After that I heard nothing more. I had, instead, a terrible dream. I thought there was a fire. It was an awful sight; the flames seemed to scorch me as they leaped up, ruddy and bright, into the heavens, and those cruel men who had tried to kill us, armed with pitchforks, forced me nearer and ever nearer to the flames. I shrieked for mercy, but they only laughed as they pushed me in. And then I was on fire, I was burning. Oh, the unutterable agony of that burning! I tried to escape, but I could not, for they formed a ring round me, and shouted and danced in horrid glee; and then, all of a sudden I looked up, and beyond the fire I saw a face that I seemed to know quite well, it had mingled with my dreams, with my prayers so often lately—the face of the Christ—He whom I loved, whom I had chosen. I saw His face as I had loved to picture it, all worn as it were with the sorrows, and pain, and woes of humanity, and, withal, crowned with ineffable patience and sweetness. I was falling back into the flames, but He held out His hand, and the demons gave way and melted into thin air. Oh, that strong right hand of His! He caught me, and the burning all seemed to go, and the flames were extinguished. I was floating in some lake of ambrosial coolness, a delicious kind of languor stole over me, and the face of the Christ bent over me and smiled. And then, somehow, as in a dream He vanished, and Uncle Paul was there in His stead. I still lay on the couch, the only difference being that Uncle Paul was there, his left arm under my head, and in his right he held a cordial, part of which I had swallowed. "She will do now," I heard him say, "and if she is left absolutely quiet we can get away to-morrow." I heard it all as in a dream, nothing seemed to surprise or trouble me, but as I sank into a delicious sleep I heard someone say, without taking in the meaning of the words, or being in the least alarmed by them:— "It might be fatal to remain here another night." CHAPTER X. A DARING ATTEMPT.