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Solution Manual for Data Structures and Algorithms in Java 1st
Edition, Peter Drake
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Chapter 3 Exercises Solutions

3.1

3.2 No, this can be determined at compile time.

3.3 Any class that implements the child interface would also need
to implement and parent interfaces as well. Because there are no
implementations in interfaces, the notion of polymorphism does
not apply. The child interface cannot override a parents methods.
When an interface extends another interface, it extends the
 requirements of the parent.

3.4
bicycle is-a vehicle
bicycle has-a tire
triangle is-a polygon
rutabaga is-a vegetable
person has-a bank account
general is-a soldier

3.5 If an is-a relationship is symmetric than it is equivalent to an

equality relationship meaning the objects being related are
identical. Symmetric has-a relationships are quite common e.g a
husband has-a wife and a wife has-a husband.

3.6 It calls the Object class's toString() method which prints out the
a square bracket [ fore each dimension and a short type
description followed by its address. Something similar to the
following is expected:
[I@10b62c9
[lLight@12ab55f
[[I@10b62c9

3.7
public class Thingamabob extends Object {

private int x;

public Thingamabob() {
super();
}

public void setX(int x) {

this.x = x;
}
}
3.8 Because Whatsis does not define a constructor, it implicitly
established that its default constructor will simply call the super()
constructor. The problem is the default Doohickey constructor
(one without any arguments) is not defined.

3.9 It is not acceptable for a method to have a more restrictive

access level than the one it overrides. Any attempts to do so will
result in a compilation error similar to: attempting to assign
weaker access privileges. It is, however, acceptable to assign less
restrictive access privileges.

3.10
Command line option Displayed methods and
variables.
{empty} protected, public
-public public
-private private, protected, public, default
(package private)
-protected protected, public
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
God, accomplish the same, though with the hazard of a thousand
lives."

Mr. Topcliffe was very angry at this speech, and hardly gave him
time to say an "Our Father" before he ordered the hangman to turn
the ladder. From that moment I could not so much as once again
look toward the scaffold. Lady Arundel and I drew back into the
room, and clasping each other's hands, kept repeating, "Lord, help
him! Lord, assist him! Have mercy on him, O Lord!" and the like
prayers.

We heard Lord Arundel exclaim, "Good God! the wretch doth order
the rope to be cut!" Then avoiding the sight, he also drew back and
silently prayed. What followeth I learnt from Muriel, who never lost
her senses, though she endured, methinks, at that scaffold's foot as
much as any sufferer upon it. Scarcely or not at all stunned, Mr.
Genings stood on his feet with his eyes raised to heaven, till the
hangman threw him down on the block where he was to be
quartered. After he was dismembered, she heard him utter with a
loud voice, "Oh, it smarts!" and Mr. Wells exclaim, "Alas! sweet soul,
thy pain is great indeed, but almost past. Pray for me now that mine
may come." Then when his heart was being plucked out, a faint
dying whisper reached her ear, "Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!" and
then the voice of the hangman crying, "See, his heart is in mine
hand, and yet Gregory in his mouth! O egregious papist!"

I marvel how she lived through it; but she assured us she was never
even near unto fainting, but stood immovable, hearing every sound,
listening to each word and groan, printing them on the tablet of her
heart, wherein they have ever remained as sacred memories.

Mr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend's
death, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto
Sir Thomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, "Despatch,
despatch, Mr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to
stand here so long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a
Saul a Paul, of a persecutor a Catholic." A murmur, hoarse and loud,
from the crowd apprised us when all was over.

"Where is Muriel?" I cried, going to the window. Thence I beheld a

sight which my pen refuseth to describe—the sledge which was
carrying away the mangled remains of those dear friends which so
short a time before we had looked upon alive! Like in a dream I saw
this spectacle; for the moment afterward I fainted. Many persons
were running after the cart, and Muriel keeping pace with what to
others would have been a sight full of horror, but to her were only
relics of the saintly dead. She followed, heedless of the mob,
unmindful of their jeers, intent on one aim—to procure some portion
of those sacred remains, which she at last achieved in an incredible
manner; one finger of Edmund Genings's hand, which she laid hold
of, remaining in hers. This secured, she hastened home, bearing
away this her treasure.

When I recovered from a long swoon, she was standing on one side
of me and Lady Arundel on the other. Their faces were very pale, but
peaceful; and when remembrance returned, I also felt a great and
quiet joy diffused in mine heart, such as none, I ween, could believe
in who have not known the like. For a while all earthly cares left me;
I seemed to soar above this world. Even Basil I could think of with a
singular detachment. It seemed as if angels were haunting the
house, whispering heavenly secrets. I could not so much as think on
those blessed departed souls without an increase of this joy sensibly
inflaming my heart.

After Lady Arundel had left us, which she did with many loving
words and tender caresses, Muriel and I conversed long touching the
future. She told me that when her duty to her father should end with
his life, she intended to fulfil the vow she long ago had made to
consecrate herself wholly to God in holy religion, and go beyond the
seas, to become a nun of the order of St. Augustine.
"May I not leave this world?" I cried; "may I not also, forgetting all
things else, live for God alone?"

A sweet sober smile illumined Muriel's face as she answered, "Yea,

by all means serve God, but not as a nun, good Constance. Thine I
take to be the mere shadow of a vocation, if even so much as that.
A cloud hath for a while obscured the sunshine of thy hopes and
called up this shadow; but let this thin vapor dissolve, and no trace
shall remain of it. Nay, nay, sweet one, 'tis not chafed, nor yet,
except in rare instances, riven hearts which God doth call to this
special consecration—rather whole ones, nothing or scantily touched
by the griefs and joys which this world can afford. But I warrant thee
—nay, I may not warrant," she added, checking herself, "for who can
of a surety forecast what God's designs should be? But I think thou
wilt be, before many years have past, a careful matron, with many
children about thy apron-strings to try thy patience."

"O Muriel," I answered, "how should this be? I have made my bed,
and I must lie on it. Like a foolish creature, unwittingly, or rather
rashly, I have deceived Basil into thinking I do not love him; and if
my face should yet recover its old fairness, he shall still think mine
heart estranged."

