Springsholme, and here Topsy was pulled up about half-past two. Netta was evidently well known and welcome, and there was one face which lighted up with the most undisguised pleasure. Our old friend Freddie had applied himself to his books with such diligence, that he was now monitor in the school, to which Mr. Sanders had sent him, as it was a larger sphere for him than the village school at Kewley. He now boarded in the master's house, who was a man of superior attainments, and he and his wife took an especial interest in the boy, who with one arm got through more than any one in the school with two.

A little class was gathered round Freddie: and Netta, after Eleanor had spoken to her old friend, begged him to go on with his lesson.

One little dark-eyed boy, who was particularly sharp in doing sums on the black board, and in answering the questions in the multiplication table, was no other than Jack - the Jack whose life Guy had saved, and of whom Mr. Sanders had never lost sight for Guy's sake.

Mrs. Johnson had adopted him as her own child, and at her entreaty her sister had included him in her invitation when she came to pay her a visit for three months' country air at Springsholme. Mr. Sanders had decreed that Jack must not be idle all this time, or he would get into mischief; and thus it was that he had been sent to the Springsholme school.

Mrs. Johnson's relatives had left the gardener's cottage at Eastonbury, where the sad accident happened to her boy, and had now a flourishing greengrocer's shop in the High Street of Springsholme.

"You will come and see me, Freddie," Eleanor said as she left the school. "I shall be at Kewley a fortnight."

"Yes: Freddie is to spend next Sunday at Kewley, and will dine at the Vicarage," said Netta.

"Thank you, miss," said Freddie, respect fully.

"And you may bring Jack too, if Mr. Johnson will allow you to do so. But we must not disturb the lesson any longer now."

"Isn't it nice to see Freddie, Eleanor?" Netta said, as they drove away. "He will go to one of the training colleges, papa hopes, as so many people are interested in him, and be a master of a school one day. It is so wonderful to think of that boy's faith and absolute and unwavering trust that God's will was best for him! If he had gone on working in the Hookey Mills with both hands, in all probability his talents would never have been developed; and the loss of his arm is, as papa says, his greatest gain."

"Yes; it is wonderful. And there is little Jack too; I like that child's brown face. He looks such a rogue, but his eyes are beautiful." "He is a link with Guy," Netta said, with a sigh.

"We will put up the pony at the Swan, I think, and I can walk to the Temples' across the green."

"Won't it tire you? Had we not better drive to the Temples' gate, and you can let me take the carriage back?"

"Oh, no. And I should like to sit down in the Cathedral for a few minutes: we shall bear the anthem then."

"Very well; only I am not going to let you sit in the nave too long: it is such a hot day, and the outer air is so much warmer than the Cathedral."

The two girls walked slowly from the inn across that expanse of grass, which more perhaps than any other in England deserves the title of Cathedral Lawn. As they passed the Deanery, Eleanor said, "I saw Blanche Courtenay in London a few weeks ago, with her mother. They are gone abroad now I suppose." "Yes; and one of the Francises is gone with them. They are great friends."

As Eleanor and Netta went under the west door, the strains of the anthem broke forth: first, the sweet childish treble singing the

verse

"As pants the hart for cooling streams,”— then the whole chorus taking up the melody in complete harmony.

When it was over, Eleanor touched Netta's arm, saying, “You must not stand any longer," and the girls passed out at the north door.

"You take too much care of me, Eleanor. I must try to get strong. I wish I could." Eleanor did not answer at first, and then said presently, "I ought to take care of you when I have the chance. Remember the crypt."

That is an old story. I never think of it now. It used to haunt me, and for months I had horrid dreams of being shut up there again."

"Poor old Netta!" Eleanor said. "That crypt adventure was in the beginning of our friendship. I did not care so much about you then: you were too good for me."

A shadow passed over Netta's face, and the tone of voice in which she spoke betrayed a little vexation:

"It was not likely you should care about me then, and it is not likely now."

"Don't be silly, Netta. You know exactly how much I do care for you, and you don't want me to tell you. Let us sit down in the sunshine in the Temples' garden."

She opened an iron gate as she spoke, and they passed round an antique gabled house to a smooth lawn, at the bottom of which one of the deep springs from which the city takes its name rises in a pond of clear water, where it is ever bubbling up and running off in a stream, to join other lesser springs which fill the moat round the Palace.

In the quiet of a summer afternoon like this, there can scarcely be a scene more lovely than from the lawn before the Temples' house at Springsholme. Beyond, in the distance, is the outline of a craggy hill, half hidden by the woods which intervene between it and the pasture lands, known as the Bishop's Fields; then nearer lies the Palace itself, with its mullioned windows, and old Gate-house, beneath which the moat lies. A rustic wooden bridge crosses it, and leads from the grounds of the Palace to the garden where Eleanor and Netta were sitting. The Temples were away for two or three days, and the girls had the garden to themselves. The great Cathedral reared its majestic height above them, and cast its shadows on the smooth grass. Sight and sound were alike soothing, and a sense of enjoyment came with the music of trickling waters, the rustle of the trees, the subdued chatter of the jackdaws as they sailed in and out from the lofty pinnacles of the belfry tower, and the cooing of the little Temples' doves on the nest where a brood of young ones was just hatched.

