forgotten demonstration when he recalled his thoughts in the morning.
But, while he was thus becoming assimilated to the enthusiasts, his
contempt, in nowise decreasing toward them, grew very fierce against
himself; he imagined, also, that every face of his acquaintance wore a
sneer, and that every word addressed to him was a gibe. Such was his
state of mind at the period of Ilbrahim's misfortune, and the emotions
consequent upon that event completed the change of which the child had
been the original instrument.

In the mean time, neither the fierceness of the persecutors nor the
infatuation of their victims had decreased. The dungeons were never
empty; the streets of almost every village echoed daily with the lash;
the life of a woman whose mild and Christian spirit no cruelty could
embitter had been sacrificed, and more innocent blood was yet to
pollute the hands that were so often raised in prayer. Early after the
Restoration the English Quakers represented to Charles II. that a
"vein of blood was open in his dominions," but, though the displeasure
of the voluptuous king was roused, his interference was not prompt.
And now the tale must stride forward over many months, leaving Pearson
to encounter ignominy and misfortune; his wife, to a firm endurance of
a thousand sorrows; poor Ilbrahim, to pine and droop like a cankered
rose-bud; his mother, to wander on a mistaken errand, neglectful of
the holiest trust which can be committed to a woman.

* * * * *

A winter evening, a night of storm, had darkened over Pearson's
habitation, and there were no cheerful faces to drive the gloom from
his broad hearth. The fire, it is true, sent forth a glowing heat and
a ruddy light, and large logs dripping with half-melted snow lay ready