well enough the worst was coming, and that while there was no probability of the maternal heart breaking, there was every prospect of the chastisement being prolonged until the stick was broken or the rod worn to the stump.

In these exercises the wife of Krautz was at first strictly impartial. She whipped the orphan-boy as soundly as, but not more soundly, than she whipped her own children. In this respect she did "her duty" by him as she did by them; but there was this difference, he was a weak delicate child, deeply affectionate, singularly sensitive; they were rough hardy children, with good spirits and good health; the woman could not discriminate between them. It gave her satisfaction to know when inflicting punishment that her strokes were felt; and her own children, perfectly well aware of this circumstance, cried lustily and made a great to-do, which brought the affair to an end the sooner. But the boy seldom showed any sign of emotion except in the changing colour of his face and the light that flashed from his eyes. This silence was always provoking; it was described as the sullens," and was punished with extreme severity.

During one of these castigations, the child fainted, and would have fallen had he not been held up by the strong hand of his tormentor. Krautz came in at that time, none the better for drink, and seeing in an instant what had occurred, seized the child from his wife's grasp with an indignant outburst that seemed to turn her to stone.

"Murderess!" he cried, "have you finished your foul work at last?"

Carrying the senseless child with him he hurried into the shop, freely sprinkled the boy's face with water, and calling out to a neighbour's wife begged her to come in for there was murder doing.

In came the neighbours, all tendering advice, three or four assuring Krautz that the boy had only fainted. As for the wife, she seemed powerless, she crept near to where Krautz stood and tried to speak, but he silenced her in an instant.

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"Not a word!" he cried, or there may be two murders in the house instead of one.' She recoiled from him as if he had struck her.

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Patience, Krautz," said a neighbour's wife, "the child lives; but, mercy! he has been cruelly beat." As she spoke, the boy opened his eyes, and seeing the face of his friend bending over him, put his arms round his neck and trembled like a frightened bird.

"It was not I, child, it was not I," Krautz whispered.

"Where is she?" the child asked. "Where!-not many paces off unhappily, for I would she were at the bottom of the Zuyder Zee!"

Come, come, Krautz," said the wife of the neighbour over the way, your wife meant no harm, she has only served him just as she

serves her own."

"May all the Seven Vials of Wrath be poured upon her head together! She has done this once too often."

speak-and she-and she thought me sullen. I shall be better soon; I am not in much pain now."

The man bent down his head and kissed him.

"It shall never happen again, dear boy, never," and then he checked himself and added, "while I am alive, at all events."

And from that day the boy was exempt from punishment. Terribly alarmed both at what had happened and at her husband's indignation -it was so unlike him to be angry-the wife of Krautz promised to be more careful, and her home was in all outward things the happier for the change. The event was a nine days' wonder with the neighbours. They had never seen the baker in a passion nor his wife meek; but now they had witnessed both, and they marked the change that followed. The baker began to look after his business and to appear less frequently at the tavern. The complaint which had so frequently been heard as a boast that everything was left to her was no longer to be uttered by the baker's wife. She did not like the change. Her husband asserted himself so plainly, so firmly, that she did not dare to resist. Some people there are who are incapable of any middle course of action between tyranny and slavery-they must either be abject or despotic. It was so with the baker's wife. She laid the blame of the whole change on the orphan. He, child as he was, by passive submission and silent suffering had flung her down from the high place of chief and uncontrolled governor in the baker's household. She hated him with all her heart.

As time passed on it was observed that Krautz became seriously unwell. Nothing, he said-a cold that would soon pass off-a cough that was curable with spiced wine and sugar-a headache brought on by a few extra batches in the bakery. Nobody watched these symptoms with greater concern than the child, now twelve years old, and beginning to be useful. Disease crept upon the man just as the shadow creeps over the face of the dial: imperceptibly if watched continually, but marked and rapid if only occasionally glanced at. People who saw the baker every day observed no change; but those who only met him at intervals said to each other, if not to him, "Krautz is not long for this world."

Krautz felt that he was dying. He did not want to die. He was in the prime of life, with a thriving business and a rising family. He could ill be spared; but he felt that death was coming.

A little poorly this morning, not up till late; a little poorly this evening, and to bed early. A day in the country for a change. So the time went on. The medicine man came in, sometimes to help forward, sometimes retard by remedies the progress of disease.

One sunny night the baker sat alone thinking of what was coming, and perhaps of what might come after that. He was thinking so deeply that he heard no sound until a low wail broke on his ear. He looked up and saw the orphan standing near the door.

"You must: my mother will open the gate."

The baker was silent for a minute or two, and then he said

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Can you keep a secret?" "Yes."

"I think you can. Your mother gave me something for you; it was not to be delivered to you till you were a man. I shall not live to discharge my trust; you must take it now, and guard it jealously. Take this key, open that drawer, press your finger on the brass button at the back-so."

