d in the heart. We acknowledge no rule
but this Christ, this faith within us, either in temporal or spiritual
things. And the Lord hath blessed us, and will bless us, and truth
shall be magnified and exalted in us; and the children of the heathen
shall be brought to know and partake of this great redemption whereof we
testify. But woe to the false teachers, and to them who prophesy for
hire and make gain of their soothsaying. Their churches are the devices
of Satan, the pride and vanity of the natural Adam. Their baptism is
blasphemy; and their sacrament is an abomination, yea, an incantation
and a spell. Woe to them who take the shadow for the substance, that
bow down to the altars of human device and cunning workmanship, that
make idols of their ceremonies! Woe to the high priests and the
Pharisees, and the captains and the rulers; woe to them who love the
wages of unrighteousness!"

The Familist paused from utter exhaustion, so vehemently had he poured
forth the abundance of his zeal. Mary Edmands, overwhelmed by his
eloquence, but still unconvinced, could only urge the disgrace and
danger attending his adherence to such pernicious doctrines. She
concluded by telling him, in a voice choked by tears, that she could
never marry him while a follower of Gorton.

"Stay then," said Martin, fiercely dashing her hand from his, "stay and
partake of the curse of the ungodly, even of the curse of Meroz, who
come not up to the help of the Lord, against the mighty Stay, till the
Lord hath made a threshing instrument of the heathen, whereby the pride
of the rulers, and the chief priests, and the captains of this land
shall be humbled. Stay, till the vials of His wrath are poured out upon
ye, and the blood of the strong man, and the maid, and the little child
is mingled together!"

The wild language, the fierce tones and gestures of her lover, terrified
the unhappy girl. She looked wildly around her, all was dark and
shadowy, an undefined fear of violence came over her; and, bursting into
tears, she turned to fly. "Stay yet a moment," said Martin, in a hoarse
and subdued voice. He caught hold of her arm. She shrieked as if in
mortal jeopardy.

"Let go the gal, let her go!" said old Job Clements, thrusting the long
barrel of his gun through the bushes within a few feet of the head of
the Familist. "A white man, as sure as I live! I thought, sartin, 't
was a tarnal In-in." Martin relinquished his hold, and, the