Wolsey may have thought, when the last of these silent martyrs died in his pestiferous dungeons at Oxford, that he had made an end of this unauthorised attempt to circulate the Word of God, and reform the Church. If he did, he soon had cause to know that he was mistaken.
This fountain of the water of life,—the Word of God,—being once opened, could never again be closed. God's Holy Spirit had inspired Tyndale to devote his life to the perfecting of the translation of the Scriptures, and though he was hunted from city to city on the Continent,—where alone he could get his New Testaments printed,—still he always contrived to carry his treasure with him.
Edition after edition, thus revised and rendered into clearer English, was poured into the various ports of the kingdom; and though some of them fell into the hands of the Cardinal's spies, and were publicly burned, these burnings served to arouse the desire of the people to know more of this condemned book. And so the numerous copies that escaped the vigilance of the Cardinal's agents were eagerly sought for, and found their way into many a quiet English home, both in London and the country.
In this way the seed of the Word was sown broadcast through the land, and brought forth fruit in the hearts and lives of many who counted not their lives dear to them, but for the truth and liberty of the Gospel were ready to suffer for the sake of conscience, and the true English Reformation, of which Tyndale's New Testament was the corner stone.
Meanwhile social and political changes were slowly developing in a fashion that must have been bewildering to an onlooker, and many may have doubted whether England was being ruled by God or by Satan at that particular juncture. But we, looking back to this dark page of English history, can see that an all-wise Providence controlled and guided tyrant and victim alike, although it may have seemed that God had forgotten His people for a time.
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
AFTER MANY DAYS.
ONE evening in the early spring of 1536, a party of travellers rode through the fields of St. Martin towards Westminster. There was a lady riding on a pillion behind her husband, and several men and maid servants, with one or two children mounted in a similar fashion, besides a couple of mules laden with stores and baggage for the whole party.
Passengers hurrying homeward to London or Westminster in the pleasant dusk of the evening glanced at the wayfarers; and one or two of these, seeing that the travellers were undoubtedly well-to-do country folk, who probably knew nothing of the dangers of the streets and suburbs of the city, with kindly solicitude for the children, called to suggest that they should hurry to their hostelry without delay. For swarms of desperate beggars crept out of their lurking places at sunset, to rob unwary travellers who had not been fortunate enough to gain a place of refuge before the rogues set upon them; and this party would fall an easy prey to a large gang of these roughs, thought the passers by.
The gentleman nodded pleasantly in acknowledgment of the warning. "Oh, I know the ways of the town, and the poor wretches who are a terror to all honest men," he said reassuringly to his wife. "I did not live with the great cardinal, in the palace yonder, without knowing something of the perils of the streets of London. Be content, sweetheart, we are close to our hostelry now; and to-morrow I hope we shall all be safely lodged under your father's roof at Greenwich."