Chapter XVIII: All Saints' Day, Nov. 2

IT seems as if there were never more to be peace in this devoted house. Magdalen Jewell, the woman who lived at Grey Tor, the woman who nursed her neighbors all through the sickness, and has since been a mother to many an orphan, and a dutiful daughter to many a widow, Magdalen Jewell is accused of heresy, apprehended, and shut up in Saint Ethelburga's vault, till she can be removed to a stronger prison. 'Tis a shame, and I will say it. They have no business to put such an office on us, but Father Fabian, who, I do suspect, likes the business no more than I do, says 'tis done in hopes that the persuasions of himself and Mother Superior may bring her to a better mind. They say there is no doubt of her guilt.

Indeed, she herself denies it not, but glories in it, and is full of joy. I heard her myself singing of some hymn, as I judged. They say she was suspected a long time, and a man whom she had nursed in the sickness, spying upon her at night through the window, saw her many times reading in a great bound book she had. He giving information, the house was searched, and the book found. It proved to be a copy of the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue. Magdalen being apprehended, showed neither surprise nor fear, but confessed all, and gloried, as she said, that she was counted worthy to die for her religion. And now she is shut up in that horrible place, and Mother Gertrude—she who has always seemed too kind to hurt a fly, is her keeper, and unless she recants she must needs be burned. It is utterly horrible!

And they are all so hard-hearted against her! Father Fabian says it is a sin to pity a heretic, and so say all the Sisters. Even Mother Gertrude, though she offers many prayers for her conversion, says she deserves her fate, and even that the man who betrayed her did a good deed, in thus laying aside all the ties of natural affection. But I cannot think so. The man seems to me a horrible wretch and traitor, far more deserving of the stake than this good, kind woman, who has sacrificed everything to her neighbors.

My whole mind is in a tumult, and for the first time I feel as if I would give anything to leave the shadow of this roof and never see it again. And that dear old chapel, that I so loved, and where I had such sweet comfort, to be so used! I cannot write nor even think. I would Amice were well, but she is more feeble than she has been, and last night she begged that Mother Gertrude might sleep in the room with her, though she would not have her sit up.