The sermon preached that day by Master William Tyndale was not speedily forgotten; for the preacher, instead of insisting upon penance, masses for the dead, and other Romish doctrines, begged his hearers to make themselves acquainted with the Word of God Himself, which would teach them in simple truths the unsearchable riches of Christ.
Monmouth listened with his heart and soul, as well as his ears; and when the clock struck nine, and the sermon was drawing to a close, he whispered to Miles, "I could listen for another hour to that priest, though he has been speaking nigh upon an hour now!"
"Aye, he speaks like Master Clark of Oxford, of whom I have told you."
"Do you think he would come to 'The Golden Fleece,' and have some discourse with my dame? Can you come with him and spend the rest of the day?" said Monmouth eagerly.
"I must ask my friend's leave first, for he has promised to spend a day or two with me while the Cardinal is at Hampton Court, where he has gone to spend a few days."
Monmouth smiled. "Ah! after the storm he raised about our ears he would fain hide his head for a while," he said in a pleasant tone, though he too was one who had denounced the benevolence as illegal. They sat and chatted quietly together while the people were going out of church, and when William Tyndale appeared Miles went forward to meet him, and told him of Master Monmouth's proposal.
But Master Tyndale was a gentleman who came of good family, although he might not be able to boast of much of this world's goods; and so he looked a little surprised that Miles should propose to spend the day in such familiar intercourse with a London merchant, even though he might be rich.
The learned thinker was not altogether free of the pride and prejudice of birth, that placed the land owners above those who earned their bread by trade and the sweat of their own faces, and so he bowed with a little stiffness to Monmouth's proposal, that they should walk with him through Fleet Street, and take their dinner with him and his dame.
But fortunately the decision was left to Miles; and he had been to Monmouth's house before, and made the acquaintance of his family; and so he soon decided that they would go home with him, and that Master Tyndale should return with him to York House before sunset.
London shops in those days, with their beetle-browed, overhanging upper stories, were not the most inviting of places, especially on Sunday when the outer flap which formed the window shutter was closed, and the whole place was in darkness. Then, too, there was the close, fusty, musty smell of the goods stored away in the cellar, and on the shelves, and in every available corner, so that it was difficult to leave a clear passage-way for the family use through all the combined litter of the shop. Now, as the merchant led the way between boxes, bales and sacks, he had to turn round and grasp the priest's hand, lest he should stumble over some of the lumber, or down the cellar stairs of "The Golden Fleece."