"They will impose penance on us, I suppose," suggested old Berthold.

"Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold,--every one of us."

"Oh, of course," replied Berthold calmly. "They won't touch the women?--what think you?"

"I know not what to think. But I imagine--not."

"Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that."

"We can stand any thing with G.o.d to aid us: without Him we can bear nothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him will never be called upon to do."

"I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us,"

suggested Berthold a little doubtfully.

"I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King.

Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter the furnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of His servants in the fires."

"Ay, there'll be four," said old Berthold, bowing reverently. "Sure enough, Pastor, whatever we are called upon to bear, there will be One more than our number, and His form shall be that of the _Son_ of G.o.d.

Well! the children will be safe, no question. But I am afraid the hottest corner of the furnace may be kept for you, dear Teacher."

"Be it so," answered Gerhardt quietly. "Let my Lord do with me what is good in His sight; only let me bring glory to Him, and show forth His name among the people."

"Ay, but it does seem strange," was the response, "that the work should be stopped, and the cause suffer, and eloquent lips be silenced, just when all seemed most needed! Can you understand it, Pastor?"

"No," said Gerhardt calmly. "Why should I? He understands who has it all to do. But the cause, Berthold! The cause will not suffer. It is G.o.d's custom to bring good out of evil--to give honey to His Samsons out of the carcases of lions, and to bring His Davids through the cave of Adullam to the throne of Israel. It is for Him to see that the cause prospers, in His own time and way. We have only to do each our little handful of duty, to take the next step as He brings it before us.

Sometimes the next step is a steep pull, sometimes it is only an easy level progress. We have but to take it as it comes. Never two steps at once; never one step, without the Lord at our right hand. Never a cry of 'Lord, save me!' from a sinking soul, that the hand which holds up all the worlds is not immediately stretched forth to hold him up."

"One can't always feel it, though," said the old man wistfully.

"It is enough to know it."

"Ay, when we two stand talking together in Overee Lane [Overee Lane ran out of Grandpont Street, just below the South Gate], so it may be: but when the furnace door stands open, an King Nebuchadnezzar's mighty men are hauling you towards it, how then, good Pastor?"

"Berthold, what kind of a father would he be who, in carrying his child over a bridge, should hold it so carelessly that he let it slip from his arms into the torrent beneath, and be drowned?"

"Couldn't believe such a tale, Pastor, unless the father were either drunk or mad. Why, he wouldn't be a man--he'd be a monster."

"And is that the character that thou deemest it fair and true to give to Him who laid down His life for thee?"

"Pastor!--Oh! I see now what you mean. Well--ay, of course--"

"Depend upon it, Berthold, the Lord shall see that thou hast grace sufficient for the evil day, if thy trust be laid on Him. He shall not give thee half enough for thy need out of His royal treasure, and leave thee to make up the other half out of thy poor empty coffer. 'My G.o.d shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory'--'that ye, always having all-sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.' Is that too small an alner [Note 1] to hold the wealth thou wouldst have? How many things needest thou beyond '_all_ things'?"

"True enough," said Berthold. "But I was not thinking so much of myself, Pastor--I've had my life: I'm two-and-fourscore this day; and if I am called on to lay it down for the Lord, it will only be a few months at the furthest that I have to give Him. It wouldn't take so much to kill me, neither. An old man dies maybe easier than one in the full vigour of life. But you, my dear Pastor!--and the young fellows among us--Guelph, and Conrad, and Dietbold, and Wilhelm--it'll be harder work for the young saplings to stand the blast, than for the old oak whose boughs have bent before a thousand storms. There would most likely be a long term of suffering before you, when my rest was won."

"Then our rest would be the sweeter," replied Gerhardt softly. "'He knoweth the way that we take; when He hath tried us, we shall come forth as gold.' He is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tried above that we are able to bear. And He can make us able to bear any thing."

Gerhardt was just turning into Kepeharme Lane, when a voice at his elbow made him pause and look back.

"Did you want me, friend?"

"No," answered a hoa.r.s.e voice, in a significant tone. "You want me."

Gerhardt smiled. "I thank you, then, for coming to my help. I almost think I know your voice. Are you not Rubi, the brother of Countess, who made such a pet of my little child?"

An affirmative grunt was the response.

"Well, friend?"

"If an open pit lay just across this street, between you and the Walnut Tree, what would you do?" asked the hoa.r.s.e voice.

"That would depend on how necessary it was that I should pa.s.s it, would it not?"

"Life this way--death that way," said Rubi shortly.

"And what way honour?"

"Pshaw! 'All that a man hath will he give for his life.'"

"Truth: yet even life, sometimes, will a man give for glory, patriotism, or love. There is a life beyond this, friend Rubi; and for that, no price were too high to pay."

"Men may weigh gold, but not clouds," answered Rubi in a rather scornful tone.

"Yet how much gold would purchase the life-giving water that comes from the clouds?" was Gerhardt's ready response.

"At how much do you value your life?" asked Rubi without answering the question.

"Truly, friend, I know not how to respond to that. Do you count my life to be in danger, that you ask me?"

"Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade--at least, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bell from yon tower--ay, I do."

"I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly."

In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod of Rubi's black head.

"'Should such a man as I flee?' Friend, I am the leader of this band of my countrymen--"

"Just so. That's the reason."

"Were I to flee, would they stand firm?" said Gerhardt thoughtfully, rather to himself than to the young Jew.

"Firm--to what?"

"To G.o.d," replied Gerhardt reverently, "and to His truth."

"What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one dead man, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What's the odds to you? Can't you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, before both, and have done with it?"

"I worship no saints, and have no beads."