ir; it is for _you_
to fear death. Look here, sir, the broad eye of Heaven is fixed upon
us; tremble in the presence of your Maker, who can in a moment kill your
body, and for ever punish your soul in hell.'--The unhappy man turned
pale, and trembled first with fear and then with rage. He still
threatened his uncle with instant death. Mr Fletcher, however, gave no
alarm and made no attempt to escape. He calmly conversed with his
miserable nephew; and at last, when he saw that he was touched,
addressed him like a father till he had fairly subdued him. But he
would not return his brother's draft. However, he gave him some help
himself, and having prayed with him, let him go."

"Ay, dear aunt," exclaimed Walter, "that was a hero indeed."

"Yes, Walter, a true moral hero; for, if you remember, moral courage is
the bravery shown, not in acting from sudden impulse, nor from `pluck,'
as you call it, nor from mere animal daring, but in deliberately
resolving to do and doing as a matter of principle or duty what may cost
us shame, or loss, or suffering, or even death. Such certainly was Mr
Fletcher's courage. A sense of duty and the fear of God upheld him
against all fear of man."

"True, auntie," acquiesced her nephew; "and so it was with Amos."

"Yes, just so, Walter. You tell me that when your unhappy brother-in-
law pointed the pistol at Amos, your brother said with perfect calmness
that he was in God's hands, and not in the hands of Mr Vivian. In thus
acting from duty, and deliberately hazarding the loss of his own life
rather than do what his conscience disapproved of, Amos exhibited, like
Mr Fletcher, the most exalted moral courage."

"Thank you, dear aunt; and I am so glad that I have been permitted to
help my hero out of his trouble."

On the third day after this conversation, the post brought the welcome
news from Amos that he should bring his sister that afternoon to her old
home, and that her children would follow in a day or two. Seven years
had elapsed since the erring daughter had left sorrow and shame behind
her in her home, by suddenly and clandestinely quitting it, to become,
without the sanction of father or mother, the wife of a specious but
profligate and needy adventurer. And now, sad and forsaken, she was
returning to a home which had for a long time been closed against her.
Oh, with what a wild throbbing of heart did she gaze at the familiar
sights which presented themselves to her on al