ter that. If that was justice, I don't know what justice is.
They hurt my wife, too, or she would not have shrieked out so. And her
word always had been--'Hold out; pain may be borne; and they dare not
kill us!' But when she saw them tie me up, she cried out, 'Oh, Pierre,
Pierre, give in--give in!' So what was I to do? Answer me that."

"This poor fellow has lost his senses," said Antoine, softly. "Wait here
a minute. I will soon return."

I stood where I was. It seemed to me from the charred remains that the
furniture had been just broken up and then partially burnt. There was
a great beam across the ceiling, with large iron hooks on which to hang
bacon, onions, and such-like. From one of these hooks dangled a strong
chain.

"They drew me up with that," said he, turning his dull eyes on me, and
the next instant looking away. "They passed the chain under one of my
armpits, and so suspended me; and then beat me. I was not going to stand
that, you know. My wife ran away, calling on me to give in; so what
could I do? Could I help it? Am I a renegade?"

I said, "Let us remember David's words--'Have mercy on me, O Lord, for
my sin is great.' He did not say, 'for my sin is little--a very little
one--the first I ever sinned;' but 'my sin is great;' and therefore have
mercy on me. Say it after me. 'Have mercy on me, for my sin is great.'"

--"For my sin is great," repeated he, melting into tears. And again and
again he repeated, weeping, "For my sin is great--my sin is great. Have
mercy on me, O Lord, for my sin is great."

"He also hath forgiven the wickedness of thy sin," said I. "Let us turn
unto the Lord, for he will heal us, and not be angry with us for ever."

Antoine drew me away. We left the poor man in tears, and went into the
yard, where stood a cart, with a sorry horse in it, and a heap of loose
fagots and pieces of broken furniture beside it.

"Get you in here, sir, and lie down," said he. "I will pile the wood
over you as lightly as I can."

I did as he desired. He bestowed the wood over me as carefully as he
could, and then led the horse out.

"Whither away?" said somebody, passing.

"To dispose of this rubbish," said he, carelessly. "Poor Pierre's
chattels have been reduced to mere firewood. If a trifle can be got
for them, it may buy him bread."

I thought of the two messengers to King David, whom a woman concealed
in a well at Bahurim, spreading a covering over the well's mouth, and
spreading grou