"Lord, wilt thou not choose me also for this service?"
The little light in his soul increased into a gleam of hope; he turned his back on the fens and Erith Bulwark, and retraced his steps towards St. Ives, crossing the lands of Slepe Hall, which he rented, and coming soon again in view of the quiet, sombre little town, and of the garden wall enclosing his own riverside house.
The mist now began to waver and lift, and to be over-coloured with a play of light, and when he reached the church the day was almost normal fair.
In his soul, too, was the struggle stilled; a curious apathy, a pause in spiritual experience, enveloped him. He stood motionless for a moment, for he felt physically weak and his legs trembled under him.
As he halted so, not a yard from the entrance to the church, a solitary horseman disturbed the dulness of the street—a young yeoman farmer returning from market at Huntingdon town. On seeing the gentleman he reined in the stout grey he rode, and very respectfully raised his hat.
"Why, sir," he said, "there is great news in Huntingdon. Why, Mr. Cromwell, the news of the verdict is abroad!"
The other had no need to ask what verdict. In all England men spoke of "the trial"—the trial of John Hampton for refusing to pay the King's tax.
"Well?" he asked, and his serious face was pale.
"Mr. Cromwell," answered the young man dismally, "he is to pay the twenty shillings."