The preacher was greatly chagrined, when his eyes resumed their office, to find himself almost thrust out and on his way back to the guard-chamber. A number of soldiers and domestics were here assembled. Lady Derby, with her chap
lain, steward, and captains, ranged on each side, stood at the higher end of the chamber.
Silence was commanded, whilst she read aloud the despatch.
"And this,—and this, my answer!" said she, tearing the paper as she spoke, and throwing the fragments indignantly from her.
"Tell that insolent rebel he shall neither have our persons, our goods, nor yet this house. When our strength and provision be spent, we shall find a fire more merciful than Rigby; and then, if the providence of God prevent it not, my goods and house shall burn in his sight:—myself, children, and soldiers, rather than fall into his hands, will seal our religion and loyalty in the same flame!"
A loud shout burst through the assembly, who, with one general voice, cried out—
"We will die for his Majesty and your honour:—God save the king!"
Gideon's countenance grew terrible, and he seemed as though suffering under some violent excitement. Lifting up his hand, he was about to thunder forth anathemas and denunciations, the dealing out of which, strange to say, most parties agree in reserving to themselves. Even men whose honesty and single-heartedness we cannot doubt—who have boldly defended our rights and liberties against religious tyranny and intolerance—have still arrogated to themselves exclusively the control of opinions and modes of belief:—wielding the terrors of Heaven where the arm of Omnipotence can alone be felt; their efforts futile and ineffectual, as though a feeble worm were attempting to grasp the quiver,—to launch the bolt and the arrow from the skies.
But Gideon's purpose was again frustrated: the impious idolaters, refusing to listen, blindfolded him before he was aware.
But his spirit kindled suddenly, and he cried aloud—