While he thus spoke, a noise at the door, as if some one were hammering on it with his fist, made us start.

“Who’s there?” said my father, without withdrawing the bolt.

“Your neighbor Romilly,” returned the other; and we, knowing his voice, let him in.

“Neighbor, I have traveled far and fast,” said he, “and would not go home without looking in to tell you the bad news.  They are carrying things hardly at Arles and Usez, and you had better warn M. Chambrun he is in danger.”

My father changed countenance.

“He and his wife are with us at this moment,” said he.

“They must depart, then,” said Romilly, “and without loss of time, or she will not be allowed to go with him.  See, here is a passport,” said he, dubiously smiling, “which will do for him as well as the person for whom it was intended.  He shall have it.”

We thanked him warmly, and after a little more eager talk, he hurried homeward.  Day was now breaking, and I threw myself on my bed for a short sleep.  When I awoke, my dear mother was beside me.

“Your uncle is awake, and talking to your father,” said she, softly.  “He refuses the passport, because it was not made out for himself, saying he will not do an evil that good may come.”

“This is sheer madness,” said I, springing up.

“It is consistency,” said my mother.  “We are now on the brink of a great struggle between the powers of light and darkness.  Those who feel they have no strength of their own to meet it with, and do not care to seek it from above, will probably give in at the very first word—­certainly do so sooner or later; but those whose adhesion to God’s cause is of any worth, will brace themselves for the encounter, knowing that He can and will arm them for the fight.”

“You approve my uncle’s making a point of conscience, then, of this?”

“I must say I do, though your father is angry with him for it.  Perhaps, during the day, we may yet get him a proper passport; for if the authorities are so anxious to get rid of our godly ministers, surely they will not hinder their departure.  However that may be, you are to convey your uncle and aunt towards the coast tonight.”

“She goes with him, then?”

“She will not leave him.  They have lost all their money, but we have made a little purse for them.  Oh, my child, what times are these!  You have scarcely had any rest these two nights; but do not forget to say your morning prayers.”

And kissing my forhead, she left me, that I might obey her injunction.

It may be said that trade was at a standstill that day.  The weaver at his loom, the jeweler behind his counter, the baker at his kneading-trough, all thought and talked but of one subject, the expected visitation of the dragoons.

My father, with vexation, gave me back the passport, saying, “Your uncle will not use it, so you must return it to Romilly.”