Mr. Williams said he did not believe it was me he sought.  He thought the object was robbery, and perhaps arson and murder, but he would not think that I was in the least danger.  “The man,” he said, “in hastily concealing himself had taken the first hiding place he could find.”  Yet I thought otherwise.  Indeed, so sure was I that he was an agent of the priests, sent forth for the express purpose of arresting me, no earthly consideration would have induced me to remain there another day.  The rest of that night I spent in a state of anxiety I cannot describe.  Sleep fled from my eyes.  I dared not even undress and go to bed, but I sat in my chair, or walked the room every moment expecting the return of the mysterious visitor.  I shuddered at every sound, whether real or imaginary.  Once in particular, I remember, the distant roll of carriage wheels fell upon my ear.  I listened; it came near, and still nearer, till at last it stopped, as I thought, at the gate.  For a moment I stood literally stupified with terror, and then I hastily prepared to use the means for self destruction I had already provided in anticipation of such an emergency.  I was still resolved never to be taken alive.  “Give me liberty or give me death,” was now the language of my soul.  If I could not enjoy the one, I would cordially embrace the other.  But it was a sad alternative after all I had suffered that I might be free, after all my buoyant hopes, all my ardent aspirations for a better life.  O, it was a bitter thing, thus to stand in the darkness of night, and with my own hand carefully adjust the cord that was to cut me off from the land of the living, and in a moment launch my trembling soul into the vast, unknown, untried, and fearful future, that men call eternity!  Was this to be the only use I was to make of liberty?  Was it for this I had so long struggled, toiled, wept and prayed?  “God of mercy,” I cried, “save, O save me from this last great sin!  From the sad and dire necessity which thus urges me to cut short a life which thou alone canst give!” My prayer was heard; but how slowly passed the hours of that weary night while I waited for the day that I might “hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest.”  Truly, at that time I could say with one of old, “Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me.  My heart is sore pained within me, and the terrors of death are fallen upon me.  Oh that I had the wings of a dove, for then would I flee away, and be at rest.”

But alas!  I had not the wings of a dove, and whither should I flee from the furious grasp of my relentless persecutors?  Again I must go forth into the “busy haunts of men,” I must mingle with the multitude, and what chance had I for ultimate escape?  If I left these kind friends, and leave them I must, who would take me in?  In whom could I confide?  Who would have the power to rescue me in my hour of need?  In God alone could I trust, yet why is he so far from helping me?  Why are my prayers so long unanswered?  And why does he thus allow the wicked to triumph; to lay snares for the feet of the innocent, and wrongfully persecute those whom their wanton cruelty hath caused to sit in darkness and in the shadow of death?  Why does he not at once “break the bands of iron, and let the oppressed go free?”