with a laugh, "_Au
revoir, mon ami_--farewell for the present!" The next moment the door
was locked, and some heavy weight jammed against it. What could it all
mean?

Utterly overwhelmed with dismay, Amos stood for a while as though
chained to the spot. Then, opening a door which divided the outermost
apartment from the other room, he entered the latter and looked round
him. No one was there, neither man, woman, nor child. The walls were
very thick, and the room was lighted by a large leaded casement which
would open, but there were stout iron bars which would make it next to
impossible for any one to get into the cottage that way or escape from
it. A fire of wood burned on the hearth, and a small pile of logs was
heaped up against the wall near it. On a rough square oak table lay a
huge loaf of bread, a considerable mass of cheese, and a quart jug of
milk. There was neither chair nor bed in the place. Hurrying into the
outer room, Amos found that it was dimly lighted by a very narrow little
window, which even a dog could scarcely creep through. There were no
upstairs rooms in the cottage. And thus Amos found himself basely
entrapped and taken prisoner. And what for? For no good purpose he
felt fully assured. He threw open the casement of the inner room and
looked out. There was his late companion riding slowly off, and by his
side, mounted on his own pony Prince, a female figure. Could that be
his sister? and, if so, whither was she going? and what was their
purpose, or his wretched betrayer's purpose, with him?

Miserably bewildered, and much cast down, he knelt him down by the table
and poured out his care in prayer. That he was in the power of an
utterly unscrupulous villain was plain enough,--and what, then, could he
do? He had brought with him a small pocket New Testament, with which
the Psalms were also bound up, for he had hoped to have read from it to
his sister words that might have been of use and comfort to her. But
that was not to be. However, he turned over the leaves, and his eyes
fell on a verse which he had often read before, but never with so much
happy thankfulness as now: "What time I am afraid, I will trust in
thee."

"Ah, yes," he said aloud, "these words are just sent to me now. _I
will_ put my trust in Him, for he knows where I am and what errand I am
on, and I know that he will deliver me out of this trouble."

Calmed by these thoughts, he once more looked round him. Th