e night, and I was sitting at the little table in my room moved by a
power of mind to think past many miles, even unto the home of friend
Hicks. I saw him sitting by the kitchen-fire that was so warm and large in
its dimensions--for it was cold weather now--and on the opposite side of
the hearth his daughter on a low chair was busy looking into the flame
that lit up the smooth bands of her hair that lay like satin of a soft
brown color upon her comely face. Her eyes were bright, her lips were
parting as one who jests, and--But I fear me I have run beyond sense
again. Suffice it to say that I sat there culpably lost in thought, when
a solemn voice like the voice of a prophet of old startled me and made me
cold.

"Out of tribulation comes patience; out of patience, hope," said the
voice; and then a low, scornful laugh. It was then I remembered the poor
demented woman, and I arose and opened my room-door. She was standing
inside her own room, a slight pale woman with a sadly-bereaved face: her
arms were stretched out above her as one in supplication. "False God!" she
cried in a voice cold and bitter, in which there was no trace of
tenderness or pitiful earnestness, "Thou hast made me a lie upon Thy cruel
earth. Tribulation Thou hast given me; patience the world forced upon me;
hope Thou hast denied me."

Still with her arms outstretched she _spoke_ to the Lord and reviled Him.
She clenched her hands in anger at times as her speech waxed more
wrathful. In much compassion I would have gone in and closed the door, but
as I was on the point of doing so, she, with one of those quick and
nervous thrills that so often belong to dementia, saw me and pointed to
me. She would have spoken, but I saw friend Afton's hand suddenly close
about her waist, draw her forcibly from my view, and close the door
between us.

"The Lord is mighty," I said to myself, and called to mind that youth
among the tombs so long ago--that youth that they of old said was
possessed of devils, and whom the pitying Man of Sorrows called upon to be
free from torments.

In the morning friend Afton explained that I need have no fear.

"I think thee fails to comprehend that we Friends neglect one thing in our
training, and that is fear," said I.

"And poor Mrs. Jordan won't make thou look for another boarding-house,
sir?" asked she.

"Friend Jordan assuredly will not," said I, "but friend Afton may, if thee
will pardon my abruptness, which seems to wound th