Muriel shook her head, and said more entangled skeins than this one
had been unravelled. The next day she resumed her wonted labors
in the prisons and amongst the poor. Having procured means of
access to Mistress Wells, she carried to her the only comfort she
could now taste—the knowledge of her husband's holy, courageous
end, and the reports of the last words he did utter. Then having
received a charge thereunto from Mr. Genings, she discovered John
Genings's place of residence, and went to tell him that the cause of
his brother's coming to London was specially his love for him; that
his only regret in dying had been that he was executed before he
could see him again, or commend him to any friend of his own, so
hastened was his death.
But this much-loved brother received her with a notable coldness;
and far from bewailing the untimely and bloody end of his nearest
kinsman, he betrayed some kind of contentment at the thought that
he was now rid of all the persuasions which he suspected he should
otherwise have received from him touching religion.

About a fortnight afterward Mr. Congleton expired. Alas! so

troublesome were the times, that to see one, howsoever loved, sink
peacefully into the grave, had not the same sadness which usually
belongs to the like haps.

Muriel had procured a priest for to give him extreme unction—one

Mr. Adams, a friend of Mr. Wells, who had sometimes said mass in
his house. He also secretly came for to perform the funeral rites
before his burial in the cemetery of St. Martin's church.

When we returned home that day after the funeral, this reverend
gentleman asked us if we had heard any report touching the brother
of Mr. Genings; and on our denial, he said, "Talk is ministered
amongst Catholics of his sudden conversion."

"Sudden, indeed, it should be," quoth Muriel; "for a more indifferent

listener to an afflicting message could not be met with than he
proved himself when I carried to him Mr. Genings's dying words."

"Not more sudden," quoth Mr. Adams, "than St. Paul's was, and
therefore not incredible."

Whilst we were yet speaking, a servant came in, and said a young
gentleman was at the door, and very urgent for to see Muriel.

"Tell him," she said, raising her eyes, swollen with tears, "that I have
one hour ago buried my father, and am in no condition to see
strangers."

The man returned with a paper, on which these words were written:
"A penitent and a wanderer craveth to speak with you. If you shed
tears, his do incessantly flow. If you weep for a father, he grieveth
for one better to him than ten fathers. If your plight is sad, his
should be desperate, but for God's great mercy and a brother's
prayers yet pleading for him in heaven as once upon earth.
"JOHN GENINGS."

"Heavens!" Muriel cried, "it is this changed man, this Saul become a
Paul, which stands at the door and knocks. Bring him in swiftly; the
best comfort I can know this day is to see one who awhile was lost
and is now found."

When John Genings beheld her and me, he awhile hid his face in his
hands, and seemed unable to speak. To break this silence Mr. Adams
said, "Courage, Mr. Genings; your holy brother rejoiceth in heaven
over your changed mind, and further blessings still, I doubt not, he
shall yet obtain for you."

Then this same John raised his head, and with as great and touching
sorrow as can be expressed, after thanking this unknown speaker for
his comfortable words, he begged of Muriel to relate to him each
action and speech in the dying scene she had witnessed; and when
she had ended this recital, with the like urgency he moved me to tell
him all I could remember of his brother's young years, all my father
had written of his life and virtues at college, all which we had heard
of his labors since he had come into the country, and lastly, in a
manner most simple and affecting, we all entreating him thereunto,
he made this narrative, addressing himself chiefly to Muriel:

"You, madam, are acquainted with what was the hardness of mine
heart and cruel indifference to my brother's fate; with what disdain I
listened to you, with what pride I received his last advice. But about
ten days after his execution, toward night, having spent all that day
in sports and jollity, being weary with play, I resorted home to
repose myself. I went into a secret chamber, and was no sooner
there sat down, but forthwith my heart began to be heavy, and I
weighed how idly I had spent that day. Amidst these thoughts there
was presently represented to me an imagination and apprehension
of the death of my brother, and, amongst other things, how he had
not long before forsaken all worldly pleasure, and for the sake of his
religion alone endured dreadful torments. Then within myself I made
long discourses concerning his manner of living and mine own; and
finding the one to embrace pain and mortification, and the other to
seek pleasure—the one to live strictly, and the other licentiously—I
was struck with exceeding terror and remorse. I wept bitterly,
desiring God to illuminate mine understanding, that I might see and
perceive the truth. Oh, what great joy and consolation did I feel at
that instant! What reverence on the sudden did I begin to bear to
the Blessed Virgin and to the Saints of God, which before I had
never scarcely so much as heard of! What strange emotions, as it
were inspirations, with exceeding readiness of will to change my
religion, took possession of my soul! and what heavenly conception
had I then of my brother's felicity! I imagined I saw him—I thought I
heard him. In this ecstasy of mind I made a vow upon the spot, as I
lay prostrate on the ground, to forsake kindred and country, to find
out the true knowledge of Edmund's faith. Oh, sir," he ended by
saying, turning to Mr. Adams, which he guessed to be a priest, "think
you not my brother obtained for me in heaven what on earth he had
not obtained? for here I am become a Catholic in faith without
persuasion or conference with any one man in the world?"

"Ay, my good friend," Mr. Adams replied; "the blood of martyrs will
ever prove the seed of the Church. Let us then, in our private
prayers, implore the suffrages of those who in this country do lose
their lives for the faith, and take unto ourselves the words of
Jeremiah: 'O Lord, remember what has happened unto us. Behold
and see our great reproach; our inheritance is gone to strangers, our
houses to aliens. We are become as children without a father, our
mothers are made as it were widows.'"

These last words of Holy Writ brought to mine own mind private
sorrows, and caused me to shed tears. Soon after John Genings
departed from England without giving notice to us or any of his
friends, and went beyond seas to execute his promise. I have heard
that he has entered the holy order of St. Francis, and is seeking to
procure a convent of that religion at Douay, in hopes of restoring the
English Franciscan province, of which it is supposed he will be first
provincial. Report doth state him to be an exceeding strict and holy
religious, and like to prove an instrument in furnishing the English
mission with many zealous and apostolical laborers.

