The darkest hour had not yet come!  Two or three days after she had secured the removal of her husband from the common prison, he and all the white men were suddenly seized and hurried out of the city.  Mrs. Judson was engaged elsewhere at the time, and for some hours she was unable to learn where the prisoners had been taken; but a servant who had seen them leave gave her a clue, and she at once followed it up.  She deposited her books and medicines with the friendly governor, and set out with her babe on her arm, and two orphan children she had adopted by her side, seeking her husband.  After a wearisome journey she found him in a wretched prison at Oung-pen-la, almost dead from weakness and the torture he had undergone on his forced march, and was greeted with the pathetic words, so illustrative of Adoniram Judson’s utter unselfishness, “Why have you come?  I hoped you would not follow, for you cannot live here.”  The prison was placed in a lonely spot, far away from any village.  There was no accommodation for Mrs. Judson, and no food could be obtained near at hand.  She was refused permission to build herself a little hut, but the jailer found her a small, dirty store-room in his own house, and here she and the three children lived for the next six months.  Day by day she searched for food, not only for her husband, but for the other white prisoners; and though worn out with pain and sorrow, cheered them, looked after their every want, and continually applied to the officials for some improvement in their lot.  The untold privations she was suffering soon told on a frame that had never been very strong.  Her two adopted children were taken with small-pox, and when they had partly recovered the baby was also attacked.  Mrs. Judson had now to look after them in addition to her other work, and would often spend the day attending to the prisoners, and the night in nursing the children.  The watchings and fatigue at last broke her down, and for two months she was unable to leave her bed.  She had for most of the time no attendant except a common Bengalee cook, but this man proved an invaluable aid.  He worked almost without ceasing, nursing Mrs. Judson, searching for provisions, and feeding the prisoners.  The little baby was in a most deplorable state.  It had no nurse, Mrs. Judson could not feed it on account of her fever, and the only way it existed was by her husband obtaining permission from the jailer to go out for a short time each day, carry the child around the village, and beg a little nourishment for it from those mothers who had young children.  “I now began to think the very afflictions of Job had come upon me,” wrote Mrs. Judson.  “When in health I could bear the various trials and vicissitudes through which I was called upon to pass; but to be confined with sickness, and unable to assist those who were so dear to me, when in distress, was almost too much for me to bear; and had it not been for the consolations of religion, and an assured conviction that every additional trial was ordered by infinite love and mercy, I must have sunk under my accumulated sufferings.”