Before many months were past the Vaudois were re-established in their homes; from the east and west they came, flocking homewards to their land won for them by Arnaud and his heroes. Or, rather as they themselves would say, the land restored to them by the grace of their Father in heaven.
The sharp endurance, the agony, the exile—all, all was past, and for the years to come they and their children’s children might lift humble hearts in thankfulness that God had honoured them by letting them bear such witness for His truth.
The charter of their freedom was given at last. The valleys were their own; their faith was secure.
. . . . . . . .
A white-walled cottage in Rora stood smothered in vines, and resonant with children’s voices. Here Rénée, sweet-eyed as of old, albeit of matronly air and manner, watches for Gaspard’s coming from his work as her busy hands ply distaff or needle, and her foot keeps the rocker of the cradle moving in time to her song.
It is a song in which an aged voice joins now and again as Mother Madeleine catches the well-known burden of the words—a song which the Vaudois have chanted since the hour of their ‘Glorious Return’; not the ‘Psalm of Strong Confidence,’ but the song of their triumph.
‘If it had not been the Lord was on our side
When men rose up against us,
Then they had swallowed us up quick, and the stream had gone over our soul:
Blessed be the Lord, who hath not given us
As a prey to their teeth!
Our soul is escaped as a bird from the snare.
The snare is broken, and we are escaped!
Our help is in the Name of the Lord,
The Lord who made heaven and earth.’
