"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, God 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 God 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?