Muriel and I were solitary in that great city where so many

misfortunes had beset us; she with her anchor cast where her hopes
could not be deceived; I by mine own folly like unto a ship at sea
without a chart. Womanly reserve, mixed, I ween, with somewhat of
pride, restraining me from writing to Basil, though, as my face
improved each day, I deplored my hasty folly, and desired nothing so
much as to see him again, when, if his love should prove unchanged
(shame on that word if! which my heart disavowed), we should be
as heretofore, and the suffering I had caused him and endured
myself would end. But how this might happen I foresaw not; and life
was sad and weary while so much suspense lasted.

Muriel would not forsake me while in this plight; but although none
could have judged it from her cheerful and amiable behavior, I well
knew that she sighed for the haven of a religions home, and grieved
to keep her from it. After some weeks spent in this fashion, with
very little comfort, I was sitting one morning dismally forecasting the
future, writing letter after letter to Basil, which still I tore up rather
than send them—for I warrant you it was no easy matter for to
express in writing what I longed to say. To tell him the cause of my
breaking our contract was so much as to compel him to the
performance of it; and albeit I was no longer so ill-favored as at the
first, yet the good looks I had before my sickness had by no means
wholly returned. Sometimes I wrote: "Your thinking, dear Basil, that
I do affection any but yourself is so false and injurious an
imagination, that I cannot suffer you to entertain it. Be sure I never
can and never shall love any but you; yet, for all that, I cannot
marry you." Then effacing this last sentence, which verily belied my
true desire, I would write another: "Methinks if you should see me
now, yourself would not wish otherwise than to dissolve a contract
wherein your contentment should be less than it hath been." And
then thinking this should be too obscure, changed it to—"In sooth,
dear Basil, my appearance is so altered that you would yourself, I
ween, not desire for to wed one so different from the Constance you
have seen and loved." But pride whispered to restrain this open
mention of my suspicious fears of his liking me less for my changed
face; yet withal, conscience reproved this misdoubt of one whose
affection had ever shown itself to be of the nobler sort, which
looketh rather to the qualities of the heart and mind than to the
exterior charms of a fair visage.

Alas! what a torment doth perplexity occasion. I had let go my pen,

and my tears were falling on the paper, when Muriel opened the
door of the parlor.

"What is it?" I cried, hiding my face with mine hand that she should
not see me weeping.

"A letter from Lady Arundel," she answered.

I eagerly took it from her; and on the reading of it found it

contained an urgent request from her ladyship, couched in most
affectionate terms, and masking the kindness of its intent under a
show of entreating, as a favor to herself that I would come and
reside with her at Arundel Castle, where she greatly needed the
solace of a friend's company, during her lord's necessary absences.

"Mine own dear, good Constance," she wrote, "come to me

quickly. In a letter I cannot well express all the good you will thus
do to me. For mine own part, I would fain say come to me until
death shall part us. But so selfish I would not be; yet prithee
come until such time as the clouds which have obscured the fair
sky of thy future prospects have passed away, and thy Basil's
 fortunes are mended; for I will not cease to call him thine, for all
that thou hast thyself thrust a spoke in a wheel which otherwise
should have run smoothly, for the which thou art now doing
penance: but be of good cheer; time will bring thee shrift. Some
kind of comfort I can promise thee in this house, greater than I
dare for to commit to paper. Lose no time then. From thy last
letter methinks the gentle turtle-dove at whose side thou dost
now nestle hath found herself a nest whereunto she longeth to
fly. Let her spread her wings thither, and do thou hasten to the
shelter of these old walls and the loving faithful heart of thy poor
friend,
"ANNE ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

Before a fortnight was overpast Muriel and I had parted; she for her
religious home beyond seas, I for the castle of my Lord Arundel,
whither I travelled in two days, resting on my way at the pleasant
village of Horsham. During the latter part of the journey the road lay
through a very wild expanse of down; but as soon as I caught sight
of the sea my heart bounded with joy; for to gaze on its blue
expanse seemed to carry me beyond the limits of this isle to the land
where Basil dwelt. When I reached the castle, the sight of the noble
gateway and keep filled me with admiration; and riding into the
court thereof, I looked with wonder on the military defences bristling
on every side. But what a sweet picture smiled from one of the
narrow windows over above the entrance-door!—mine own loved
friend, yet fairer in her matronly and motherly beauty than even in
her girlhood's loveliness, holding in her arms the pretty bud which
had blossomed on a noble tree in the time of adversity. Her
countenance beamed on me like the morning sun's; and my heart
expanded with joy when, half-way up the stairs which led to her
chamber, I found myself inclosed in her arms. She led me to a settle
near a cheerful fire, and herself removed my riding-cloak, my hat
and veil, stroked my cheek with two of her delicate white fingers,
and said with a smile,

"In sooth, my dear Constance, thou art an arrant cheat."

"How so, most dear lady?" I said, likewise smiling.

"Why, thou art as comely as ever I thee; which, after all the
torments inflicted on poor Master Rookwood by thy prophetical
vision of an everlasting deformity, carefully concealed from him
under the garb of a sudden fit of inconstancy, is a very nefarious
injustice. Go to, go to; if he should see thee now, he never would
believe but that that management of thine was a cunning device for
to break faith with him."

"Nay, nay," I cried; "if I should be ever so happy, which I deserve

not, for to see him again, there could never be for one moment a
mistrust on his part of a love which is too strong and too fond for
concealment. If the feebleness of sickness had not bred
unreasonable fears, methinks I should not have been guilty of so
great a folly as to think he would prize less what he was always
wont most to treasure far above their merits—the heart and mind of
his poor Constance —because the casket which held them had
waxed unseemly. But when the day shall come in which Basil and I
may meet, God only knoweth. Human foresight cannot attain to this
prevision."

Lady Arundel's eyes had a smiling expression then which surprised

me. For mine own heart was full when I thus spoke, and I was wont
to meet in her with a more quick return of the like feelings I
expressed than at that time appeared. Slight inward resentments,
painfully, albeit not angrily, entertained, I was by nature prone to;
and in this case the effect of this impression suddenly checked the
joy which at my first arrival I had experienced. O, how much secret
discipline should be needed for to rule that little unruly kingdom
within us, which many look not into till serious rebellions do arise,
which need fire and sword to quell them for lack of timely
repression! Her ladyship set before me some food, and constrained
me to eat, which I did merely for to content her. She appeared to
me somewhat restless: beginning a sentence, and then breaking off
suddenly in the midst thereof; going in and out of the chamber;
laughing at one time, and then seeming as if about to weep. "When
I had finished eating, and a servant had removed the dishes, she sat
down by my side and took my hand in hers. Then the tears truly
began to roll down her cheeks.

