"True, but they clapped him into gaol for all that."

"Ay, they did; but that did not depend upon the trial. They had made up their minds to do that before he was brought hither. John was among the first, and people thought much of the trials then. We have had so many since that we be getting used to them."

"Well, it makes it pay to be religious."

"Nay, say rather it makes it a paying business to go to church. There's nought of religion in sending G.o.dly people to prison for praying in their own way."

"Hush, man! Men be spying around everywhere, and it takes but little to get fined. I hear there is a lot of paid spies, whose business it is to go around to hear folks talk and to give information to the justices."

"Ay, I suppose so. And yet these Dissenters pray and preach more than ever. I am told that they be increasing in number every week."

"And yet I hear that the king and the clergy say they'll never stop until there's not a Dissenter left in the land."

"Ay, I suppose so."

All this and much more I heard as I stood in the Chapel of Herne that March morning, for although it was wellnigh ten o'clock as I entered the building, the justices did not come until late. The reason for this was, that although only the petty sessions were to be held that day, so great was the interest taken in the Nonconformists that both Sir Henry Chester, of Tilsworth, and Sir George Blundell, of Cardington Manor, had declared their intention of being present, I heard, moreover, that both these worshipful gentlemen were very bitter against the Dissenters, and that Sir George Blundell had said that he would "sell a cow for a shilling" rather than the work against them should not go forward. It was also said that when Sir Matthew Hale visited Bedford, he would have set John Bunyan at liberty but for Sir Henry Chester, who declared that Bunyan was a good-for-nothing fellow, who preferred going around stirring up dissension to working at his proper trade, which was that of a travelling tinker.

It was because they were late that proceedings did not begin at the proper hour that morning. When they arrived near noon-day, however, their entrance made a great stir, and they took their seats on the bench with a great show of importance.

I stayed only during the trial of one who was brought thither that morning, but I was told that the other cases were dismissed with great speed, as the justices had some appointment elsewhere which they wished to keep. The man who was tried while I was there was called James Ireton, whose name, I was told, went much against him, seeing that Colonel Ireton had been hanged by the king only a little time before.

He was only a young man, it may be of twenty-five years of age, and looked a harmless sort of fellow, although I saw by the look of quiet determination in his eyes that he was not one who would be easily turned aside from his purposes. He was a blacksmith by trade, and one, I judged, of tremendous strength of arm and body. The indictment brought against him was in these words:

"James Ireton, you are accused of devilishly and perniciously abstaining from coming to church to hear divine service, and for being a common upholder of several unlawful meetings and conventicles, to the great disturbance and distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom, and contrary to the laws of our sovereign lord the king."

The man replied that he did indeed attend a meeting of G.o.dly people for praise and prayer, but that it was held in an outhouse nearly half a mile from the king's highway, and that there was not a dwelling-house near it.

"But do you know that such a meeting is unlawful?" cried the magistrate.

"I find nothing in the Word of G.o.d against it," replied the man.

"I do not mean the Word of G.o.d, of which you are ignorant," replied the magistrate, "but the laws of this country."

"I always put the laws of G.o.d above every law," replied the blacksmith, "and there I do find I am commanded to continue in prayer."

"Ay, and the law hath provided the church for you to pray. Do you go to church?"

"Ay, I do go to the Church of G.o.d," replied the man.

"What church?"

"A church composed of those who meet together in Christ's name," replied he.

"Ah, some conventicle! That is no church. How can you call that a church?"

"I have Christ's own words," replied the man. "He said, 'Wheresoever two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them,' and it is Christ that makes the church."

"I cannot allow this blasphemy," said the justice. "The question is, do you go to the parish church?"

"No," replied Ireton, "I do not."

"And why?"

"Because I do not find the Scriptures faithfully proclaimed, because many Romish practices are performed, and because I get no good to my soul."

"Thou art a naughty, law-breaking varlet!" said the justice.

"Nay, that is not so. In truth there was a time when this was true of me; for I was a drunkard, and I treated my wife with great cruelty. For this I was not punished; but now that I am trying to obey G.o.d's word, and to lead others to holy life, I am e'en haled before you."

