ething on which I can rest till sunset, and
then help me forth."

"The saints be blessed! a jolly place to fall into. But why, in the
name of all the Calendar, dost thou want to wait till sunset?"

"Because I am a Jew, and until then is the holy Sabbath."

A peal of laughter answered the explanation.

"Hope thou mayest enjoy it! Well, if ever I heard such nonsense! Is it
worth while pulling a Jew out?--what sayest thou, Anselm?"

"He is a man, poor soul!" returned a second voice. "Nay, let us not
leave him to such a death as that."

"Look here, old Jew! I will go and fetch a ladder and rope. I should
pull my dog out of that hole, and perhaps thou mayest be as good."

"I will not be taken out till sunset," returned Delecresse stubbornly.

"The fellow's a mule! Hie thee, Anselm, and ask counsel of our gracious
Lord what we shall do."

A strange feeling crept over Delecresse when he heard his fate, for life
or death, thus placed in the hands of the man whose life he had wrecked.
Anselm was heard to run off quickly, and in a few minutes he returned.

"Sir Richard the Earl laughed a jolly laugh when I told him," was his
report. "He saith, Let the cur be, if he will not be plucked forth
until Monday morning: for if Saturday be his Sabbath, Sunday is mine,
and what will defile the one will defile the other." [This part of the
story is historical.]

"Monday morning! He will be a dead man, hours before that!"

"So he will. It cannot be helped, except--Jew, wilt thou be pulled out
now, or not? If not now, then not at all."

For one moment, the heart of Delecresse grew sick and faint within him
as he contemplated the awful alternatives presented to his choice.
Then, gathering all his strength, he shouted back his final decision.

"No! I will not break the Sabbath of my God."

The men outside laughed, uttered an expression of contemptuous pity, and
he heard their footsteps grow faint in the distance, and knew that he
was left to die as horrible a death as can befall humanity. Only one
other cry arose, and that was not for the ears of men. It was the
prayer of one in utter error, yet in terrible extremity: and it was
honestly sincere.

"Adonai! I have sinned and done evil, all my life long. Specially I
have sinned against this man, who has left me to die here in this
horrible place. Now therefore, O my God, I beseech Thee, let the
sufferings of Thy servant be accepted before Thee as an atonement f