A vague uneasiness filled the lad’s mind. What was the matter, and why was Simon the groom speedily surrounded by a small crowd of eager questioners? Among them he could see old Nat the sailor, his wrinkled face bearing a look of indignation which he had never before seen there.
“Nat,” he called, “pray come and speak with me. What does it all mean?”
“Why, master,” said the old man, “it means that Archbishop Laud has summoned the best man in all Hereford because, forsooth, he does not bow his head to order in the church.”
“Oh! Nat, you don’t think they’ll cut off his ears, do you?” said the boy in an agony, remembering in a flash all the gruesome and, alas! true tales he had heard of such practices.
“I don’t know, master, but Simon here thinks it’s a matter of paying a fine. I’m going into the court to see for myself.”
In a trice Gabriel had dismounted. “Take me with you, Nat—please do,” he said. He was small for his years, and doubted whether the officials would let him pass alone, but his confidence in the old sailor was unbounded, and Nat made no objection, but led the boy into the Archdeacon’s court, where on the very last bench they found a spare place.
However small, however ill-furnished, there is generally something impressive about a court. To-day, moreover, all the diocesan officials were removed from their customary places, while raised above the ordinary mortals Archbishop Laud sat in a great chair of state. In the next tier were seated his vicar-general and various subordinate officials; while to the left side, at a lower level, stood Dr. Bridstock Harford. The doctor, who had married extremely early in his medical student days, was now not very much over thirty, a vigorous, intellectual-looking man, with one of those strong, quiet faces which inspire confidence. As Nat and Gabriel entered he had been asked what he had to say in defence, and Gabriel’s heart pounded in his breast as he listened to the calm, courteous reply.
“Your Grace,” said the doctor, “it is true that I have never practised any bowings or genuflexions, and for these reasons: First, nothing in Holy Writ seems to warrant it, the oft-quoted verse, ‘At the Name shall every knee bow,’ being, as all Greek students are well aware, truly the assertion that in the name of Christ all shall pray or worship. In another Scripture I read that God doth in no wise care that a man should bow his head like a bulrush; and in yet another that ‘God hath made men upright, but they have sought out many inventions.’ But, your Grace, what chiefly moves me to shun these formal bowings is the belief that in all matters of religion there should be a deep reserve betwixt the soul and God. Surely a reverence that is both sincere and profound seeks rather to express itself by inward and spiritual adoration than by any muscular movements, or ceremonies that are visible to others and which may become as like as not either Pharisaical or merely automaton-like. Christ spoke of a worship that should be in spirit and in truth, but gave us only two ceremonies, and those the simplest conceivable. For these reasons I object to complying with the order.”
The harsh voice of the Archbishop broke the silence which followed. It was utterly impossible for him to understand any side of a question but his own, and his fatal lack of sympathetic insight blinded him to the noble nature of the man he was dealing with.
“Your arguings, sir,” he remarked, “are what I should have expected from one of the teachers of science, falsely so called. Well was it written, ‘Knowledge puffeth up.’ How intractable, how lacking in humility is your nature I call on all here to witness.”