"But didst thou go to church when thou wert what thou sayst?"

"Ay, that I did. I was one of the bell-ringers at the parish church."

"Well now, wilt thou not promise to be a decent fellow again? A man who can ring one of a peal of bells is a useful man, and no man can say to the contrary. Now, why not be as you were before? I don't mean as to the wife-beating, that is, of course, wrong. But can't you be religious in the right way, go to church regularly, and drink your ale in moderation?"

"Why," said the man, "I knew nought about religion till I heard John Bunyan preach; then I realized that I had been a sinner, and that I must repent of my sins, and accept Christ as my Saviour. On doing this such a joy and peace came into my heart, that I longed to tell others of the good news which had come to me."

"Ay, but how can an ignorant man like thee be fit to preach?"

"I have often thought of that myself, and truly I have tried not to. But I have felt what I think the Apostle must have felt when he said, 'Woe is me if I preach not the Gospel.' Besides, G.o.d hath blessed me wonderfully, and hath used me in leading many to conversion."

After this many other questions were asked, which the man answered in a like fashion.

"Now," said Sir Henry Chester presently, "it hath been proved that thou hast been a naughty, law-breaking varlet. Thou hast devilishly and perniciously abstained from coming to church, and thou hast been guilty of the sin of preaching. For either of these things thou dost deserve to be punished with great severity. But we are inclined to be merciful. If thou wilt promise to go to church as the law dictates, and never to preach again, thou shalt be forgiven. Come now, that is a great mercy."

"Nay," said the man, "I cannot promise, for I must e'en obey G.o.d rather than man."

After this he was threatened with many cruel threats, but being obstinate he was committed to gaol as though he were an ordinary felon.

No sooner was the man dragged away by the constables than I left the court house, partly because I did not see how I could make any discoveries as to the whereabouts of Constance while there, and secondly, because I thought I saw some of the magistrates casting suspicious eyes upon me.

During the rest of the day I cast my mind about as to what I should do.

I discovered that the constables were on the look-out for Constance, and that the whole countryside was being watched, so that if she in any way shewed herself, she should be arrested and thrown into prison. But in this matter many opinions were afloat. Some had it that she had never returned to Bedford at all, but had escaped to Holland directly after her father's death, whither her sister Dorcas had gone. Others, again, held with Peter Blewitt the constable, that it was she who helped many of the Dissenters in their trouble, and, indeed, kept them from starving. This, however, seemed impossible, for how could she, who must keep in constant hiding, be able to help others?

As far as I could judge, no man seemed to recognize me. My long imprisonment had much changed my appearance, while my beard acted almost like a mask. In order to test this, I even went so far as to have a chat with the landlord of _The Bull_, and so little was he aware as to who I was that I laughed at the fears I had about the magistrates eyeing me with suspicion.

I dared not go to Goodlands, however. I knew that the place was being watched, and thus, if Constance were there--as, remembering what she had told me long months before, I believed she was--I should only increase her danger. And yet I longed to see her more than words could say, for my long imprisonment had not lessened my love. It had increased it. So that the thought that she was only a few miles from me tempted me to discard all prudence, and boldly seek her out. But this I did not do, for true love doth not seek its own pleasure, but the welfare of the one who is beloved. I therefore possessed my soul in patience until night, when I made my way to the cottage where the expelled minister told me he had taken up his abode. I remembered the words that had pa.s.sed between the husband and the wife when I had seen them on the highway near Bedford, and I believed that it was Constance whom the woman had said had promised to come to them that night.

It must have been nine by the clock as I reached the stile which the man had pointed out to me, but although it was dark, I had but little difficulty in following the path. In truth it seemed like a much trodden road, and one on which many people had lately pa.s.sed. I had not gone far before I saw a tiny twinkling light, after which I heard the sound of voices singing.

A few minutes later I was so close that I could hear what they were singing. I did not think that the voices were very musical; nevertheless, there was a plaintiveness of tone mingled with triumph that I could not help being moved.

"_The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear?_

"_The Lord is the strength of my life: of whom shall I be afraid?_

"_When evildoers come upon me to eat up my flesh, even mine adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell._

"_Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear._