Then going on, I told him I had a particular occasion which induced me to come now, which was, that I received advice last night by an express out of Sussex, that William Penn’s wife, with whom I had had an intimate acquaintance and strict friendship, _ab ipsis fere incunabilis_, {276a} at least _a teneris unguiculis_, {276b} lay now there very ill, not without great danger, in the apprehension of those about her, of her life, and that she had expressed her desire that I would come to her as soon as I could, the rather for that her husband was absent in America. That this had brought a great strait upon me, being divided between friendship and duty, willing to visit my friend in her illness, which the nature and law of friendship required, yet unwilling to omit my duty by failing of my appearance before him and the other justice, according to their command and my promise, lest I should thereby subject, not my own reputation only, but the reputation of my religious profession, to the suspicion of guilt, and censure of willingly shunning a trial. To prevent which I had chosen to anticipate the time, and came now to see if I could give them satisfaction in what they had to object against me, and thereupon being dismissed, pursue my journey into Sussex, or if by them detained, to submit to Providence, and by an express to acquaint my friend therewith, both to free her from an expectation of my coming and myself from any imputation of neglect. While I thus delivered myself I observed a sensible alteration in the justice, and when I had done speaking, he first said he was very sorry for Madam Penn’s illness, of whose virtue and worth he spoke very highly, yet not more than was her due; then he told me that for her sake he would do what he could to further my visit to her; “but,” said he, “I am but one, and of myself can do nothing in it; therefore you must go to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and if he be at home, see if you can prevail with him to meet me, that we may consider of it. But I can assure you,” added he, “the matter which will be laid to your charge concerning your book is of greater importance than you seem to think it. For your book has been laid before the King and Council, and the Earl of Bridgewater, who is one of the Council, hath thereupon given us command to examine you about it, and secure you.” “I wish,” said I, “I could speak with the Earl myself, for I make no doubt but to acquit myself unto him; and,” added I, “if thou pleasest to give me thy letter to him, I will wait upon him with it forthwith. For although I know,” continued I, “that he hath no favour for any of my persuasion, yet knowing myself to be wholly innocent in this matter, I can with confidence appear before him, or even before the King in Council.”