"Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect? It is God who justifies," said Spikeman, turning on the minister his glazing eyes.
"It is in vain," said Winthrop. "He heeds not nor understands what you say."
"Papistical mummeries! Your croziers, your mitres, your mumbled prayers from the mass-book! I hate them! Forty years long they wandered in the wilderness, but they prevailed at last. Stay ye the hands of our Moses! Be strong! Quit ye like men."
"His mind, even in its wanderings, doth remember Israel," said Dr. Fuller.
"He hath, indeed," said Winthrop, "ever avouched himself a devoted servant of our cause. Unhappy is it—"
He looked at the weeping wife, and left the sentence unfinished.
"Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," said good Mr. Eliot.
"Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound!" exclaimed the dying man.
"Dear husband," said Dame Spikeman, sobbing, and taking his hand, "know you me?"
"What woman speaks?" said Spikeman. "It is the voice of Prudence—sweet Pru—"