to hear the mocking voices of their witch-finders commanding him, if he
were a true man and the servant of that God of Whom he prated, to
give them a sign, only a little sign; perhaps to move a stone without
touching it with his hand, or to cause a dead bough to blossom.

Then he would beseech Heaven with frantic prayers, and in vain, till at
length, amidst a roar of laughter, he, the false prophet and the liar,
was led out to his doom. He saw the piteous wondering look of the
believer whom he had betrayed to death; he saw the fierce faces and
the spears on high. Seeing all this his spirit broke, and, just as the
little clock in the room behind him struck the first stroke of midnight,
with a great and bitter cry to God to give him back the faith and
strength that he had lost, Owen's head fell forward and he sank into a
swoon there upon the window-place.



CHAPTER IV

THE VISION

Was it swoon or sleep?

At least it seemed to Owen that presently once again he was gazing into
the dense intolerable blackness of the night. Then a marvel came to
pass, for the blackness opened, or rather on it, framed and surrounded
by it, there appeared a vision. It was the vision of a native town,
having a great bare space in the centre of it encircled by hundreds or
thousands of huts. But there was no one stirring about the huts, for
it was night--not this his night of trial indeed, since now the sky was