The Coming of the King Part 60

I was told that footpads beset the road to the north, but no man molested me.

Towards evening on the second day of my journey I drew near to Bedford, when I set myself to thinking seriously what I should do. I knew that in less than an hour I should see the river coil its way through the town, seeing I was but five miles away. I could not ride fast, for my day's journey had wearied me, and so allowed Black Ben to amble along at will.

I was just entering a lonely part of the road, when I saw a man of venerable appearance standing in the road.

He held up his hand at my approach, at the which I stopped.

"You have not seen a woman leading two little children, have you?" he said.

I shook my head.

"Have you seen a little girl about ten, accompanied by a boy of twelve?"

he asked.

"No," I replied.

He sighed deeply, whereupon I asked him if he were in trouble.

"Ay, I am in deep trouble," he said, "for I fear evil hath happened to my wife and dear ones. When we parted this morning, I said I would try and get work among the farmers, so as to earn enough to buy them bread, while they said they would make known our condition to some friends who are still faithful. We also arranged to meet here at five o'clock. Is it not about that time, young master?"

"It is past that hour," I replied.

"Then I fear evil hath happened to them," he said, and I saw the tears well up into his eyes.

"But surely this is strange," I said; "you do not look like a man who should be seeking work of the farmers. You look rather to be a man of learning and of quality."

"I am an unworthy preacher of the Word; but I have been driven from my vicarage, and now nought but starvation stares me in the face."

"What parish were you in?" I asked.

"I was the inc.u.mbent of St. Martin's," he replied. "I would not conform, so I was e'en driven out."

"Why would you not conform?" I asked.

"E'en because I felt it would be a sin so to do. I had received my ordination from G.o.d, and I could not profess to belief in the Prayer-book, which was full of Popish errors. But G.o.d's will be done. I was of the Presbyterian persuasion, and I fear that, like the Episcopalians, I desired uniformity. But that is all over now. I see that the Independents and the Quakers are men of G.o.d even as we are, and our persecutions have linked us together."

"And what hath become of you since you were driven from your parish?"

"Ah, G.o.d knows! We have lived how we could, and it hath been terribly hard. Sometimes for days together we have scarcely had food. Our clothes are worn out too, and sometimes we have been terribly cold. Thank G.o.d, the winter cannot last much longer now! Even now I do not think it is quite as cold as it was a week ago;" but the man s.h.i.+vered as he spoke.

"But have you no property at all?" I asked.

"I have but ten pounds a year, and my wife hath nothing at all. All our little savings were soon eaten up, for the children are hearty, thank G.o.d! Directly after Bartholomew's Day we were cast forth from our dwelling, and since then we have had nought but trouble. I have no friends but those in my own parish, and Master Gilloch, the new vicar, and Master Graystone, the magistrate, have done their utmost to make it impossible for us to get help. Moreover, times are bad, and those who would help us cannot. I thought while I was in prison that I suffered enough, but I think it hath been worse since I came out."

"Have you been in prison?" I asked.

"Ay," he replied, "in truth I have. For what could I do? Could I be silent when G.o.d had commanded me to preach? 'Woe is me if I preach not the Gospel.' I know now what our brother John Bunyan felt, although a year ago I did but little sympathize with him. The Word of G.o.d was like fire in his bones, and he could not help declaring it, so he was cast into prison. After I was ejected from my parish I still preached, and I was cast into prison, and kept there for three months; but I still preach, and, thank G.o.d! I still comfort those who are distressed. But for the Word of Life I could not bear my troubles, and who am I that I should keep it from others?"

"But what was the occasion of your being imprisoned?" I asked.

"Oh, we had met, a few of us, in a barn, some half a mile from the king's highway. We met to read G.o.d's word and for prayer. As we read I was mightily moved upon to expound the meaning of G.o.d's word, and while I was in the act of expounding and exhorting, the constables came, and dragged three of us to gaol. One of the magistrates who judged me was Master Gilloch, who is now the minister in my old parish, and, as I say, I was kept three months in the company of the worst men and women I ever met. But G.o.d had use for me, for while there I was the means of leading more than one to accept the Gospel."

"And what did your wife and children do while you were in prison?" I asked.

"Oh, a G.o.dly farmer gave them a home, until the squire, Master Graystone, a man who had often eaten bread at my table, came and told the farmer that if he did not drive them from his house he should e'en take his farm from him. Nevertheless, the Lord mercifully provided for them. Since I came out of prison I have been able to provide bread for them by selling my books, and by writing a few letters for those who knew not the craft of writing."

"And have you no special friend now?" I asked, for, as may be imagined, Constance was in my mind all the time.

"Ay, but that friend hath to help in secret," he cried.

I wanted to ask more concerning this, but I saw he turned away his head as he spoke, and seemed desirous of being silent.

"Perchance the hearts of the squire and the vicar may grow softer," I said.

"Ay, young master, there seems but little chance of that. Why, only last night a few pious souls were met together for prayer, and as they prayed the constable entered, and they were dragged away to gaol. The trial is to be held to-morrow, but they will get no mercy."

"To-morrow?" I said. "At what time?"

"At such time as it may suit the magistrates, but it is given out for ten o'clock."

"And what will you do to-night?"

"I know not what to do--ah! praise G.o.d, here are my wife and children coming!"

I turned and saw a woman, accompanied by four children, coming towards us, and as they saw us they seemed to quicken their footsteps as if for gladness. The man with whom I had been speaking, kissed them all affectionately, and then each looked to the other as if for news.

"I have obtained enough for food to-night," said the man. "We can e'en call at Elizabeth Jory's and get bread, and we can all sleep in the cottage in the wood."

"I am very cold," whimpered one of the children.

"But I can soon light a fire. Do not be afraid, my dear ones. The Lord will provide. But how have you fared, good wife?"

The woman shook her head. "She dares not come till to-morrow night," she said.

"The Lord will provide till then," said the man; but his voice was piteous, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes.

"You have a friend who will help you to-morrow night?" I said eagerly; but to this the woman made no reply, rather she turned away her head like one afraid.

"You said the Lord would provide," I said, as I took some coins from my pouch. "Perchance He hath sent me to help you. Here is something that will meet your needs till your friend cometh."

"Are you one of the Lord's children?" asked the man, as he looked at my somewhat gay attire.

"I trust so," I said, for in truth I knew not what better to say.

"But are you one who hath also suffered for G.o.d's work? Forgive my asking, for while your attire is that of a Court gallant, your face is as if set towards the city of G.o.d."

"I have suffered imprisonment for not obeying the king," I made answer.

He looked at me steadily. "Surely I have seen you before," he said, "and yet your face is strange to me. Have you by chance ever visited this neighbourhood before?"