usted to be able so to play upon the fears of Amos, and to wear him
out by scanty food and rough lodging, that, sooner than continue in such
durance, he would sign the cheque for the amount demanded.

Such was the view that Amos took of the matter, and now came the
question what he was to do. He had money enough at his bankers to meet
the cheque, and no doubt his father would help him when he knew all the
circumstances; but then, was it right to give the man this money? Was
he justified in doing so, and thus encouraging a villain in his
villainy? The more he thought the matter over, the more firmly he
became persuaded that, so long as his own life was not seriously
threatened and endangered, he ought to hold out against this infamous
demand, and be ready to endure days of privation, suffering, and
loneliness, rather than give in to what he was persuaded would be wrong-
doing. After much thought and prayer, he came to the decision that he
would not give the cheque, but would leave it to God to deliver him, how
and when he pleased.

Perfectly calmed by this act of self-committal into his heavenly
Father's keeping, he sat down by the fire on a seat which he had raised
by piling some of the logs together, and prepared for a long spell of
waiting. Whatever others might think, he was sure that his aunt would
not be content to let more than one night pass without sending out to
seek for him, and by this assurance he was greatly comforted. His
bread, cheese, and milk, carefully husbanded, would last him two or
three days, and for anything beyond that he did not feel it needful to
take any forethought.

Slowly and wearily did the long hours drag on as he paced up and down
the room, or sat by the flickering logs, which threw out but a moderate
degree of heat. His frugal meals were soon despatched, and at last
evening came. He had tried the bars of his window more than once, but
his utmost exertion of strength could not shake one of them. No; he
must abide in that prison until released from without. And then he
thought of noble prisoners for conscience' sake,--Daniel, and Paul, and
Bunyan, and many a martyr and confessor,--and he felt that he was
suffering in good company. It was just getting dusk when there came a
rap at the window. He opened the casement. The face of his cruel
jailer was there.

"The cheque," said Mr Vivian, with what was meant to be a winning
smile. "Your pony is close by, and I will let you o