“It was well for him that the informer blundered in his depositions against him, and indeed, so did the justices who took the information; for there is not in the deposition any express mention of the time or place, when and where the Doctor said, that _the same power which put our Saviour on the pinnacle of the Temple, put William and Mary upon the throne_; but I am told that there are other informations against him. His successor has broke into his Church in his absence, and got possession in his absence, and this is a very great trouble to the Dr. [Sidenote: NONJURORS EJECTED.] “I hear that Mr. Dean of Worcester begins to appear again, and hopes that the storm will blow over him. I heartily wish it may, _sed timeo Danaos_; for commonly they are not so generous.”[205] The Dean of Worcester here referred to was Dr. Hickes. A little more than a fortnight before Lloyd’s letter was written, the Dean drew up a protest against his own ejectment, addressed to the Sub-Dean and Prebendaries, idly declaring the appointment of a successor to be illegal, and as idly calling upon them to defend the rights of the dispossessed. This protesting ended in smoke. Hickes and Wagstaffe, as well as Lloyd, had to succumb; so had Frampton of Gloucester, and White of Peterborough. Sancroft yielded only to a legal process; and at last, on Midsummer eve, between seven and eight o’clock, accompanied by the steward of his household and three other friends, he entered a boat at Lambeth ferry, which conveyed the little party to the Temple stairs, where the deprived Primate sought shelter for a few days in Palsgrave Court. One imagines, as amidst the lengthening shadows on the waters that same night he left for ever the towers of the familiar palace, he would cast “one longing, lingering look behind.” But history preserves a more touching picture of the departure of Ken from the city of Wells. [Sidenote: 1691.] After he had from his pastoral chair in the Cathedral asserted his Canonical right to remain Bishop of the Diocese, he passed through the gardens and crossed the drawbridge over the moat, whilst old and young crowded round him to ask his blessing and say farewell. “Mild, complacent, yet dignified,” remarks the Layman who writes his life, “on retiring with a peaceful conscience from opulence and station to dependence and poverty, as the morning sun shone on the turreted chapel, we naturally imagine he may have shed only one tear, when looking back on those interesting scenes. Perhaps his eye might have rested on the pale faces of some of the poor old men and women who had partaken their Sunday dinner so often, and heard his discourse in the old hall.”[206]