Was writ on tables yet unbroken;
The word by seers or sibyls told,
In groves of oak, or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon the morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accent of the Holy Ghost
The heedless world hath never lost.”
It is expedient that we return, and gather up a few threads that were dropped at the close of the chapter preceding the last. On the eventful morning when the comrades gathered at the Sheepmarket, and departed for the Upper Chamber to apprehend the assembly, there was a small party left behind which demands further notice. A controversy took place, and the little circle was rent by the decided and outspoken condemnation of Rebecca of the proposed movement.
“Saulus seems beside himself in this mad persecution!” she exclaimed with a deep flush. “I think the new sect has a right to live peaceably, and be free from molestation. God speed their escape!”
“Daughter! thou speakest wildly!” said Benoni reprovingly. “I bid thee hold thy peace! It would have been well for us had we left thee in Tarsus.”