ve thought possible.

But when a year had nearly passed away in the wearying bondage, he
was summoned to the presence of the "Old Man."

"Christian," said the latter, "hast thou not borne the heat and
burden of slavery long enough?"

"Long enough, indeed, my lord, but I cannot buy my liberty at the
expense of my faith."

"Not when the alternative is a bitter death?"

"No."

"Thy constancy will be tried. We have borne with thee full long. At
next full moon thou wilt have had a year's reprieve. Thou must
prepare to worship the true God and acknowledge His prophet, or
die."

"My choice is made."

"Thy time shall come at the close of the year. Go."

And Hubert was led away.

And now he was tempted to yield to despair, when he was sustained
by what may be called a miraculous interposition.

It was dark night and he lay in his cell, the watchmen without, the
yet more watchful dogs prowling and growling around; when all at
once he heard footsteps approaching his wretched bed chamber.

Who could it be? The dogs gave no sign; the oppressors generally
slept at that hour, and seldom disturbed a captive's nightly rest.
The door opened, and--He beheld his father!

Yes, his father: haggard and worn with grief, but with a light as
of another world over his worn features.

"Be of good cheer, my son; God permits me to come to thee thus, and
to bid thee hold firm to the end, and thou shalt find that man's
extremity is His opportunity."

"Art thou really my father?"

And while he spoke in tones of awe and wonder the vision vanished.
It was of God's appointment, that vision, given to confirm the
faith and hope of one of His children. Such was Hubert's belief
{30}.

It was afterwards ascertained that on that very night, the father
Roger dreamt that he saw his son in a gloomy cell, a slave
condemned to apparently hopeless toil or death, and addressed him
as in the text.

The final night arrived, the moon was at its full, and for the last
time, as it might be, the slave gazed upon the glowing orb shining
in the deep blue sky, with a brilliancy unknown in these northern
climes. But it recalled many a happy moonlit night in the olden
times to his mind; in the chase, or on the terrace at Kenilworth;
and that night when, all alone, he faced a hundred Welshmen.

"Shall I ever see my native land again?"

It seemed impossible, but "hope springs eternal in the human
breast." All at once he became conscious of a lurid ligh