"O, for God's sake, what aileth you, dearest lady?" I said, uneasily
gazing on her agitated countenance.

"Nothing ails me," she answered; "only I fear to frighten thee, albeit
in a joyful manner."

"Frightened with joy!" I sadly answered. "O, that should be a rare

fright, and an unwonted one to me of late."

"Therefore," she said, smiling through her tears, "peradventure the

more to be feared."

"What joy do you speak of? I pray you, sweet lady, keep me not in
suspense."

"If, for instance," she said in a low voice, pressing my hands very
hard,—"if I was to tell thee Constance, that thy Basil was here,
shouldst thou not be affrighted?"

Methinks I must have turned very white; leastways, I began to

tremble.

"Is he here?" I said, almost beside myself with the fearful hope her
words awoke.

"Yea," she said. "Since three days he is here."

For a moment I neither spoke nor moved.

"How comes it about? how doth it happen?" I began to say; but a

passion of tears choked my utterance. I fell into her arms, sobbing
on her breast; for verily I had no power to restrain myself. I heard
her say, "Master Rookwood, come in." Then, after those sad long
weary years, I again heard his cheerful voice; then I saw his kind
eyes speaking what words could never have uttered, or one-half so
well expressed. Then I felt the happiness which is most like, I ween,
of any on earth to that of heaven: after long parting, to meet again
one intensely loved—each heart overflowing with an unspoken joy
and with an unbounded thankfulness to God. Amazement did so fill
me at this unlooked-for good, that I seemed content for a while to
think of it as of a dream, and only feared to be awoke. But oh, with
how many sweet tears of gratitude—with what bursts of wonder and
admiration—I soon learnt how Lady Arundel had formed this kind
plot, to which Muriel had been privy, for to bring together parted
lovers, and procure to others the happiness she so often lacked
herself—the company of the most loved person in the world. She
had herself written to Basil, and related the cause of my apparent
change; a cause, she said, at no time sufficient for to warrant a
desperate action, and even then passing away. But that had it
forever endured, she was of opinion his was a love would survive
any such accident as touched only the exterior, when all else was
unimpaired. She added, that when Mr. Congleton, who was then at
the point of death, should have expired, and Muriel gone beyond
seas to fulfil her religious intent, she would use all the persuasion in
her power to bring me to reside with her, which was the thing she
most desired in the world; and that if he should think it possible
under another name for to cross the seas and land at some port in
Sussex, he should be the welcomest guest imaginable at Arundel
Castle, if even, like St. Alexis, he should hide his nobility under the
garb of rags, and come thither begging on foot; but yet she hoped,
for his sake, it should not so happen, albeit nothing could be more
honorable if the cause was a good one. It needed no more
inducement than what this letter contained for to move Basil to
attempt this secret return. He took the name of Martingale, and
procured a passage in a small trading craft, which landed him at the
port of a small town named Littlehampton, about three or four miles
from Arundel. Thence he walked to the castle, where the countess
feigned him to be a leech sent by my lord to prescribe remedies for
a pain in her head, which she was oftentimes afflicted with, and as
such entertained him in the eyes of strangers as long as he
continued there, which did often move us to great merriment; for
some of the neighbors which she was forced to see, would
sometimes ask for to consult the countess's physician; and to avoid
misdoubts, Basil once or twice made up some innocent compounds,
which an old gentleman and a maiden lady in the town vowed had
cured them, the one of a fit of the gout, and the other of a very
sharp disorder in her stomach. But to return to the blissful first day
of our meeting, one of the happiest I had yet known; for a
paramount affection doth so engross the heart, that other sorrows
vanish in its presence like dewdrops in the sunshine. I can never
forget the smallest particle of its many joys. The long talk between
Basil and me, first in Lady Arundel's chamber, and then in the gallery
of the castle, walking up and down, and when I was tired, I sitting
and he standing by the window which looked on the fair valley and
silvery river Arun, running toward the sea, through pleasant
pastures, with woody slopes on both sides, a fair and a peaceful
scene; fair and peaceful as the prospect Basil unfolded to me that
day, if we could but once in safety cross the seas; for his debtors
had remitted to him in France the moneys which they owed him, and
he had purchased a cottage in a very commodious village near the
town of Boulogne-sur-Mer, with an apple-orchard and a garden
stored with gay flowers and beehives, and a meadow with two large
walnut-trees in it. "And then bethink thee," he added, "mine own
dear love, that right in front of this fine mansion doth stand the
parish church, where God is worshipped in a Catholic manner in
peace and freedom; and nothing greater or more weighty need,
methinks, to be said in its praise."

I said I thought so too, and that the picture he drew of it liked me

well.

"But," quoth Basil suddenly, "I must tell thee, sweetheart, I liked not
well thy behavior touching thine altered face, and the misleading
letter thou didst send me at that time. No!" he exclaimed with great
vehemency, "it mislikes me sorely that thou shouldst have doubted
my love and faith, and dealt with me so injuriously. If I was now by
some accident disfigured, I must by that same token expect thine
affection for me should decay."

"O Basil!" I cried, "that would be an impossible thing!"

"Wherefore impossible?" he replied; "you thought such a change

possible in me?"

"Because," I said, smiling, "women are the most constant creatures

in the world, and not fickle like unto men, or so careful of a good
complexion in others, or a fine set of features."

"Tut, tut!" he cried, "I do admire that thou shouldst dare to utter so
great a . . . ." then he stopped, and, laughing, added, "the last half
of Raleigh's name, as the queen's bad riddle doth make it."
[Footnote 5]

[Footnote 5: "The bane of the stomach, and the word of

disgrace. Is the name of the gentleman with the bold."]

Well, much talk of this sort was ministered between us; but albeit I
find pleasure in the recalling of it, methinks the reading thereof
should easily weary others; so I must check my pen, which, like unto
a garrulous old gossip, doth run on, overstepping the limits of
discretion.
 CHAPTER XXVII.

