Here and there the light of a lantern or a flaming torch enlivened the scene; but nearly all the torches and candles that could be got together were grouped at one end of the court, where, upon a roughly made platform, the chief landowners and the clergy were gathered around Sir Hubert Blair, who was dressed richly in velvet and lace, as befitted his rank, and who seemed to be the cynosure of all eyes.
As I saw him there, so young, yet looking wiser than his years would warrant, and so handsome, yet humble withal, and remembered how he had saved my life but yesterday, bearing me in his arms as if I were a child, and bruising his own hands rather than suffer me to touch the trees, my heart glowed within me and a wordless prayer rose from it that his friendship for me and mine for him might be blessed and strengthened mightily.
Just for a moment he caught my eye, as his keen glance swept over the audience, and I could not be sure, but I thought a wave of colour passed over his pale, proud features. Yet he turned his eyes resolutely away from me, and I knew that just then, for the time being, he existed only for the people with whom he was about to plead and for whose sake he was there.
I did not hear much of what the first speaker, a white-haired venerable old bishop, was saying, for his voice was feeble, and Lady Caroline, who stood near me, whispered that it was only because of his age and high position that the opening speech was apportioned to him.
But, after having spoken a little while, the people listening at first with reverence and then beginning to show signs of some impatience, he seemed to call upon the audience for a hymn, for suddenly, in most excellent voice, the whole assembly began to sing the psalm—
To Sion's Hill I lift my eyes,
From thence expecting aid;
From Sion's Hill and Sion's God,
Who Heaven and earth has made.
Then thou, my soul, in safety rest,
Thy Guardian will not sleep;
His watchful care that Israel guards,
Will Israel's monarch keep.
And so on to the finish—
At home, abroad, in peace, in war,
Thy God shall thee defend;
Conduct thee through life's pilgrimage
Safe to thy journey's end.
The last words had scarcely died away when a stout curate, with a fine, clear voice, began to speak about the Reformation, relating in brief its history and the gross errors from which it had freed the people, causing the abolition of so much that intervened between themselves and God, for instance the jurisdiction of the Pope, the doctrine of trans-substantiation, the withdrawal of the Holy Scriptures from the people, the refusal of liberty to worship in a tongue understood by the people, confession to a priest, penance and the like.
I did not understand it all, not by a long way, but Timothy's graphic comment—for he had found his way to my elbow—enlightened me not a little.