Harry remained for some time with his friends in Christ church, drinking the beer for which the college was famous.  Then, mounting his horse, he rode back to Abingdon.

Two days later, as he was proceeding toward the town, he met a man dressed as a preacher.

“Young sir,” the latter said, “may I ask if you are Master Furness?”

“I am,” the lad replied.

“Then it is to you I am indebted for my rescue from those who assaulted me in the streets of Oxford last week.  In the confusion I could not see your face, but I inquired afterward, and was told that my preserver was Master Furness, and have come over to thank you for your courtesy and bravery in thus intervening on behalf of one whom I think you regard as an enemy, for I understand that Sir Henry, your father, has declared for the crown.”

“I acted,” Harry said, “simply on the impulse of humanity, and hold it mean and cowardly for a number of men to fall upon one.”

“We are,” the preacher continued, “at the beginning only of our troubles, and the time may come when I, Zachariah Stubbs, may be able to return to you the good service which you have done me.  Believe me, young sir, the feeling throughout England is strong for the Commons, and that it will not be crushed out, as some men suppose, even should the king’s men gain a great victory over Essex—­which, methinks, is not likely.  There are tens of thousands throughout the country who are now content to remain quiet at home, who would assuredly draw the sword and go forth to battle, should they consider their cause in danger.  The good work has begun, and the sword will not be sheathed until the oppressor is laid low.”

“We should differ who the oppressor is,” Harry replied coldly.  “I myself am young to discuss these matters, but my father and those who think with him consider that the oppression is at present on the side of the Commons, and of those whose religious views you share.  While pretending to wish to be free, you endeavor to bind others beneath your tyranny.  While wishing to worship in your way unmolested, you molest those who wish to worship in theirs.  However, I thank you for your offer, that should the time come your good services will be at my disposal.  As you say, the issue of the conflict is dark, and it may be, though I trust it will not, that some day you may, if you will, return the light service which I rendered you.”

“You will not forget my name?” the preacher said—­“Zachariah Stubbs, a humble instrument of the Lord, and a preacher in the Independent chapel at Oxford.  Thither I cannot return, and am on my way to London, where I have many friends, and where I doubt not a charge will be found for me.  I myself belong to the east countries, where the people are strong for the Lord, and I doubt not that some of those I know will come to the front of affairs, in which case my influence may perhaps be of more service than you can suppose at present.  Farewell, young sir, and whatever be the issues of this struggle, I trust that you may safely emerge from them.”