Silent, like men in solemn haste,
Girded wayfarers of the waste,
We pass out at the world's wide gate,
Turning our back on all its state;
We press along the narrow road
That leads to life, to bliss, to God.
The boys found themselves in a large room, well filled with grim-faced men. All the faces were more or less familiar to them at the secret meetings. This was no conspiracy in favor of Friburg or Savoy, nor a gathering of the Bishop's followers. The men were all Huguenots.
Foremost among them was the familiar figure of Baudichon, frank, stalwart, bluff as ever. Francois moved to his side, whispered a few words in a low voice, and Baudichon called the two boys up and demanded their story.
The room was quiet before, the silence became intense as Gerard told, in a few brief sentences, how he discovered the boats hidden and prepared by the lakeside, and, suspecting that they were for the transport of the prisoners of the Palace to Castle Gaillard, had dismantled the boats and set them free.
Baudichon turned to the others.
“How tallies this with what I had discovered?" he asked. "Is it not corroboration indeed? Verily, methinks, it is even like the telling of the dream of the Barley Loaf in Gideon's hearing, and is sent to encourage us as it encouraged him. For, lads," turning to the two boys with a sudden smile on his bearded lips, "the Bishop does intend this very night to carry off the prisoners secretly to Castle Gaillard. I found an armed troop at the gate when I returned after dark this night, and I learned the fact from them. We are here to prevent it.”
“How?" Ulric breathed, eagerly.
“Even as Gideon of old overthrew the hosts of Midian," Baudichon answered. "He had three hundred, we are scarce fifty, but the same God is with us. Each man is armed with an iron tipped staff, with five unlighted matches at the end. At midnight we are going to break into the Palace and demand the prisoners.”
Dazzled with the audacity of the plan Ulric sprang forward.
“Monsieur, of your goodness take us with you," he pleaded. "We are but lads, yet we shall not fail you. My father is there, in the dungeon, in the stocks, let me help to set him free.”
Baudichon laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
“What think ye," he asked. "Lads as they are, have they not proved their mettle? Shall we let them make up our number to fifty.”
There was a little murmur of assent, and the lads were taken aside, and equipped with swords and the staff. It was, perhaps, the proudest moment of Ulric's life. His heart was beating hard and fast, though he tried to preserve the same outward gravity of demeanor as the rest. At last the chance had come for which he had longed, the chance to strike a blow for his father, to risk his very, life for him. The thought of defeat he scorned; they would succeed, they must. As Baudichon said: "God Himself is with us as our Captain.”
But the long waiting, the dimly-lighted room, the silence, broken only by occasionally soft-toned consultations among the leaders, inaudible to the rest—all these began to have their effect on the boy's spirit.
Other and softer thoughts came to him What if they failed; what if neither he nor his father ever reached home again. He pictured the home doubly bereaved, the little ones with no one left but Greta. Greta herself—
What a brute he had been to Greta.
“Gerard," he whispered, "if anything happens to me, give my love to them all and tell Greta that I was sorry, and that I did forgive her.”
Gerard gripped his hand reassuringly, but it was not that Ulric's courage failed him.
There was no one more ready than he when midnight came, and Baudichon gave the word for which everyone was longing.
The men lit the long, slow-burning matches, took the staves in their left hand, their drawn swords in their right, and followed Baudichon out into the darkness.
Without confusion, without haste, they pressed on. Dazzled by the sudden brilliancy of the blazing lights, utterly bewildered, mystified, taken by surprise, the sentry made no resistance, and the little band forced their way on step by step.
Through the gates they went, into the very Palace, up the stairs unchecked, unopposed, till they reached the chamber of the Bishop.
It was indeed a startling awakening for the Bishop. Suddenly, silently, out of the very ground, as it seemed, the troop had sprung; the startled air had become a blaze of light, and he started up to find his room filled with men, whose stern determination of face struck his easy, pleasure-loving nature with a sudden chill.
“We demand the prisoners," Baudichon said. "Surrender them at once to their lawful judges.”
Amazed, terrified, the Bishop looked about him like a hunted thing taken in a trap. He was alone with his enemies. The ring of stern-faced men, with naked swords and blazing lights, encircled him.