The boy obeyed the instructions, and a secret drawer flew out.

"There, give me the packet. Observe, here are a few leaves cut out of a book; here is a short letter; here are two locks of hair-this of your mother, this of your father."

The boy pressed the hair to his lips.

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Now these are yours; you must take care of them for your mother's sake and mine." "Where shall I hide them ?"

The baker thought for a few moments, and then said:

"Better sew them into the lining of your doublet for the present; you will wear the same for a year or more. By that time you must think of some other place."

"I will die sooner than lose them." "That is well; see, it is easily done, so far." The baker spoke of concealing the papers, and helped the boy with scissors, thread, and needles to perform the task. When it was accomplished, he began to tell the boy what he had told him before, but of which the boy was never tired of listening-how his father was dead, or was supposed to be dead, and how his mother had been drowned at Kotterdam for her religious opinions. He could give him no information as to his mother's family nor that of his father's; and it seemed as if the child would stand alone in the world-but not alone, the baker said, for God would be with him.

After that the baker grew worse; still worse next day, a little better the day after that, then worse, worse, worse, the shadow quickly flying, the sand swiftly running, the wings of the death angel cleaving the air.

The baker had been talking to the boy one night about the Golden City, and while he talked with him he fell asleep. Asleep: and heard in his dream ravishing music-music that seemed to assume a visible shape, to glitter with a glory not of this world, to assume strangely-beautiful aspects. There were trees laden with jewels; pastures, fair and green, watered by a river of silver; there was a delicious fragrance over everything. There were angelic forms, and multitudes all clothed

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in white, with radiant crowns upon their heads; but he was far from them, and knew not how to reach their company. And then he saw two forms that had been familiar to him in the world, wearing something of the old shape, speaking something of the old household tones. They were his children, at play there with the angels, gathering never-withering flowers beside the living stream. called them by their names; the watchers beside the sick man's bed heard the cry and saw the sweet smile that came upon his face, as in his dream, Oh, happy, thrice happy dream! the innocents of earth came on towards him with a cry of recognition and a shout of joy to seize him with their tiny hands and lead his steps, unsteady, along the starry way. Oh, happy dream! happy, thrice happy! for the dreamer never woke again on earth.

VII.

;

THE widow of Krautz the baker in full authority resumed at once her old demeanour. Grumble, grumble, grumble; scold, scold scold, every day and all day long. Not by any means a happy home. As for the boy, she could call him by no better name than heretic, and aver that mischief sat upon her house, and the storks took flight ever since he was brought into it. He had been the cause of all her unhappy differences with Krautz the lamented had it not been for him, she would have been left very differently off from what she was,with a bad business, broken health, and illconditioned children. The neighbour's wife next door on the right, and the neighbour's wife next door on the left, and the neighbour's wife from over the way offered their consolations, and agreed with her that she was a mightily ill-used woman, and that Krautz the late was a most improvident man not to have made a fortune, and a most unnatural husband to have died off when his services were most in request; but, as his bereaved widow observed,-"it was just like him, always getting out of the way when he was most wanted."

On one occasion, three or four months after the death of Krautz, and when the gossip of the neighbourhood went to show that the relict of the baker already was receiving attentions from the corn-dealer, the wife of the neighbour over the way was the medium of an important communication being made to the widow.

"You would not be sorry to be rid of young heretic ?" said neighbour from over the way. "Is a pack horse sorry to lose his load?" Well, I think I can help you to be rid of

him."

"You?"

dealer. "Krautz was always a dolt, and I think I should be as bad if I allowed his whim to stand in the way."

Quite right; but the gentleman says he won't have the boy without the boy's consent." "The boy will consent," the widow answered, so there was an end of that. It was agreed that the gentleman should have an interview that very evening.

In the interval, the widow laid the question before the protégé of her late husband. He was a ban and a burden, and must budge; there was a stranger willing to take him, feed and lodge him:-good, accept the offer; if not, he must shift for himself, for home of hers should be home of his no longer.

The boy offered no opposition. When the gentleman presented himself that evening, the widow was compelled to admit that he was every inch a gentleman. A man not more than five and forty, of good presence, and well spoken. He informed the widow that he had beard the story of the child, appreciated the conduct of her late husband and of herself, was interested in the case, willing to adopt the boy, if she and the lad consented.

The widow shed tears.

Thoughtful!"

So the boy withdrew and left them together. "Were there," the gentleman then inquired, any papers or tokens given to your husband, when he received the money with this boy? The widow stoutly denied it.

"Have you the purse in which the money was contained ? "

Yes; she could find it.

"If you will give it to me, and make an effort to ascertain exactly what else there was in it besides coin, I will pay you a hundred crowns."