Before I arrived, Lady Arundel had made Basil privy to a great

secret, with warrant to impart it to me. In a remote portion of the
castle's buildings was concealed at that time Father Southwell, a
man who had not his like for piety and good parts; a sweet poet
also, whose pieces of verse, chiefly written in that obscure chamber
in Arundel Castle, have been since done into print, and do win great
praise from all sorts of people. Adjoining to his room, which only one
servant in the house, who carried his meals to him, had knowledge
of, and from which he could not so much as once look out of the
window for fear of being seen, was a small oratory where he said
mass every day, and by a secret passage Lady Arundel went from
her apartments for to hear it. That same evening after supper she
led me thither for to get this good priest's blessing, and also his
counsel touching my marriage; for both her ladyship and Basil were
urgent for it to take place in a private manner at the castle before
we left England. For, they argued, if there should be danger in this
departure, it were best encountered together; and except we were
married it should be an impossible thing for me to travel in his
company and land with him in France. Catholics could be married in
a secret manner now that the needs of the times, and the great
perils many were exposed to, gave warrant for it. After some talk
with Father Southwell and Lady Arundel, I consented to their wishes
with more gladness of heart, I ween, than was seemly to exhibit; for
verily I was better contented than can be thought of to think I
should be at last married to my dear Basil, and nevermore to part
from him, if it so pleased God that we should land safely in France,
which did seem to me then the land of promise.

The next days were spent in forecasting means for a safe departure,
as soon as these secret nuptials should have taken place; but none
had been yet resolved on, when one morning I was called to Lady
Arundel's chamber, whom I found in tears and greatly disturbed, for
that she had heard from Lady Margaret Sackville, who was then in
London, that Lord Arundel was once more resolved to leave the
realm, albeit Father Edmunds did dissuade him from that course; but
some other friend's persuasions were more availing, and he had
determined to go to France, where he might live in safety and serve
God quietly.

My lady's agitation at this news was very great. She said nothing
should content her but to go with him, albeit she was then with
child; and she should write to tell him so; but before she could send
a letter Lord Arundel came to the castle, and held converse for many
hours with her and Father Southwell. When I met her afterward in
the gallery, her eyes were red with weeping. She said my lord
desired to see Basil and me in her chamber at nine of the clock. He
wished to speak with us of his resolve to cross the seas, and she
prayed God some good should arise out of it. Then she added, "I am
now going to the chapel, and if thou hast nothing of any weight to
detain thee, then come thither also, for to join thy prayers with mine
for the favorable issue of a very doubtful matter."

When we repaired to her ladyship's chamber at the time appointed,

my lord greeted us in an exceeding kind manner; and after some
talk touching Basil's secret return to England, our marriage, and then
as speedy as possible going abroad, his lordship said: "I also am
compelled to take a like course, for my evil-willers are resolved to
work my ruin and overthrow, and will succeed therein by means of
my religion. Many actions which at the outset may seem rash and
unadvised, after sufficient consideration do appear to be just and
necessary; and, methinks, my dearest wife and Father Southwell are
now minded to recommend what at first they misliked, and to see
that in this my present intent I take the course which, though it
imperils my fortunes, will tend to my soul's safety and that of my
children. Since I have conceived this intent, I thank God I have
found a great deal more quietness in my mind; and in this respect I
have just occasion to esteem my past troubles as my greatest
felicity, for they have been the means of leading me to that course
which ever brings perfect quietness, and only procures eternal
happiness. I am resolved, as my dear Nan well knoweth, to endure
any punishment rather than willingly to decline from what I have
begun; I have bent myself as nearly as I could to continue in the
same, and to do no act repugnant to my faith and profession. And
by means hereof I am often compelled to do many things which may
procure peril to myself, and be an occasion of mislike to her majesty.
For, look you, on the first day of this parliament, when the queen
was hearing of a sermon in the cathedral church of Westminster,
above in the chancel, I was driven to walk by myself below in one of
the aisles; and another day this last Lent, when she was hearing
another sermon in the chapel at Greenwich, I was forced to stay all
the while in the presence-chamber. Then also when on any Sunday
or holyday her grace goes to her great closet, I am forced either to
stay in the privy chamber, and not to wait upon her at all, or else
presently to depart as soon as I have brought her to the chapel.
These things, and many more, I can by no means escape, but only
by an open plain discovery of myself, in the eye and opinion of all
men, as to the true cause of my refusal; neither can it now be long
hidden, although for a while it may not have been generally noted
and observed."

Lady Arundel sighed and said:

"I must needs confess that of necessity it must shortly be

discovered; and when I remember what a watchful and jealous eye
is carried over all such as are known to be recusants, and also how
their lodgings are continually searched, and to how great danger
they are subject if a Jesuit or seminary priest be found within their
house, I begin to see that either you cannot serve God in such sort
as you have professed, or else you must incur the hazard of greater
sufferings than I am willing you should endure."
"For my part," Basil said, "I would ask, my lord, those that hate you
most, whether being of the religion which you do profess, they
would not take that course for safety of their souls and discharge of
their consciences which you do now meditate? And either they must
directly tell you that they would have done the same, or
acknowledge themselves to be mere atheists; which, howsoever
they be affected in their hearts, I think they would be loth to confess
with their mouths."

"What sayest thou, Constance, of my lord's intent?" Lady Arundel

said, when Basil left off speaking.

"I am ashamed to utter my thinking in his presence, and in yours,

dearest lady," I replied; "but if you command me to it, methinks that
having had his house so fatally and successfully touched, and finding
himself to be of that religion which is accounted dangerous and
odious to the present state, which her majesty doth detest, and of
which she is most jealous and doubtful, and seeing he might now be
drawn for his conscience into a great and continual danger, not
being able to do any act or duty whereunto his religion doth bind
him without incurring the danger of felony, he must needs run upon
his death headlong, which is repugnant to the law of God and flatly
against conscience, or else he must resolve to escape these perils by
the means he doth propose."