He remembered another night—some six years ago—when his Palace had been attacked by the Genevans, and he had then to fly for his very life.
He remembered this, and he yielded.
The prisoners were given up without reserve. Baudichon and his men had conquered without striking a blow.
So the dungeon gates were opened, and the prisoners were led forth, but not to the bitterer captivity, the cruel death that had been planned for them.
Suddenly, awakened by the clash of arms and the blaze of hundreds of lights, Dr. Morand heard a sudden cry of "Father! Father!!”
He must be dreaming, he thought, still dreaming; but next moment Ulric had thrown himself on the damp and filth of the dungeon floor beside him.
“Oh, Father!" the boy sobbed. "I could not see you at first, I hardly knew you. Oh, what have they done to you! I feared—I feared we were too late.”
“What does this mean," the Doctor asked, faintly.
“It means that you are free," the boy said, proudly. "Baudichon came back from Berne bringing the Ambassador with him, and they have done all they could—they and the Council—to make the Bishop release you, and when he would not, why he broke into the Palace and forced him to." He looked longingly into the worn and haggard face.
“Father," he said, brokenly. "They have all but killed you. These heavy chains, these cruel stocks. Gerard, look.”
Gerard gave one glance, then unceremoniously dragged the warder over.
“This one next," he said.
Sullenly the man unfastened the stocks and loosened the heavy fetters. The sudden relief was too much for the Doctor's exhausted frame, and he sank, faint and helpless, to the floor; but the two boys were not easily discouraged. They set to work to chafe the bruised and swollen limbs as gently as trained hands could have done it; applied the restoratives one of the others brought them, never desisting till returning circulation and consciousness brought them their reward.
“And now for home, father," said the delighted Ulric.
“Not so fast, lad," said Baudichon, with a smile; he had been greeting his old friends, and the Doctor's turn had come. "We are not prison breakers, but men of law and order. These men have been charged with a crime, the judges shall judge them according to the law, and if the charge fails, no man will have the right to throw it in their teeth again—from the Bishop downwards. I deliver my prisoners to the Council”
Baudichon kept his word. The prisoners were handed over to the Council, and duly brought before the lawful judges. All were acquitted, for there was no charge to bring against them.
But before this happened Bishop de la Baume had left Geneva. It was on a Saturday night the prisoners had been rescued; the Bishop did not easily recover from his alarm.
A fortnight before he had entered the city in state and great display; in the darkness of early morning, on the following Monday, he made his escape by a little postern gate, and slipped, a fugitive, through the deserted streets.
A boat was waiting for him; the Bishop sprang in, and was rowed away to a safe distance, where a horse was in readiness, and as the day broke, he galloped away alone, like a hunted man.
It was a happy day for the little Morands when the Doctor came back. The days of imprisonment, brief as they had been, had left their stamp upon him; the children could not look upon his scarred wrists and ankles without tears, but the Doctor only smiled.
“I would not, if I could, undo those days," he said. "My dungeon became a very antechamber of heaven. For my dear Lord was near me all the time, and taught me how I might leave all things—life, liberty, ah! and dearer, harder still, my motherless little ones—to Him. While my dear maid," here he touched Greta's upturned face gently, as she nestled at his feet, "was blaming herself so bitterly, I was learning precious lessons that I shall never forget in time or in eternity.
“Ah Greta," he said to the girl alone; "gladly would I have passed through suffering greater a hundred fold for the joy that is mine this day—the joy of knowing that you, too, are Christ's.”
“At last," Greta said, brokenly. "I was so long in coming.”
“But you have come," the Doctor said. "And you are His forever.”
Very precious to Greta were those days in which she nursed her father back to health and strength. The old happy intercourse and confidence had come back, but sweeter far, for there was a new bond of union between father and daughter.
Claudine Levet's faith was more sorely tried. For two lonely, weary months longer her husband lay in the dungeons of Castle Gaillard, ere the Bernese Ambassadors demanded and obtained his release.
Gerard brought the news of his return to the Morands.
“And he has written a letter to Anthony Froment, pleading with him to make all speed back to Geneva, that the preachings may begin again. I am to bear it to him," Gerard added, proudly; "at Yvonand.”
