The terrified villagers were still streaming across the road when
Goldmorrow came up. Nothing could exceed the pity which the spectacle
stirred in his breast. Tears streamed from his eyes. The bareness,
the poverty, the misery of the present time seemed to come into view
and gather into a point in what he saw. "Oh!" he cried to his
companions, "if Christ were only come! Only He could deal with evils
so great as these!" Then, withdrawing his thoughts into himself, and
still moved with his humane pity, he breathed this prayer to Christ:
"Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, and lay thy healing hand on the wounds
and sorrows of the world." His companions were also touched with what
they saw. And in earnest and reverent words one of them exclaimed:
"Blessed hope! Light of the pilgrim! Star of the weary! The earth
has waited long thy absent light to see." But, by the time the words
were spoken, the villagers were behind them, and, spurring their
horses, the travelers hastened forward on their way.


IV.

A PLAGUE-STRICKEN VILLAGE.

The dust raised by their horses' hoofs was still floating over the
highway when Goldenday, with his sister and their attendants, rode up
to the spot. Two or three groups of the fugitives had made a temporary
home for the night under the shelter of the trees on the left. Others
were still arriving. The pale faces, the terrified looks of the
villagers, filled the Prince with concern. "It is the pestilence,"
they said, in answer to his inquiries. "The pestilence, good sir, and
it is striking us dead in the very streets of our village." The Prince
turned to his sister. She was already dismounted. A light was in her