“Phineas is pretty shrewd,” said Simeon.  “He will do the best that can be done for thee, George.”

“All I am sorry for,” said George, “is the risk to you.”

“Thee’ll much oblige us, friend George, to say no more about that.  What we do we are conscience bound to do; we can do no other way.  And now, mother,” said he, turning to Rachel, “hurry thy preparations for these friends, for we must not send them away fasting.”

And while Rachel and her children were busy making corn-cake, and cooking ham and chicken, and hurrying on the et ceteras of the evening meal, George and his wife sat in their little room, with their arms folded about each other, in such talk as husband and wife have when they know that a few hours may part them forever.

“Eliza,” said George, “people that have friends, and houses, and lands, and money, and all those things can’t love as we do, who have nothing but each other.  Till I knew you, Eliza, no creature had loved me, but my poor, heart-broken mother and sister.  I saw poor Emily that morning the trader carried her off.  She came to the corner where I was lying asleep, and said, ’Poor George, your last friend is going.  What will become of you, poor boy?’ And I got up and threw my arms round her, and cried and sobbed, and she cried too; and those were the last kind words I got for ten long years; and my heart all withered up, and felt as dry as ashes, till I met you.  And your loving me,—­why, it was almost like raising one from the dead!  I’ve been a new man ever since!  And now, Eliza, I’ll give my last drop of blood, but they shall not take you from me.  Whoever gets you must walk over my dead body.”

“O, Lord, have mercy!” said Eliza, sobbing.  “If he will only let us get out of this country together, that is all we ask.”

“Is God on their side?” said George, speaking less to his wife than pouring out his own bitter thoughts.  “Does he see all they do?  Why does he let such things happen?  And they tell us that the Bible is on their side; certainly all the power is.  They are rich, and healthy, and happy; they are members of churches, expecting to go to heaven; and they get along so easy in the world, and have it all their own way; and poor, honest, faithful Christians,—­Christians as good or better than they,—­are lying in the very dust under their feet.  They buy ’em and sell ’em, and make trade of their heart’s blood, and groans and tears,—­and God lets them.”

“Friend George,” said Simeon, from the kitchen, “listen to this Psalm; it may do thee good.”

George drew his seat near the door, and Eliza, wiping her tears, came forward also to listen, while Simeon read as follows: 

“But as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well-nigh slipped.  For I was envious of the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.  They are not in trouble like other men, neither are they plagued like other men.  Therefore, pride compasseth them as a chain; violence covereth them as a garment.  Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish.  They are corrupt, and speak wickedly concerning oppression; they speak loftily.  Therefore his people return, and the waters of a full cup are wrung out to them, and they say, How doth God know? and is there knowledge in the Most High?”