Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/533

31, 1863.] ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress.’ Hum! I doubt about this book, Candler. Here, you are a ready reader. Is not this some mischief about the Pope? I do not know what his Majesty would say to that.”

After some consultation, the decree was given forth that the book had a dangerous appearance and must be detained, at least till something could be learned about it.

Madam Lisle looked amused, and requested Mr. Markland to turn to the title-page, where she showed him the words “Tenth edition.” She had to explain that the first bookseller he saw could satisfy him that this was a work known all over England. There was nothing new to be discovered in it now.

While pondering over this, the officer was roused by the sight of the name in the title-page. “Bunyan!” what Bunyan? He had heard of a low fellow,—a pestilent traitor of that name,—a tinker or a cobbler, or something of that sort, who was tied by the leg at last,—a prisoner in Bedford jail.

Candler thought it could not be the same; for the writer of the famous book was a preacher, and had crowds to hear him every Sunday, and often in the week time.

Madam Lisle explained the case. The author, the prisoner, and the preacher were the same man. John Bunyan was trusted to go forth and preach, and return to his prison. This strange story so quickened Mr. Markland’s curiosity, that he pocketed the book.

The sympathetic mother saw how overwhelming this affliction was to Joanna, and that a burst of grief was coming. Holding up a finger in admonition, she drew her child towards her, and said something which induced her to stifle her sobs in her mother’s bosom.

“Never mind! my little lass,” her father said to her. “You have read enough for to-day. You shall tell me the story to-night; and to-morrow we will get the book, if it is in Lyme.”

“It is in all bookshops,” Madam Lisle repeated. But Joanna could not comprehend how she should pass the rest of this day without the book,—poor Christian was in such terrible danger, just where she was interrupted.

There was much to be done, however, before the day was over. Officers were to remain in the house; and therefore some of the family must leave it. The object of the spies could hardly be to catch M. Florien, in the absence of all evidence of his being in England: and it probably was—the common device of the time for plaguing Puritans—to detect the family in some breach of the Conventicle Act, by the presence of more persons than five at a religious service. The practice of the house was to have one service for five in the house, and another, conducted by the parents and the elder daughters in turn, for the servants in the summer-house. In patrolling the road, or in spying about the premises, the constables had now and then heard the voice of prayer, or a psalm, from the summer-house. Now there was hope that the visitors from Winchester and Dorchester would swell the attendance beyond the legal number; and this was, no doubt, the reason why the officers of justice were to remain.

The service of God must not be given up for a mere inconvenience. The children and nurse and one elder sister must be sent to the refuge, for such case made and provided. Five miles off, upon the down, stood Malachi Dunn’s farm-house,—a well defended stone house, with rooms fitted up for the reception of friends in trouble. An hour before sunset a carrier’s cart drove up to the door of Battiscombe House; and the children, Judith, and Nurse were ready to start. It might be hoped that it was only for a few days. The Squire whispered to Joanna that he would be sure to ride over with the book, as soon as he could get it. The child’s red eyes began to overflow again; and Madam Lisle kindly observed that we all have our first hard cross; and this seemed to be Joanna’s.

“Let me say a word to you, my children,” said the Squire, after a moment’s thought.

All listened eagerly; and, when they saw that he wished not to be overheard, they gathered round him, leaning on his shoulders and his knees, and kneeling before him. Elizabeth bent forward, and the old lady put her hand behind her ear.

“This has been a trying day for most of us,” said the Squire. “My little daughter here is not the only one who has had her cross to bear. Our guests have had their visit spoiled; the elder has been agitated and alarmed, I fear”

“Trouble not thyself for me,” said Madam Lisle, smiling. “At the far end of life there is nothing to fear in this world; and, fond as we old people are of repose, a day of mere disturbance is not worth remembering the next morning.”

“You see, my children! Which of us has been so calm this day as the frailest in body? Then, there is our guest Elizabeth,—instead of the jollity of a Restoration Day at home, there has been something worse than an execution for debt for her to witness.”

“Surely you are not pitying me!” exclaimed Elizabeth, blushing and laughing. “I hold it a great advantage to obtain an insight so early into the way of life that I—that Christopher”

“That you render yourself liable to for Christopher’s sake,” said Christopher’s mother, with a kiss which deepened the blush on the dimpled cheek of her future daughter.

“Your mother and I,” continued the Squire, “are not too proud to own that our natural temper rises against insult and intrusion; and we have therefore suffered to-day; and our children no doubt yet more, inasmuch as they are less experienced in conflicts. I was pleased, however, at Anthony, when the roughest of these men demanded of him with menace what his tutor had taught him about the King and the Church. My boy called out to me, ‘Father! need I answer that?’ I told him I should not in his place: and not a word on that subject did the whole party get out of him.”

“Nor out of David either,” Anthony observed.

“Indeed! Then that is better still,” said the Squire, “inasmuch as David is the younger.” And he pressed the boy more closely to him. “But what impresses me the most deeply,” he