rch; and after that, no compassion may be shown
to them. Heretics are monsters, demons in human form, who seek the ruin
of souls. Remember my words."

Isel looked earnestly in her husband's face.

"No," said Manning, not unkindly, but firmly; "no excuses for them,
Isel. I can quite understand that you feel sorry for those whom you
have regarded as friends for seven years: but such sorrow is now sin.
You must crush and conquer it. It were rebellion against God, who has
judged these miscreants by the lips of His Church."

Isel broke down in a very passion of tears.

"I can't help it, Manning; I can't help it!" she said, when she could
speak. "It may be sin, but I must do it and do penance for it--it's not
a bit of use telling me I must not. I'll try not to talk if you bid me
be silent, but you must give me a day or two to get quieted,--till every
living creature round has done spitting venom at them. I don't promise
to hold my tongue to that ninny of an Anania--she aggravates me while it
isn't in human nature to keep your tongue off her; it's all I can do to
hold my hands."

"She is very provoking, Father," said Flemild in an unsteady voice; "she
wears Mother fairly out."

"You may both quarrel with Anania whenever you please," replied Manning
calmly; "I've nothing to say against that. But you are not to make
excuses for those heretics, nor to express compassion for them. Now
those are my orders: don't let me have to give them twice."

"No, Father; you shall not, to me," said Flemild in a low tone.

"I can't promise you nothing," said Isel, wiping her eyes on her apron,
"because I know I shall just go and break it as fast as it's made: but
when I can, I'll do your bidding, Manning. And till then, you'll have
either to thrash me or forgive me--whichever you think the properest
thing to do."

Manning walked away without saying more.

Snow, snow everywhere!--lying several inches deep on the tracks our
forefathers called roads, drifted several feet high in corners and
clefts of the rocks. Pure, white, untrodden, in the silent fields; but
trampled by many feet upon the road to Dorchester, the way taken by the
hapless exiles. No voice was raised in pity, no hand outstretched for
help; every door was shut against the heretics. Did those who in after
years were burned at the stake on the same plea suffer more or less than
this little band of pioneers, as one after another sank down, and died
in the white