The widow assured him she would do her

best, and did. She found the purse, and searched everywhere for the documents; but her search was in vain.

"Dolt," she said, so describing the deceased, "just like him; keeps the papers when they are dangerous-puts them out of the way when they are wanted. A different sort of man from Grimwold." Grimwold was the corn-dealer.

On the next evening when the gentleman arrived, she gave him the purse, mentioned that she now recollected her husband said something of a written charge, but that she could not find it. She took an affectionate farewell of the boy, and grouped her children round him, with instructions to be as demonstrative as possible. And so, having received the money, and having insisted on putting an extra comforter round the boy's neck-for fear the darling should take cold, she said-she followed to the outer door, obsequious as she had been to Father Anselmo on the night of the boy's first introduction to the Krautz family. Then she went back to count the money as she had counted it then, and to speculate on what she should do with it; but there was no man now to be awed into subjection-no one to interfere with her plots, plans, and purposes.

*

*

*

*

Late that night, in a large room in an

Certainly."

Respondent to her call, the boy presented himself, a pale, slightly-made lad, about thirteen years old, but tall of his age.

The gentleman talked to him for some minutes, evidently with emotion: you know the object of my visit," he said at length. 66 Yes; and if it please you, I will go with you."

"That is well it will be my effort to make you happy, if you deserve it."

"I will try to deserve it."

"That is well. When could you join me?" "Now."

'Oh, no, child," says the widow, "not so

women were at worship.

"And the doors were shut for fear of the Christians."

The house was situated at the end of a narrow turning out of a public street. It was surrounded by a walled yard, to which there were two entrances; one from the street, and the other from the river. It was an old house, built of timber, and raised on piles on account of its proximity to the water. There was only one entrance to the house, and this was from the side, on the right from the river; a ladder, which could easily be drawn up, led to the door. The house consisted of two rooms only, or rather one large room and a loft above. The loft was entered by a trap, reached by a wooden ladder. Although there was only one door there was another mode of egress or ingress if required. This was formed by a trap in the floor of the lower room, which when raised allowed of a passage being madenot without difficulty-among the rude piles on which the house was raised. A bow window looked out on the river, and there was a small casement in the roof of the loft above.

The company to which we have alluded has assembled in the lower room. They were

seated on settles around a table on which were several books and an iron lamp. One of the company, a grave looking man of sixty, was standing at the end of the table furthest from the door, and was speaking in a low and earnest voice.

"I am assured, brethren," he said, "that any act of open violence would only bring destruction upon ourselves. We are not strong enough to resist the powers that be; even if we possessed the strength, I am the last man who would consent to offer resistance. Those who take the sword, perish by the sword."

"But, brother," said a tall spare man with fiery eyes, "what make you of that instruction, 'he that hath not a sword shall sell his garment and buy one?""

"I am uncertain," the previous speaker answered," what it meant when it was uttered; but I am sure it was never meant in the sense you would infer. Resist not evil. Submit to every ordinance of man. Render to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's. The powers that be are ordained of God."

"If that be your doctrine, brother," said a moustached visage to the right, "the sooner we conform the better."

"Not so," the old man answered, patiently. "Mark me, there is first our duty to God; we must worship Him in the way which our consciences assure us and His word tells us He approves. We must maintain His truth above everything. We must take our stand on that truth, our language must be, 'here stand we on God's truth; and if we perish, we perish.' I hold that in holding fast by the truth we must be ready to suffer all things for the sake of the truth. If man slay us because we are God's servants, let him slay, and God be judge between us."

"I am for fighting," said the man with the fiery eyes.

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And so am I," the old man answered; fighting the good fight of faith, and so laying hold on eternal life."

While he spoke, there was a knock softly repeated three times on the outer door.

The moustached man rose up, and going to the door, demanded who was there. A voice outside replied, "I am ready to be offered." And the door was opened, and a man and a lad came in.

The lad was "the heretic," the man his new protector. He led the boy to the table and, cordially greeting those who were assembled, requested their attention to what he had to say. The silence was profound as he related the boy's story. One of the women drew the child towards her, and kissed his forehead. She was the neighbour's wife from over the way. Ah, poor child!" she whispered, "fear not that I should betray you. I am not what I ought to be, I know; but if I have truth or hope within me, it sprung there from seeing your mother die!"

"This boy-orphaned by the law of the country-this boy whose mother was sacrificed in the springtime of her life, I have sought out diligently. Providence led me to the house of our sister, who has aided me in obtaining charge of the child. I knew the interest we all felt in his murdered mother, the anxiety

A knife! aye, boy, a falchion, if your hand could span the hilt. So said Moustaches, handing over a large-bladed pocket-knife. The boy unripped the lining of his doublet and in a few moments produced the packet.

