Freda was not one who would dally and trifle with her heart.

"In sooth, methinks I love thee now, Anthony. Nay, hear me a moment
longer. I love thee with a strong and sisterly love; but I would
know mine own heart better ere I promise more. We will be content
with this knowledge for the nonce. I shall watch thee, Anthony; I
shall hear of thee; I shall know what thou hast power to do and
dare. But now let us say farewell, for I must carry my flowers
within doors; and thou--it is time thou wert away. Thou hast a long
journey to prepare for."

And so, with one kiss, gravely given and taken, the lovers parted,
and Anthony went on his way as one who treads on air.

Some three days later, with eager eyes and bated breath, Anthony
Dalaber was following his friend John Clarke up the landing stairs
of a certain wharf in the city of London, and gazing earnestly
about him at the narrow, dark street in which he found himself,
where the shades of night seemed already to have fallen.

He knew whither they were bound--to the house of a priest, Thomas
Garret by name, well known to Clarke, and known by name to Dalaber,
too. He was one of the most active of the little band now engaged
in the perilous task of receiving and distributing the translated
Scriptures and the pamphlets issued by Martin Luther and other
reformers. He was an ex-fellow of Magdalen College, now a curate of
Allhallows, near Cheapside. Dalaber had often had a wish to see
this man, having heard of him in many quarters.