snow? The trembling hands of the survivors heaped over
each in turn the spotless coverlet, and then they passed on to their own
speedy fate.

The snow descended without intermission, driving pitilessly in the
scarred faces of the sufferers. Had they not known that it came from
the hand of their heavenly Father, they might have fancied that Satan
was warring against them by that means, as the utmost and the last thing
that he could do. But as the snow descended, the song ascended as
unceasingly. Fainter and less full it grew to human ears, as one voice
after another was silenced. It may be that the angels heard it richer
and louder, as the choristers grew more few and weak.

Of the little family group which we have followed, the first to give way
was Agnes. She had taken from her own shivering limbs, to wrap round
the child, one of the mutilated garments which alone her tormentors had
left her. As they approached Nuneham, she staggered and fell. Guelph
and Adelheid ran to lift her up.

"Oh, let me sleep!" she said. "I can sing no more."

"Ay, let her sleep," echoed Gerhardt in a quivering voice; "she will
suffer least so. Farewell for a moment, my true beloved! We shall meet
again ere the hour be over."

Gerhardt held on but a little longer. Doubly branded, and more brutally
scourged than the rest, he was so ill from the first that he had to be
helped along by Wilhelm and Conrad, two of the strongest in the little
company. How Ermine fared they knew not: they could only tell that when
they reached Bensington, she was no longer among them. Most of the
children sank early. Little Rudolph fared the best, for a young mother
who had lost her baby gave him such poor nourishment as she could from
her own bosom. It was just as they came out of Dorchester, that they
laid him down tenderly on a bed of leaves in a sheltered corner, to
sleep out his little life. Then they passed on, still southwards--still
singing "Glory to God in the highest!" and "Blessed are they which are
persecuted for righteousness' sake!" Oh, what exquisite music must have
floated up through the gates of pearl, and filled the heavenly places,
from that poor faint song, breathed by those trembling voices that could
scarcely utter the notes!

A few hours later, and only one dark figure was left tottering through
the snow. Old Berthold was alone.

Snow everywhere!--and the night fell, and the frost grew keen; and
Bensington had not lon