"Yes, I think I am; but this is delightful for a change. You know I always liked something new, Netta."

Again a pause, and Eleanor asked gently, "How long is it since you heard from Guy?" "A long time. The Triumph has been doing transport service between the ports of China. Guy does not like the life, and it may prolong his absence very much. It is two years and three months now since he left us, and when he last wrote he had been ill, and seemed in very bad spirits. What a dreadful life a sailor's is, for those who go, and for those who stay at home!"

"I don't know that I think so," Eleanor answered. "Certainly not for those who go: there must be such freedom and variety, and sailors are always so frank and honest and fearlessso unlike landsmen. I can fancy nothing more glorious than to have the sky above, and the sea below, and no sign of human life. Then the stars at night,-imagine what it must be to see that great blue dome all glittering with stars!"

"Eleanor, you are just the same after all," said Netta. "Sometimes I think you are altered, but I see you are still the old Eleanor, always reaching out for something fresh; while I am a drone, contented to be quiet-longing to be quiet and thinking every change a bore rather than the reverse."

66

'That is because you are not strong, Netta. You shall come to London again soon, and we will see everything. Now it is time to go home. The only thing to increase our felicity in this garden would have been a cup of tea; but we can't have everything, can we, old Netta ?"

The two girls retraced their steps towards the inn, and were soon driving out to Kewley again. The Vicar was at the gate of the Vicarage when they turned in.

When they stopped at the door, his first words were, "Are you very tired, Netta?" She was ever his first thought and care, and he felt that he held her by a slender thread, which might any moment snap asunder.

She responded with a bright loving smile, "I am not too tired, father. We have had such a charming afternoon."

father, who had with much dissatisfaction seen him take the conventual vows, entreated him to marry; but he might well plead with St. Paul, "It is good for the present distress" to abstain. His thoughts were, indeed, turned more to the idea of martyrdom than of marriage, and he answered those who urged him to it,-"God may change my mind as it pleases Him, but for the present I have no thought of taking a wife. Not that I feel no inclination towards the state; I am neither wood nor stone; but I every day expect death and the punishment due to a heretic."

Luther was no longer young; still he was in the prime of manhood, just forty years old, and no protracted period elapsed before God found a help meet for him. He was called on to act as a protector to several young women who had escaped from a neighbouring convent, and among them was one destined to become his wife. This was Katharine von Bora, 66 a maiden," says Erasmus, "of an illustrious family, but without dowry." The place of her birth is unknown; her father's family resided at Steinlausitz, in Meissen, and her mother was of the noble house of Haugwitz. The convents frequently afforded a refuge for the unprovided children of noble families; and it is not improbable that the parents of the young girl died when she was but a child, as no mention is afterwards made of them. The date of Katharine's birth is exactly preserved on a medal which, according to the custom of those days, she received as a present from her husband on their marriage. It bears this inscription in Latin: "Dr. Martin Luther gave this image to his Katharine, who was born on the 29th January, 1499."

The first mention of her speaks of her being an inmate of the Cistercian convent at Nimptschen, near Grimma, in Saxony, at the time when Luther's writings were finding their way even over the lofty walls of the nunneries, and making entrance into the hearts of the poor forlorn recluses. It was not possible that the movement which was agitating the whole world should remain unknown to them; and they learned with surprise and delight that it was at their option to recall their vows. Nine of their number determined to take the step without delay. They accordingly wrote to their friends, humbly announcing their desire, and beseeching them to come to their assistance and aid in procuring their release. Katharine was one of

these suppliants; but their petition was unheeded, and the unhappy girls were cast on their own resources. They were resolute, and solemnly pledged themselves to act in concert, and, while conducting themselves with all decorum and maidenly modesty, to escape from their convent, and betake themselves to some respectable place where they might hope to find protection. To obtain a safe and trustworthy escort was the first thing needful, and in their necessity a friend was raised up for them. This was Leonard Koppe, a worthy citizen of Torgau, who, learning the circumstances of their case, offered his aid, which was most gratefully accepted. Assisted by two other worthy inhabitants of the town, he laid a plan which was presently carried into execution with complete success. The nunnery at Nimptschen possessed considerable property in and around Torgau, and hence there was necessarily much traffic between the two places. Unfortunately, however, the road led through the territories of Duke George of Saxony, whose hostility to the new doctrine was well known. It was therefore desirable to exercise all possible caution, and Koppe arranged that the nuns should be carried off in a covered waggon which appeared to be laden only with empty casks. It was bruited abroad that he put them actually into the barrels; but probably that report was an ingenious fiction, for there were, of course, sure to be numerous embellishments of the affair. Their escape was effected on the night before Easter 1523, and they arrived safely at Wittenberg the following Tuesday. The party consisted of young ladies of good birth and superior station: besides Katharine, there were Margaretta von Staupitz, a relative of Luther's tutor; Elizabeth von Canitz; the two sisters Veronica and Margaretta von Zeschau, nieces of the late prior of the Augustines; Laneta von Gohlitz; Eva Gross; and the two sisters Eva and Margaretta von Schoenfeld.

