"The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. That is the watchword, I believe. Have they come? Is all ready? It is through great peril that I have come here, and I must be on my way before the dawn."

To these hurried questions the youths only answered at first by doffing their caps with profound reverence and respect; then a few low sentences were interchanged, and the three struck off down the path together. The elder lad led the way, only breaking the silence by occasional warnings about the road. "Have a care there, that root is high;" or, "Here is a low branch, beware!"

Then suddenly he left the path, descended a steep bank, and, bidding his companions stop a moment, drew from under a large stone a pine torch and a little lamp. Having lighted the former, and replaced the latter in its concealment, he stepped down upon some stones which formed the bed of a running brook, while he held the torch low, so as to show the best stepping-places; and all passed on in the deepest silence.

A long and weary march it was; and all were glad when the guide stopped before what seemed a mere mass of vines and bushes, at the foot of a rock. These he drew aside with a careful hand, and disclosed a low door, through which they passed; the younger lad closed it softly again, and they advanced as before.

But it was now a very different way. The fresh, pure, evening air had been exchanged for the damp, musty smell of this underground passage. The sides were so close together that two persons could hardly have passed each other; the stranger had to stoop his head many a time to escape a blow from the jutting points of the roof; while the masses of rock which had fallen so encumbered the way that it required, at times, no small skill in climbing, to pass at all. Descending some flights of rough steps, and passing through another door, they found themselves in a much wider space, though it was still all dark and stony, but the roof was higher and the floor was smooth. A low hum of distant voices was now heard, which grew louder as they turned a corner and stopped before a door. A light tap was answered by one from within, and, as the door opened, such a flood of light poured upon them, that they shrunk back, with pained eyes, from the glare.

The light of many torches revealed a low, broad, windowless room, with a raised platform, and rude reading-desk at one end, and between thirty and forty persons--men, women and children. Some were engaged in earnest conversation, some sat in silent thought, while others were attending to the children.

At the entrance of the new comer, all arose and stood respectfully, while he threw aside his long cloak and cap, and stepped up to the platform. The two boys stood at his side, and all turned to him with expectant looks.

He held his hand over his eyes for a moment in secret prayer, and then, opening the huge leather-bound book on the desk, began to read. His rich, clear voice gave emphasis to every word in that glorious fourth chapter of Second Corinthians: "Therefore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not; but have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth, commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God," etc. "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed." Here the reader's tones became more firmly joyful, his form grew more erect, his whole countenance beamed. He read on through that chapter, and nine verses of the following one; then turning back to the eighth of Romans, he read on rapidly to the thirty-first verse, when his voice rose until it rang again, and the stone walls echoed back his exultant words: "If God be for us, who can be against us? He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things? ... Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?"

Here his voice faltered, and his clasped hands were raised, while the tears, rolling from his up-turned eyes, fell upon his white beard: "For thy sake, we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter." All the sorrow had left his tones now, his tall frame was raised to its utmost height, his clenched right hand was stretched toward heaven, the other grasped his robe, and he almost shouted:

"Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us."