"These things," he said, "were given to me by Krautz, a little while before he died."

His new friend caught them eagerly-leaves from St. John's Gospel-locks of hair-a solemn charge. He bent his head and wept bitterly.

VIII.

IN the torture chamber of the blockhouse stood Hans, the sworn tormentor-busy. Not busy on a living subject, but testing the force of some new instruments, and making ready for work to be done.

A tall, muscular fellow, very pale, clothed all in black, was Hans; at the time we speak of, however, he had divested himself of his upper garments, and with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back, fully displaying his sinewy arms, was carefully adjusting some iron screws to a ghastly pair of boots that had crushed many a leg, and extorted many a confession.

Hans was by no means an ill-looking man. He had a set, fixed expression on his face, and his eyes were prominent, but there was nothing to cause alarm in his appearance. There was a settled melancholy in the man very painful to observe.

And I suppose of all places in the city the room in which Hans was at work was the one best calculated to suggest unhappy thoughts.

There were strange machines about the room the use of which might not be apparent to the uninitiated, but whose purpose was plain to most people. A timber framework with rude levers at either end and stout cords affixedthat was the rack; many a time had Hans and his helper turned the rack and thereby dislocated every joint of some wretched sufferer. In the dark recess at the further end was a huge wheel stowed away. Many a time had Hans and his helper stretched a hapless being on that wheel and beaten out his life with iron bars. There was an iron chair with a heavy chain, with room for a brazier of coals below. There was a crown, an iron crown, which, heated to a white heat, Hans had used in many a frightful coronation. There were stout iron hoops hanging on the walls, which bore some playful name but were used for a dreadful purpose; there were sharp shears and huge pincers, and knives and saws, with all of which Hans had maimed the miserable culprits committed to his tender mercy. There were manacles of all sizes and all weights-playful chains, no thicker than your watchguard, and chains so heavy that a dozen links would have been a load for a strong man; there were

scourges of all sorts well displayed, from whips no heavier than a farmer's riding whip to many-plaited, many-thonged, lead-loaded instruments of torture, that, wielded by a strong hand, might have killed with a blow.

And Hans, the sworn tormentor, knew full well the use of all; and as he stood there carefully fitting the bolts to the rough boots perhaps he was thinking of these things-perhaps of that poor witless boy of his who had his only love.

It was past sunset and the twilight was deepening into night.

"Master Hans," called out a thick voice from below, Master Hans, art alone up there ?"

was that fellow Wonter who was for ever writing in gaol 'Salutations to the Brethren,'-I had that fellow under lock and key three years, and had him on the rack once or twice a month; I have poured two gallons of water down his throat-these Baptists like water so that I thought it would be all in his way-ay, ay, a mighty deal of trouble that man gave, and we had to light the faggots at last. Then there was Oswalt, who never left off preaching; he would have got up a disturbance at the execution if we had brought him out before the people; we drowned him quietly at night, and spoilt his sport. Then there were two boys; we dungeoned them, and sliced off their heads in the market. Yes, yes, Meinheim has put plenty of work in my way."

"Very zealous," said Stumf.

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A soldier saint," said Hans. By the way, what has become of that paragon of probity, mistress Agatha ?"

"She has taken the veil; it was she who first apprized Meinheim of his daughter's flight." And is she as anxious for the girl's recovery ?"

So anxious that I understand she obtained special leave from the abbess, and has come to Rotterdam in search of the runaway."

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And a thousand crowns," said Hans, thousand crowns, Really a goodly sum.'

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"Yes, as my duty was," said Stumf, "I made the most of that when I proclaimed it in the market; I saw many a finger twitch, and many an eye glisten."

"No doubt of it; by the way, how is your wife's mother?"

"Well and thriving."

"She was fond of the girl."

"If she had been her own little sister, she could not loved her more."

"And yet, and yet-how strange things come about?"

"What things come about?" said Stumf, in perplexity.

That you should be beating drum and making proclamations in the street of this reward about this truant child."

"Where's the harm?" said Stumf.

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'Ay, indeed, where's the harm?" said the executioner, you are in the right on't; but why come to me?"

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And why come to me?"

Father Anselmo sent me to you as knowing more about these things than most men; you, the father says, will do your best to find the runaway."

"Take back my duty to the father, and assure him of my service.'

Hans suddenly resumed his work with great vigour and was silent.

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You seem busy," said Stumf.

"Yes, I have contrived a little improvement in these boots"-he held them towards Stumfthey will now do their work far more efficiently than before; close in more tightly on the leg, and by more even pressure give a more acute agony than of old."

Stumf looked at the boots not a little nervously and said, "No doubt a charming idea." "Why, Stumf," said Hans, and the grim smile flitted over his face again, "I would swear