he said, 'it was to be even
so, in the fulness of time; that, however, was long after. Almost at
once we became man and wife. There seemed no need to settle that
between us. It had been settled for us by Him who brought us together.
We knew it from the first moment that we saw each the other's face.
Thy grandmother had in a measure joined herself unto the Anabaptists,
therefore 'twas at one of their meetings that we were wed. The power
of the Spirit was an astonishment unto them, and I have heard it said
that never hath the Divine Presence been more felt in any assembly
than it was that day. Thy grandmother resembled thee, my Mary, as thou
wilt be when thou art a woman grown--when thou shalt be taller and
rounder, and less slim and spare. Her eyes were darker than thine, and
she had the same soft brown hair as thine, but with thy mother's
golden threads in it, my Ann! Before she became my wife, she had been
blessed with a plenty of this world's goods, but no sooner were we wed
than her brother unjustly deprived her of her property. For myself, I
cared not. Now that she was safely mine own, he was welcome to the
land that should have been hers by right. Yet for her sake I strove to
get it back, but in vain. Then did the enemy of souls reproach me for
having brought her, whom I tenderly loved, into a state of poverty. In
humiliation and lowliness of mind before the Lord, without yielding to
the tempter, I desired Him to make me content to be what He would have
me to be; and, in a moment, I was so filled with the presence of the
Lord, that I was not able to bear the weight of the glory that was
upon me. I desired the Lord, if He had any service for me to do, to
withdraw, for I could not live; then I heard as it were a Voice say to
me, "Thou art Mine, all in heaven and earth is Mine, and it is thine
in Me; what I see good I will give unto thee, and unto thy wife and
children."'

'Poor Grandfather, that was a hard pass for thee,' murmured Mary,
smoothing the old man's coat sleeve. 'But did not a great joy follow
close upon thy trouble?' she prompted, 'a great joy on a moonshine
night, not a dark one like this?'

William Dewsbury's countenance kindled with fresh life and vigour.
'Yea, my child,' he answered, 'light did indeed illuminate us on that
same moonshine night of which thou speakest, when we went, my Ann and
I, to Lieutenant Roper's house to hear the Stranger preach. All our
lives we had both been seeking, but now b