liberated. But the feeling he had been the chief means of stirring up against Eliezer was too violent to be easily overcome. Several bigoted Jews formed a scheme to defeat his object, and a regular tumult between the two parties ensued in the usually quiet town. But, as no other crime could be alleged against Eliezer save that of having adopted a different creed to that in which he had been brought up, the magistrates signed the order for his release, and, early one morning, the pastor came with the joyful tidings that the following day he was to be let out of prison and restored to his wife and family.

His chains were forthwith removed, and his wife demanded that he should be allowed his

freedom at once. This request was, however, refused on some slight pretext, and, despite her husband's assurances to the contrary, a painful presentiment of foul play seized upon her and so preyed on her mind, that all his efforts could not rouse her from her dejection. Eliezer shared none of her fears, and could only thank God that, at

length, his sufferings were about to termi

nate.

But though man proposes, it is God that disposes; and Eliezer had, as yet, only gone through one act of the drama, in which he was the hero. Now a short interval of repose was permitted him, but it was to fit him for better sustaining his part in the new scene, which was about to open upon him. The evening shades drew rapidly on, and the night was a dark and stormy one; the snow fell in thick flakes, which soon enveloped streets, houses, forests, and plains in a vast mantle of dazzling purity, and the wind blew in fierce and fitful gusts, howling and shrieking like so many furies let loose in some lonely wilderness, where they could. only vent their rage in cries, screams, and moans. The jailor came his rounds, and Eliezer's wife, with a heart bowed down by the vague apprehension of approaching evil, was obliged to withdraw from her husband's apartment and make her way home. Her father's house, where she resided, was near the prison, and her chamber-window over

looked the court. Unable to shake off her uneasiness, she paced anxiously up and down her room, only now and then stopping to gaze out of the casement on the yard below. The midnight-hour struck, and all was still as death. Then another long vigil, and the first stroke of a new day rang on the frosty air. Intently she now listened there was a sound, at least so it seemed to her, of bolts being drawn, heavy gates thrown open -the clank of chains and the tread of muffled footsteps. She strained every nerve to find out what was transpiring; for a time her efforts were useless, but presently there was a glimmer of torches, and by-and-bye the prison-court was a moving mass of red lights and fur-covered heads. Throwing up the window, she leaned out, and, despite the roar of the elements, could distinguish a hum of low voices. The entrance to the court was thrown open; a prisoner was led forth in chains! It was Eliezer. With a cry that seemed to rend the air she dashed down the stairs and into the open street, just as the cortège was beginning to march.

Forcing her way through the guards, she rushed up to her husband, and, flinging her arms around him, clung to him in an agony of terror and desperation, and, with tears and sobs, endeavoured to plead with his enemies. But those about her were hard and merciless; she was torn from Eliezer's side, and, wringing her hands and tearing her hair in impotent grief, she was compelled to stand and watch him driven away amid a shower of blows, scoffs, and coarse words.

G