"Yea," exclaimed his lordship, with so much emotion that his voice
shook in the utterance of the words, "long have I debated with
myself on the course to take. I do see it to be the safest way to
depart out of the realm, and abide in some other place where I may
live without danger of my conscience, without offence to the queen,
without daily peril of my life; but yet I was drawn by such forcible
persuasions to be of another opinion, as I could not easily resolve on
which side to settle my determination. For on the one hand my
native, and oh how dearly loved country, my own early friends, my
kinsfolk, my home, and, more than all, my wife, which I must for a
while part with if I go, do invite me to stay. Poverty awaits me
abroad; but in what have state and riches benefited us, Nan? Shall
not ease of heart and freedom from haunting fears compensate for
vain wealth? When, with the sweet burthen in thine arms which for a
while doth detain thee here, thou shalt kneel before God's altar in a
Catholic land, methinks thou wilt have but scanty regrets for the
trappings of fortune."

"God is my witness," the sweet lady replied, "that should be the

happiest day of my life. But I fear—yea, much I do fear—the chasm
of parting which doth once more open betwixt thee and me. Prithee,
Phil, let me go with thee," she tearfully added.

"Nay, sweet Nan," he answered; "thou knowest the physicians forbid

thy journeying at the present time so much as hence to London.
How should it then behoove thee to run the perils of the sea, and
nightly voyage, and it may be rough usage? Nay, let me behold thee
again, some months hence, with a fair boy in thine arms, which if I
can but once behold, my joy shall be full, if I should have to labor
with mine hands for to support him and thee."

She bowed her head on the hand outstretched to her; but I could
see the anguish with which she yielded her assent to this separation.
Methinks there was some sort of presentiment of the future
heightening her present grief; she seemed so loth her lord should
go, albeit reason and expediency forced from her an unwilling
consent.

Before the conversation in Lady Arundel's chamber ended, the earl

proposed that Basil and I should accompany him abroad, and cross
the sea in the craft he should privately hire, which would sail from
Littlehampton, and carry us to some port of France, whence along
the coast we could travel to Boulogne. This liked her ladyship well.
Her eyes entreated our consent thereunto, as if it should have been
a favor she asked, which indeed was rather a benefit conferred on
us; for nothing would serve my lord but that he should be at the
entire charge of the voyage, who smiling said, for such good
company as he should thus enjoy he should be willing to be taxed
twice as much, and yet consider himself to be the obliged party in
this contract.

"But we must be married first," Basil bluntly said.

Lady Arundel replied that Father Southwell could perform the

ceremony when we pleased—yea, on the morrow, if it should be
convenient; and that my lord should be present thereat.

I said this should be very short notice, I thought, for to be married

the next day; upon which Basil exclaimed,

"These be not times, sweetheart, for ceremonies, fashions, and nice

delays. Methinks since our betrothal there hath been sufficient
waiting for to serve the turn of the nicest lady in the world in the
matter of reserves and yeas and nays."

Which is the sharpest thing, I think, Basil hath uttered to me either

before or since we have been married. So, to appease him, I said
not another word against this sudden wedding; and the next day but
one, at nine of the clock, was then fixed for the time thereof.

On the following morning Lord Arundel and Basil (the earl had
conceived a very great esteem and good disposition toward him; as
great, and greater he told me, as for some he had known for as
many years as him hours) went out together, under pretence of
shooting in the woods on the opposite side of the river about
Leominster, but verily to proceed to Littlehampton, where the earl
had appointed to meet the captain of the vessel—a Catholic man,
the son of an old retainer of his family—with whom he had dealt for
the hiring of a vessel for to sail to France as soon as the wind should
prove favorable. Whilst they were gone upon this business, Lady
Arundel and I sat in the chamber which looked into the court,
making such simple preparations as would escape notice for our
wedding, and the departure which should speedily afterward ensue.
"I will not yield thee," her ladyship said, "to be married except in a
white dress and veil, which I shall hide in a chamber nigh unto the
oratory, where I myself will attire thee, dear love; and see, this
morning early I went out alone into the garden and gathered this
store of rosemary, for to make thee a nosegay to wear in thy bosom.
Father Southwell saith it is used at weddings for an emblem of
fidelity. If so, who should have so good a right to it as my Constance
and her Basil? But I will lay it up in a casket, which shall conceal it
the while, and aid to retain the scent thereof."

"O dear lady," I cried, seizing her hands, "do you remember the day
when you plucked rosemary in our old garden at Sherwood, and
smiling, said to me, 'This meaneth remembrance?' Since it signifieth
fidelity also, well should you affection it; for where shall be found
one so faithful in love and friendship as you?"

"Weep not," she said, pressing her fingers on her eyelids to stay her
own tears. "We must needs thank God and be joyful on the eve of
thy wedding-day; and I am resolved to meet my lord also with a
cheerful countenance, so that not in gloom but in hope he shall
leave his native land."

In converse such as this the hours went swiftly by. Sometimes we

talked of the past, its many strange haps and changes; sometimes of
the future, forecasting the manner of our lives abroad, where in
safety, albeit in poverty, we hoped to spend our days. In the
afternoon there arrived at the castle my Lord William Howard and
his wife and Lady Margaret Sackville, who, having notice of their
brother's intent to go beyond seas on the next day, if it should be
possible, had come for to bid him farewell.

Leaving Lady Arundel in their company, I went to the terrace

underneath the walls of the castle, and there paced up and down,
chewing the cud of both sweet and sad memories. I looked at the
soft blue sky and fleecy clouds, urged along by a westerly breeze
impregnated with a salt savor; on the emerald green of the fields,
the graceful forms of the leafless trees on the opposite hills, on the
cattle peacefully resting by the river-side. I listed to the rustling of
the wind amongst the bare branches over mine head, and the bells
of a church ringing far off in the valley. "O England, mine own
England, my fair native land—am I to leave thee, never to return?" I
cried, speaking aloud, as if to ease my oppressed heart. Then mine
eyes rested on the ruined hospital of the town, the shut-up
churches, the profaned sanctuaries, and thought flying beyond the
seas to a Catholic land, I exclaimed, "The sparrow shall find herself a
house, and the turtle-dove a nest for herself—the altars of the Lord
of hosts, my king and my God."

When Basil returned, he told me that the vessel which was to take
us to France was lying out at sea near the coast. Lord Arundel and
himself had gone in a boat to speak with the captain, who did seem
a particular honest man and zealous Catholic; and the earl had
bespoken some needful accommodation for Mistress Martingale, he
said, smiling; not very commodious, indeed, but as good as on
board the like craft could be expected. If the wind remained in the
same quarter in the afternoon of the morrow, we should then sail; if
it should change, so as to be most unfavorable, the captain should
send private notice of it to the castle.

