s desire is not
censurable.

'But that they seek, by means of persecution and torture, to compel us
to receive what they hold to be the true faith,--that they would bind
the immortal spirit with earthly chains, when the word of God cannot be
bound or confined,--therein lies their error. It therefore becomes us
as christians to forgive them; 'they know not what they do.'

'Even that terrible man whose barbarity has destroyed this blessed
martyr to our faith, knew not, as we charitably hope, what he did,--and
therefore will we not curse him, but pray to God that he will purify
his heart and enlighten his mind.

'Therefore let us patiently suffer the afflictions which the Lord may
yet send us for our good, without hatred towards the instruments he may
employ for that purpose, and thus seek to become worthy of the glorious
martyrs to the pure Christianity of the first ages, and of this our
blessed friend. Should He require us also to lay down our lives for our
faith, so will we without anger or opposition bow our necks to the
death-dealing axe, and die with the departing exclamation of our
Savior, 'it is fulfilled!--Amen.''

He retired. The lid of the coffin was fastened down, and it was then
lowered into the earth.

In accordance with a pious old custom, the husband and orphans each
cast three handsful of earth into the grave, as a last farewell, and
the bereaved man then retired, tearless as he had come, while the
children found relief for their sorrow in audible weeping.

All the spectators now-pressed about the grave to pay the last honors
to the dear departed, and from hundreds of hands fell the earth upon
the coffin below. The young Franciscan also, by great exertion made a
path for himself to the grave; having thrown in his handful of earth,
he hastily caught hold of his companions, and exclaiming, 'now forward,
the moments are precious!' led them away.

'Why should the moments be so precious to this monk?' mused the
observant Lichtensteiner; and then, after a moment's reflection, he
suddenly cried, 'the captain may be able to explain it!'--and ran from
the church-yard.

CHAPTER XVI.

In a low chamber in the little village of Friedland, eight days later,
lay the aged Mrs. Rosen on the sick bed upon which the effects of her
long confinement in the cellar, the extraordinary exertions consequent
upon her sudden flight, and more than all, her sorrow for the loss of
her