even her objectionable husband received with open arms.

But what an enormous difference there is between fancy and fact. During
this brief absence of mine, had come home the brother who had always
seemed to concentrate the hatred of the whole family towards me for the
wrong they assumed I had done to the youngest daughter who loved me.
On my return I found the peaceful home I left in the morning a perfect
pandemonium. Sarah was fairly frantic. The whole family were abusing
her. The returned brother especially, was calling her all the vile names
he could lay his tongue to. I learned afterwards that he had been doing
it ever since he came into the house that day and found her at home and
heard that I was with her. They had picked, wrenched rather, out of her
the secret I had confided to her that I had another wife from whom I was
"separated," but not divorced. My sudden presence on this scene was not
exactly oil on troubled waters; it was gunpowder to fire. As soon as
Sarah saw me at the door she cried out:

"O! husband, let us go away from here."

Her mother turned and shouted at me that I had better fly at once or
they would kill me. Meanwhile, that mob, which the Scheimer boys seemed
always to have at hand, was gathering in the dooryard. I managed to get
near enough to Sarah to tell her that I would send a man for her next
day, and then if she was willing to come with me she must get away
from her family if possible. I then made a rush through the crowd, and
reached the road. I think the gang had an indistinct knowledge of the
situation, or they would have mobbed me, and perhaps killed me. They
knew something was "to pay" at Scheimer's, but did not know exactly
what. Once on the road it was my intention to have gone over to
Belvidere, and then on to Oxford, where I should have found a sure
refuge with my friend Boston Yankee.

Would that I had done so; but I was a fool; I thought I could be of
service to Sarah by remaining near her; might see her next day; I might
even be able to get her out of the house, and then we could once more
elope together and go back again to Goshen where we had been so happy.
So I went to a public house three miles above Scheimer's, and remained
there quietly during the rest of the day, revolving plans for the
deliverance of Sarah. I thought only of her. It is strange that I did
not once realize what a perilous position I was in myself--that, firmly
as I believed myself to be wedded to Sa