The whole of that evening the earl spent in writing a letter to her
majesty. He feared that his enemies, after his departure, would, by
their slanderous reports, endeavor to disgrace him with the people,
and cause the queen to have sinister surmises of him. He confided
this letter to the Lady Margaret, his sister, to be delivered unto her
after his arrival in France; by which it might appear, both to her and
all others, what were the true causes which had moved him to
undertake that resolution.

I do often think of that evening in the great chamber of the castle—

the young earl in the vigorous strength and beauty of manhood, his
comely and fair face now bending over his writing, now raised with a
noble and manly grief, as he read aloud portions of it, which,
methinks, would have touched any hearts to hear them; and how
much the more that loving wife, that affectionate sister, that faithful
brother, those devoted friends which seemed to be in some sort
witnesses of his last will before a final parting! I mind me of the
sorrowful, dove-like sweetness of Lady Arundel's countenance; the
flashing eyes of Lady Margaret; the loving expression, veiled by a
studied hardness, of Lord William's face; of his wife my Lady Bess's
reddening cheek and tearful eyes, which she did conceal behind the
coif of her childish namesake sitting on her knees. When he had
finished his letter, with a somewhat moved voice the earl read the
last passages thereof: "If my protestation, who never told your
majesty any untruth, may carry credit in your opinion, I here call
God and his angels to witness that I would not have taken this
course if I might have stayed in England without danger of my soul
or peril of my life. I am enforced to forsake my country, to forget my
friends, to leave my wife, to lose the hope of all worldly pleasures
and earthly commodities. All this is so grievous to flesh and blood,
that I could not desire to live if I were not comforted with the
remembrance of his mercy for whom I endure all this, who endured
ten thousand times more for me. Therefore I remain in assured hope
that myself and my cause shall receive that favor, conceit, and
rightful construction at your majesty's hands which I may justly
challenge. I do humbly crave pardon for my long and tedious letter,
which the weightiness of the matter enforced me unto; and I
beseech God from the bottom of my heart to send your majesty as
great happiness as I wish to mine own soul."

A time of silence followed the reading of these sentences, and then

the earl said in a cheerful manner:

"So, good Meg, I commit this protestation to thy good keeping.

When thou hearest of my safe arrival in France, then straightway see
to have it placed in the queen's hands."

The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by these

near kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the while by the secret passage to
Father Southwell's chamber, where we were in turn shriven, and
afterward received from him such good counsel and rules of conduct
as he deemed fitting for married persons to observe. Before I left
him, this good father gave me, writ in his own hand, some sweet
verses which he had that day composed for us, and which I do here
transcribe. He, smiling, said he had made mention of fishes in his
poem, for to pleasure so famous an angler as Basil; and of birds, for
that he knew me to be a great lover of these soaring creatures:

"The lopped tree in time may grow again.

Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;
The sorest wight may find release of pain.
The driest soil suck in some moistening shower;
Times go by turn, and chances change by course.
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

"The sea of fortune doth not over flow,

She draws her favors to the lowest ebb;
Her time hath equal times to come and go.
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;
No joy so great but runneth to an end.
No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

"A chance may win that by mischance was lost.

The well that holds no great, takes little fish;
In some things all, in all things none are crossed.
Few all they need, but none have all they wish;
Unmeddled joys here to no man befal,
Who least have some, who most have never all.

"Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring;

No endless night, yet not eternal day;
The saddest birds a season find to sing;
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;
Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,
That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall."
The common sheet of paper which doth contain this his writing hath
a greater value in mine eyes than the most rich gift that can be
thought of.

On the next morning. Lady Arundel conducted me from mine own

chamber, first into a room where with her own hands she arrayed
me in my bridal dress, and with many tender kisses and caresses,
such as a sister or a mother would bestow, testified her affection for
her poor friend; and thence to the oratory, where the altar was
prepared, and by herself in secret decked with early primroses,
which had begun to show in the woods and neath the hedges. A
small but noble company were gathered round us that day. From
pure and holy lips the Church's benison came to us. The vows we
exchanged have been faithfully observed, and long years have set a
seal on the promises then made.

Basil's wife! Oh, what a whole compass of happiness did lie in those
two words! Yea, the waves of the sea might now rage and the winds
blow. The haven might be distant and the way thither insecure.
Man's enmity or accident might yet rob us each of the other's visible
presence. But naught could now sever the cord, strong like unto a
cable chain, which bound our souls in one. Anchored in that wedded
unity, which is one of God's sacraments, till death, ay, and beyond
death also, this tie should last.

We have been young, and now are old. We have lost country, home,
and almost every friend known and affectioned in our young years;
but that deepest, holiest love, the type of Christ's union with his
Church, still doth shed its light over the evening of life. My dear
Basil, I am assured, thinks me as fair as when we did sit together
fishing on the banks of the Ouse; and his hoary head and withered
cheeks are more lovely in mine eyes than ever were his auburn locks
and ruddy complexion. One of us must needs die before the other,
unless we should be so happy that that good should befal us as to
end our days as two aged married persons I have heard of. It was
the husband's custom, as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, to ask
his wife how she did; but one night, he being in a deep sleep, she
quietly departed toward the morning. He was that day to have gone
out a-hunting, and it was his custom to have his chaplain pray with
him before he went out. The women, fearful to surprise him with the
ill news, had stolen out and acquainted the chaplain, desiring him to
inform him of it. But the gentleman waking did not on that day, as
was his custom ask for his wife, but called his chaplain to prayers,
and, joining with him, in the midst of the prayer expired, and both
were buried in the same grave. Methinks this should be a very
desirable end, only, if it pleased God, I would wish to have the last
sacraments, and then to die just before Basil, when his time cometh.
But God knoweth best; and any ways we are so old and so near of
an age, one cannot tarry very long behind when the other is gone.

