Free The Captive Bride by Gilbert Morris Page B

will join your famous uncle the moment I hear one word of your defying the Act! Now get out, all of you! I called you here to tell you that I am set against you! You had your way with the true servants of the King while that traitor Cromwell lived—now we’ll see who will bend their necks to the Royal Monarch, King Charles the Second! Get out!”
    Matthew made to move toward the justice, but his arms were pinned at once by Gifford and Bunyan. As they struggled to get him outside the door, he cried out with a ringing voice, “You godless dog! Put me in the jail! I’ll stay there until the moss grows up to my eyes before I’ll give in to you!”
    He was still raging as they cleared the front door.
    â€œYou young fool! What good did that do?” Bunyan said roughly as he jerked the young man so hard his neck popped.
    â€œYou expect me to stand there and listen to that—!”
    â€œShut your mouth!” Bunyan interrupted fiercely. As soon as they were clear of the drive and back on the main road, he released Matthew and turned to walk rapidly toward the center of town, Gifford joining him.
    Matthew stood transfixed, then hurried to catch up withthe two men who ignored him, speaking quietly only to each other.
    â€œNo hope for mercy from Twisten, just as I said,” Pastor Gifford said despondently. He gave a quick sideways glance at the burly tinker beside him. “What will you do, John?”
    â€œWhat God tells me to do!”
    â€œBut you know the end of that—I mean, if you are apprehended preaching, you’ll be deported, maybe for life!”
    Bunyan did not look at Gifford. His eyes were fixed on the horizon where small groups of scudding clouds broke the monotony of the gray sky. He seemed to be lost in thought and it was not until they were abreast the field where the lane turned to his cottage that he stopped and turned his eyes on Gifford and Winslow.
    â€œI’m afraid, Pastor.”
    â€œ You —afraid?” Matthew asked in surprise. Never had a man seemed so filled with total dedication as John Bunyan, and he could not believe what the tall preacher was saying.
    â€œYes, I’m afraid,” Bunyan said simply. He smiled slightly, and his eyes were fixed on Winslow. “You’ve often told me what a good imagination I have, Matthew.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWell, I do have more of that than most men, but it’s a curse—at least in this case.” He brushed his hand across his face in an odd gesture, as if he were attempting to brush away invisible cobwebs. When he lowered his hand there was a vulnerability in his strong face that Matthew had never seen before. “Every night I have this dream—always the same. I’m in a cell, a dirty, dank cell with filth everywhere. And in the dream I’ve been there so long I can’t remember when I came there, and there’s no end to it! Every night is an eternity stretching out to the crack of doom—but that’s not the worst!”
    â€œWhat is it, John?” Gifford asked quietly.
    â€œIt’s my family—my wife and children.” Bunyan brushed his hand across his eyes, and when he looked up Matthewsaw they were filled with tears. “I hear them outside the cell, crying—especially Mary—oh, the thought of my blind one, what she may endure, breaks my heart to pieces!”
    His companions stood there helplessly. Gifford glanced quickly at Matthew as if to say, I’ve never seen this side of John Bunyan. Then he said gently, “It’s asking too much—for a man with a family. Let the younger men do the front-line fighting, John.”
    â€œStop preaching?”
    â€œJust for a while.”
    â€œNo! Never. I spoke too quickly against you, Matthew,” he said with a faint smile. “I like what you told the justice! What was it you said?” He searched for it, then said, “ ‘I’ll stay there until