The interview that succeeded was over the resting-place of the dead. The
hand of the stranger was firmly clenched in that of the Puritan, and the
stern self-command of both appeared to give way, before the regrets of a
friendship that had endured through so many trying scenes.
"Thou knowest that I may not tarry," said the former, as if he replied to
some expressed wish of his companion. "They would make me a sacrifice to
the Moloch of their vanities; and yet would I fain abide, until the weight
of this heavy blow may be forgotten. I found thee in peace, and I quit
thee in the depths of suffering!"
"Thou distrustest me, or thou dost injustice to thine own belief,"
interrupted the Puritan, with a smile, that shone on his haggard and
austere visage, as the rays of the setting sun light a wintry cloud
"Seemed I happier when this hand placed that of a loved bride into mine
own, than thou now seest me in this wilderness, houseless, stripped of my
wealth, and, God forgive the ingratitude! but I had almost said,
childless? No, indeed, thou mayest not tarry, for the blood-hounds of
tyranny will be on their scent: here is shelter no longer.
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