Being at rest after our marriage touching what concerned ourselves,

compassion for Lady Arundel filled our hearts. Alas! how bravely and
how sweetly she bore this parting grief. Her intense love for her lord,
and sorrow at their approaching separation, struggled with her
resolve not to sadden their last hours, which were prolonged beyond
expectancy. For once on that day, and twice on that which followed,
when all was made ready for departure, a message came from the
captain for to say the wind, and another time the tide, would not
serve; and albeit each time, like a reprieved person, Lady Arundel
welcomed the delay, methinks these retardments served to increase
her sufferings. Little Bess hung fondly on her father's neck the last
time he returned from Littlehampton with the tidings the vessel
would not sail for some hours, kissing his face and playing with his
beard.

"Ah, dearest Phil!" her mother cried, "the poor babe rejoiceth in the
sight of thee, all unwitting in her innocent glee of the shortness of
this joy. Howsoever, methinks five or six hours of it is a boon for to
thank God for;" and so putting her arm in his, she led him away to a
solitary part of the garden, where they walked to and fro, she, as
she hath since written to me, starting each time the clock did strike,
like one doomed to execution. Methinks there was this difference
between them, that he was full of hope and bright forecastings of a
speedy reunion; but on her soul lay a dead, mournful despondency,
which she hid by an apparent calmness. When, late in the evening, a
third message came for to say the ship could not depart that night, I
begun to think it would never go at all. I saw Basil looked at the
weathercock and shrugged his shoulders, as if the same thought
was in his mind. But when I spake of it, he said seafaring folks had a
knowledge in these matters which others did not possess, and we
must needs be patient under these delays. Howsoever, at three
o'clock in the morning the shipman signified that the wind was fit
and all in readiness. So we rose in haste and prepared for to depart.
The countess put her arms about my neck, and this was the last
embrace I ever had of her. My lord's brother and sisters hung about
him awhile in great grief. Then his wife put out her hands to him,
and, with a sorrow too deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his visage.

"Cheep up, sweetest wife," I heard him say. "Albeit nature suffers in
this severance from my native land, my true home shall be wherever
it shall please God to bring thee and me and our children together.
God defend the loss of this world's good should make us sad, if we
be but once so blessed as to meet again where we may freely serve
him."

Then, after a long and tender clasping of her to his breast, he tore
himself away and getting on a horse rode to the coast. Basil and I,
with Mr. William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove in a coach to the port.
It was yet dark, and a heavy mist hung on the valley. Folks were yet
abed, and the shutters of the houses closed, as we went down the
hill through the town. After crossing the bridge over the Arun the air
felt cold and chill. At the steep ascent near Leominster I put my
head out of the window for to look once more at the castle, but the
fog was too thick. At the port the coach stopped, and a boat was
found waiting for us. Lord Arundel was seated in it, with his face
muffled in a cloak. The savor of the sea air revived my spirits; and
when the boat moved off, and I felt the waves lifting it briskly, and
with my hand in Basil's I looked on the land we were leaving, and
then on the watery world before us, a singular emotion filled my
soul, as if it was some sort of death was happening to me—a dying
to the past, a gliding on to an unknown future on a pathless ocean,
rocked peacefully in the arms of his sheltering love, even as this little
bark which carried us along was lifted up and caressed by the waves
of the deep sea.

When we reached the vessel the day was dawning. The sun soon
emerged from a bank of clouds, and threw its first light on the
rippling waters. A favoring wind filled our sails, and like a bird on the
wing the ship bounded on its way till the flat shore at Littlehampton
and the far-off white cliffs to the eastward were well-nigh lost sight
of. Lord Arundel stood with Basil on the narrow deck, gazing at the
receding coast.

"How sweet the air doth blow from England!" he said; "how blue the
sky doth appear to-day! and those saucy seagulls how free and
happy they do look!" Then he noticed some fishing-boats, and with a
telescope he had in his hand discerned various ships very far off.
Afterward he came and sat down by my side, and spoke in a
cheerful manner of his wife and the simple home he designed for
her abroad. "Some years ago, Mistress Constance," he said—and
then smiling, added, "My tongue is not yet used to call you Mistress
Rookwood—when my sweet Nan, albeit a wife, was yet a simple
child, she was wont to say, 'Phil, would we were farmers! You would
plough the fields and cut wood in the forest, and I should milk the
cows and feed the poultry.' Well, methinks her wish may yet come to
pass. In Brittany or Normandy some little homestead should shelter
us, where Bess shall roll on the grass and gather the fallen apples,
and on Sundays put on her bravest clothes for to go to mass. What
think you thereof, Mistress Constance? and who knoweth but you
and your good husband may also dwell in the same village, and
some eighteen or twenty years hence a gay wedding for to take
place betwixt one Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann or Margaret
Howard, or my Lord Maltravers with one Mistress Constance or
Muriel Rookwood? And on the green on such a day, Nan and Basil
and you and I should lead the brawls."

"Methinks, my lord," I answered, smiling, "you do forecast too great

a condescension on your part, and too much ambition on our side, in
the planning of such a union."

"Well, well," he said; "if your good husband carrieth not beyond seas
with him the best earl's title in England, I'll warrant you in God's
sight he weareth a higher one far away—the merit of an unstained
life and constant nobility of action; and I promise you, beside, he will
be the better farmer of the twain; so that in the matter of tocher,
Mistress Rookwood should exceed my Lady Bess or Ann Howard."

With such-like talk as this time was whiled away; and whilst we were
yet conversing I noticed that Basil spoke often to the captain and
looked for to be watching a ship yet at some distance, but which
seemed to be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, perceiving it, then also
joined them, and inquired what sort of craft it should be. The
captain professed to be ignorant thereof; and when Basil said it
looked like a small ship-of-war, and as there were many dangerous
pirates about the Channel it should be well to guard against it, he
assented thereto, and said he was prepared for defence.

"With such unequal means," Basil replied, "as it is like we should

bring to a contest, speed should serve us better than defence."

"But," quoth Lord Arundel, "she is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than this
one we are in. God's will be done, but 'tis a heavy misfortune if a
pirate at this time do attack us, and so few moneys with us for to
spare!"

Now none of our eyes could detach themselves from this pursuing
vessel. The captain eluded further talk, on pretence for to give
orders and move some guns he had aboard on deck; but it was vain
for to think of a handful of men untrained to sea-warfare
encountering a superior force, such as this ship must possess, if its
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