The time for testing Bunyan’s resolution was now near at hand.  Within six months of the king’s landing, within little more than a month of the issue of the magistrate’s order for the use of the Common Prayer Book, his sturdy determination to yield obedience to no authority in spiritual matters but that of his own conscience was put to the proof.  Bunyan may safely be regarded as at that time the most conspicuous of the Nonconformists of the neighbourhood.  He had now preached for five or six years with ever-growing popularity.  No name was so rife in men’s mouths as his.  At him, therefore, as the representative of his brother sectaries, the first blow was levelled.  It is no cause of surprise that in the measures taken against him he recognized the direct agency of Satan to stop the course of the truth:  “That old enemy of man’s salvation,” he says, “took his opportunity to inflame the hearts of his vassals against me, insomuch that at the last I was laid out for the warrant of a justice.”  The circumstances were these, on November 12, 1660, Bunyan had engaged to go to the little hamlet of Lower Samsell near Harlington, to hold a religious service.  His purpose becoming known, a neighbouring magistrate, Mr. Francis Wingate, of Harlington House, was instructed to issue a warrant for his apprehension under the Act of Elizabeth.  The meeting being represented to him as one of seditious persons bringing arms, with a view to the disturbance of the public peace, he ordered that a strong watch should be kept about the house, “as if,” Bunyan says, “we did intend to do some fearful business to the destruction of the country.”  The intention to arrest him oozed out, and on Bunyan’s arrival the whisperings of his friends warned him of his danger.  He might have easily escaped if he “had been minded to play the coward.”  Some advised it, especially the brother at whose house the meeting was to take place.  He, “living by them,” knew “what spirit” the magistrates “were of,” before whom Bunyan would be taken if arrested, and the small hope there would be of his avoiding being committed to gaol.  The man himself, as a “harbourer of a conventicle,” would also run no small danger of the same fate, but Bunyan generously acquits him of any selfish object in his warning:  “he was, I think, more afraid of (for) me, than of (for) himself.”  The matter was clear enough to Bunyan.  At the same time it was not to be decided in a hurry.  The time fixed for the service not being yet come, Bunyan went into the meadow by the house, and pacing up and down thought the question well out.  “If he who had up to this time showed himself hearty and courageous in his preaching, and had made it his business to encourage others, were now to run and make an escape, it would be of an ill savour in the country.  If he were now to flee because there was a warrant out for him, would not the weak and newly-converted brethren be afraid to stand when great words only were