whose name was Diffidence, and he told her what he had done. Then
said he, What will be the best way to treat them? Beat them well,
said Diffidence. So when he rose he took a stout stick from a
crab tree, and went down to the cell where poor Christian and
Hopeful lay, and beat them as if they had been dogs, so that they
could not turn on the floor; and they spent all that day in sighs
and tears.

The next day he came once more, and found them sore from the
stripes, and said that since there was no chance for them to be
let out of the cell, their best way would be to put an end to
their own lives: For why should you wish to live, said he, with
all this woe? But they told him they did hope he would let them
go. With that he sprang up with a fierce look, and no doubt would
have made an end of them, but that he fell in a fit for a time,
and lost the use of his hand; so he drew back, and left them to
think of what he had said.

Christian.--Friend, what shall we do? The life that we now lead
is worse than death. For my part I know not which is best, to
live thus, or to die at our own hand, as I feel that the grave
would be less sad to me than this cell. Shall we let Giant
Despair rule us?

Hopeful.--In good truth our case is a sad one, and to die would
be more sweet to me than to live here; yet let us bear in mind
that the Lord of that land to which we go hath said: 'Thou shalt
not kill.' And by this act we kill our souls as well. My friend
Christian, you talk of ease in the grave, but can a man go to
bliss who takes his own life? All the law is not in the hands of