oment been satisfied. There
would be unremitting watch for victims; everywhere the net for the
unwary and the fearless would be laid. Blood-thirstiness and lust and
covetousness would make grand their disguises,--broad would their
phylacteries be made,--shining with sacred gems, their breast-plates.

Of course it was of the great God's honor these men would be jealous.
This heresy must needs be uprooted, or no knowing where would be the end
of the wild growth. And, indeed, there was no disputing the fact that
there was danger in open acceptance of such doctrines as defied the
authority of priestcraft,--ay, danger to falsehood, and death to
falsehood!

Fanaticism, cowardice, cruelty, the spirit of persecution, the spirit
of authority aroused, ignorance and vanity and foolishness would make
themselves companions, no doubt. Should Truth succumb to these? Should
Love retreat before the fierce onset of Hate? These brave men said not
so. And they looked above them and all human aid for succor,--Jacqueline
with them.

When Mazurier and Victor Le Roy went away, they left Jacqueline with
the wool-comber's mother, but they did not pass by her without notice.
Martial lingered for a moment, looking down on the young girl.

"She is one of us," said the old woman.

Then the preacher laid his hand upon her head, and blessed her.

"Continue in prayer, and listen to the testimony of the Holy Ghost,"
said he. "Then shall you surely come deep into the blessed knowledge and
the dear love of Jesus Christ."

When he had passed on, Victor paused in turn.

"It is good to be here, Jacqueline," said he. '"This is the house of
God; this is the gate of heaven."

And he also went forth, whither Mazurier had gone.

Then beside the bed of the poor wool-comber women like angels
ministered, binding up his wounds, and soothing him with voices soft as
ever spoke to man. And from the peasant whose toil was in harvest-fields
and vineyards came offers of assistance which the poor can best give the
poor.

But the wool-comber did not need the hard-earned pence of Jacqueline.
When she said, "Let me serve you now, as a daughter and a sister, you
two,"--he made no mistake in regard to her words and offer. But he had
no need of just such service as she stood prepared to render. In his
toil he had looked forward to the seasons of adversity,--had provided
for a dark day's disablement; and he was able now to smile upon his
mother and on Jacqueline, and