icah. He was silent for a
minute. Then he muttered as if to himself--

"Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon
us. Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?"

"Come," said Donald, "don't stand muttering there."

But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and
looking upward, he spoke slowly, clearly--

"May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has
informed against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and
astonishment of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth
in the darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear
day and night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in
the morning--'Would God it were even! And at even--'Would God it were
morning!' for the fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the
sight of his eyes which he shall see."

"That," said Donald, "is a mighty fine curse. I'm darned if I ever heard
a more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in
our company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he
never came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will
have to be wasted. There isn't a man living who could stand it for long.
Still, if you name the man for us, I'll do the best I can with him.
I may not be able to work the blindness and the groping just as you'd
wish, but I'll undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a
bit."

Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother's speech, stalked
bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house.

The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a
song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have
drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of
the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses.

"Mr. Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "will you give me the keys and save
me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I
suppose he has told you what we have come to do?"

"I shall never render the keys to you," said Micah Ward. "Do the work of
scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you."

The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah
Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence
of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain.

"Say"--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--"do yo