a much stronger man than his quick and determined
adversary; but either he feared the latter's agility, or blinding
passion made him forgetful of every feeling of honor and humanity. His
eye fell upon a dangerous weapon, a fragment of a hickory fork-handle,
that lay within his reach. He made a spring for it; but the clergyman
had picked it up before him.

"Give it to me, old man!" Mark muttered through his teeth.

"Nay, my friend, you must not have it," replied Father Brighthopes,
firmly, but kindly.

"I must not? You mean to govern me like a boy, on my own ground?" hissed
the angry man. "Let go your hold!"

"I entreat you, pause one minute to consider," said the clergyman,
meekly. "Then you shall have the club, to use it as you please."

His words had no effect, except to turn the tide of Mark's fury against
him. The angry man raved at him with a tempest of oaths; shaking his
fist in his face, he swore that, were it not for his white hairs, he
would have crushed him beneath his heel.

"God have mercy on you!" said Father Brighthopes, with solemn
earnestness, and with tears.

"None of your pious nonsense here!" thundered Mark, convulsed with
passion. "Let go the club, or I shall break your arms."

"You will not break an old man's arms," replied the clergyman, with
sublime energy. "No, Mark Wheeler! I know you better. You cannot injure
me."

The strong hand of the jockey seized the old man's shoulder. The latter
seemed but a frail child in his grasp; but still he did not shrink, nor
loose his hold of the club. To Chester and his father, who sprang to
rescue him, he said,

"Do not touch him. I am not afraid. He dare not hurt me. _I am in the
hands of my God._"

Mark's fist was raised to strike.

"I _shall_ tear you to pieces!" he articulated, hoarse with rage.

"The Lord pity you! The Lord forgive you, for raising your hand against
his servant!" exclaimed Father Brighthopes, with tears coursing down his
pale cheeks. "Mark Wheeler, you cannot hurt me,--not if you kill me. But
_your own soul_ is in your grasp. My friend, I love you, I pray for you!
You cannot make me angry. I will be a Christian towards you. I _will_
pray for you! You cannot prevent that. Strike the old man to the earth,
and his last words shall be a prayer for your darkened soul!"

Mark's clenched hand fell to his side; but with the other he still held
the clergyman's shoulder, looking full in his face.

"My friend," said the old man, "