There was an outcry of delight, in which Irene and Aimee bore a large share. The little schoolmaster had never lost his place in their hearts.
But the Doctor looked up gravely.
“It will be at the risk of his life," he said. "The old edict is still in force against him.”
“I think he will say his life is Another's than his," Gerard said, diffidently. "When he came before he counted not his life dear unto him.”
Gerard was right. Anthony Froment came back when the message reached him, and not alone. A preacher from Paris, Alexander by name, was with him.
The preachings began again, and continued as never before. They were held in private houses, and, when the largest rooms available would no longer hold the numbers that crowded to hear, they went out into the streets, the market places, the crossways. Testaments and tracts were given away freely, and found readers amongst the most careless and unlikely. The Word of God had free course, and was glorified, and many believed in the Lord.
Of course, this stirred up the opposition of the priests and their party. Anthony and Alexander were arrested in the end, and banishment forever from Geneva was the sentence pronounced.
The Bishop had not forgotten his diocese. He did not, indeed, return; but on New Year's Day a message from him was read in every Church in the city.
“In the name of my Lord of Geneva and of his Vicar, it is ordered that no one shall preach the Word of God, either in public or private, and that all the books of Holy Scripture, whether in French or German, shall be burnt.”
But instead of checking the work the message only served to stir up the hearts of the Huguenots. William Farel had already returned to Geneva, now Anthony Froment, and Peter Viret followed. The whole city was stirred, never before had such numbers crowded to the preaching, never before had the forbidden Book been so much read.
But Bishop de la Baume was not easily foiled. If one set of tactics failed, others might succeed.
Silently, under the surface, his plans were growing into shape, his emissaries were at work.
There was a sense of uncertainty and apprehension in the air.
The Catholics had been in arms since the fourth Sunday in Advent. After the Bishop's message the Huguenots appeared in arms too. They had no intention of attacking their enemy, but they were prepared to lay down their lives, if need be, to defend the Faith and their liberty.
“Gerard has joined the Army," Ulric told Béril and Greta one day. A very close friendship had existed between the two boys since the night at the palace, when they had passed through so much side by side. "It must be splendid to have the chance of fighting for Geneva. I wish father would let me. But he only says, 'wait.'”
=============================
It was a brilliant winter day. The firm, white snow sparkled in the bright sunshine. Ulric had, coaxed the two girls out for a walk in the snow. It was the only way to get warm, he said.
“If you could only change places, you two," Greta laughed. “You become a soldier and Gerard a student, I think both would be in their truer element.”
“Yes, Gerard would beat us all at le Grand Ecole if he were enrolled there," Ulric admitted readily. He loves learning. He would go far if he but had the chance. But what chance hath he, alone in the world, except for little Mignonne, his mother dead, his father in prison?”
“In prison? I always thought his father had been dead," Béril said.
“Did I never tell you?" Ulric returned, in surprise. He had never forgotten Gerard's heart-broken cry to him that July night. "Mine own father hath been these five, six years a prisoner, he told me that night at the Palace that his father was flung into prison, he knows not where, nor why, nor even if he is still alive. I think he hath little hope that he shall ever see him, or hear aught of him again." Béril sighed softly as she looked over the frozen lake.
What tragedies life could hold!
She thought of Gerard, well-born, gifted, yet doomed to a life of drudgery and loneliness. Even she, kind as the Morands were, knew something of the bitterness of being alone in the world.
She thought of her father's death, of the wrong he had asked her to redress.
Her promise seemed as far as ever from its fulfillment.
“I willed—but father said 'wait.'" The echo of Ulric's words came back to her. Was it so with her? Were her longings for service, for great things, only a child's ambition? Was God, her Father, saying, not in anger but in wisdom, in tenderness—"wait"?
“Thy Will, not mine, be done," the girl said, under her breath.
Next moment the little group was startled by the apparition of a young man running towards them in mad haste; he half stopped on seeing Ulric.
“Not that way, lad," he gasped. "Art mad, or hast not heard the news?”
“What news?" Ulric demanded.
“Another rising against the Gospelers," he panted. "Get thy sisters into shelter with what speed ye may. Two Huguenots have been stabbed already. They say another massacre is about to begin.”