Luther's sympathy was greatly excited on behalf of these fugitives, and he warmly advocated their cause. Writing to Spalatin, the Elector's court chaplain, and giving him an account of the event, he besought pecuniary aid for them, entreating his friend to beg money of the wealthy courtiers, that he might provide for them till some arrangements could be made for their future maintenance. Spalatin was also requested to apply to the Elector; Luther adding, with reference to the well-known timid

ity of the latter, "I will take good care to keep the thing secret, and mention it to no one that he has given me something for the apostatizing nuns, who made vows contrary to God's will, and are now delivered from them."

This application was complied with; money was sent by the Elector and others, and several respectable inhabitants of Wittenberg cordially received them into their houses. Katharine became an inmate in the family of the burgomaster, Philip Reichenbach, one of the principal men in the city, and remained under his roof two years, until her marriage, having this testimony given by her host, that she had conducted herself prudently and well.

It was the intention of Luther to arrange suitable marriages for his protégées when favourable opportunities should occur, and he was not long in finding a suitor for Katharine. This was a young Nuremberg patrician, named Hieronym Baumgartner, who afterwards became an eminent man. He appears to have taken a liking for her, and she was not unfavourably disposed to him, but from some unexplained cause the affair passed off: the young man must, however, have acted honourably in the matter, for he continued to be on friendly terms with Luther; and in 1541 we find the latter applying to him on behalf of a poor man, and adding, at the close of his letter, "Your former sweetheart sends you her respectful greetings, and she now loves you with renewed affection, and heartily wishes you well."

A second suitor was Dr. Glatz, vicar of the archdeaconry of Wittenberg, and incumbent of Orlamunda; but Katharine evinced a disinclination to him which seems to have been well founded, for he was a man of choleric temperament, and involved himself in disputes which caused his removal from office in 1537. When these negotiations were carrying on, Luther himself had no intention of marrying, nor did he then feel any admiration for the damsel, as he afterwards acknowledged :--" I was not fond of my Kate at that time; for I had a suspicion she was proud and supercilious; but it was God's good pleasure I should incline to her; and, thank God! I have made a good choice."

In the October of that year Luther exchanged his monk's frock for a preacher's gown, for which the Elector sent him a piece of fine brown cloth. Writing at that time to Spalatin,

he averred himself indisposed to take a wife; but it seems probable he was beginning to entertain the idea, since, a few months later, he said jocosely to the same friend, "Take care that I do not forestall you, who are already engaged; since God is wont to bring to pass what men least anticipate."

His resolution was secretly matured; and when he intimated that he had some thought of espousing Katharine von Bora, his friends with one voice opposed it, and remonstrated. They feared lest the cause of the Reformation should be injured by such a marriage; for it was an ancient saying among the people, that Antichrist was to be born from the union of a monk with a nun. It is probable that this very thing decided Luther to persist in his purpose. To beard the world, the devil, and his opponents, was quite in accordance with his disposition; and by this deed he would show how completely he set at defiance all conventual prohi bitions, and acted out his part as the reformer of abuses. His decision was adopted suddenly, and carried into effect with equal promptitude. Without intimating his intention to his most confidential friends, he went, on the 13th June, 1525, to the house of Reichenbach, Katharine's guardian, and formally solicited her hand. He was accompanied only by Dr. Bugenhagen, the parish priest of Wittenberg; Lucas Cranach, the celebrated painter; and Dr. Johann Apel, professor of canon law. His wishes had not been even hinted to Katharine, and she was completely taken by surprise, so that she at first doubted whether he were in jest or in earnest. But coming to herself, and being convinced that the proposal was made in all seriousness, she gave her consent, and that very evening the marriage ceremony was per formed, in presence of the provost, Dr. Justus Jonas, Cranach's wife, and a few other wit

nesses.

We may imagine the scene, as the great reformer, with grave and earnest aspect, taking his betrothed by the hand, in solemn manner raised his eyes to heaven, and uttered the following prayer immediately before the ceremony commenced: "Dear and heavenly Father, seeing Thou hast honoured me by putting me into the ministry, and art now about to entrust me with fresh duties and cares, I beseech Thee to bless and grant me grace that I may duly and piously rule and support my dear wife, family, and servants.

Give me strength and