"Your uncle is awake, and talking to your father," said she, softly. "He refuses the passport, because it was not made out for himself, saying he will not do an evil that good may come."
"This is sheer madness," said I, springing up.
"It is consistency," said my mother. "We are now on the brink of a great struggle between the powers of light and darkness. Those who feel they have no strength of their own to meet it with, and do not care to seek it from above, will probably give in at the very first word—certainly do so sooner or later; but those whose adhesion to God's cause is of any worth, will brace themselves for the encounter, knowing that He can and will arm them for the fight."
"You approve my uncle's making a point of conscience, then, of this?"
"I must say I do, though your father is angry with him for it. Perhaps, during the day, we may yet get him a proper passport; for if the authorities are so anxious to get rid of our godly ministers, surely they will not hinder their departure. However that may be, you are to convey your uncle and aunt towards the coast tonight."
"She goes with him, then?"
"She will not leave him. They have lost all their money, but we have made a little purse for them. Oh, my child, what times are these! You have scarcely had any rest these two nights; but do not forget to say your morning prayers."
And kissing my forhead, she left me, that I might obey her injunction.
It may be said that trade was at a standstill that day. The weaver at his loom, the jeweler behind his counter, the baker at his kneading-trough, all thought and talked but of one subject, the expected visitation of the dragoons.
My father, with vexation, gave me back the passport, saying, "Your uncle will not use it, so you must return it to Romilly."