“The plague! Edith,” said her father, calmly; “the heavy scourge of God’s well-earned indignation. As yet it hath not entered our old home, but in London it has begun its reign, a terrific life in death; it slays its thousands day by day; it is not to be intimidated, or bribed, or bought. Steadily it is cutting down, godly and ungodly, green and ripe. It is our just meed; we have sinned, and He afflicts us. Ah! that it may be but chastisement, and not destruction.” “And, father, why do you go? What is your call to this certain death?” “Edith,” said the Puritan, “I am vowed, as thou knowest, by stronger oaths than bind any temporal soldier, to the service of my King; and where men are perishing--blaspheming, godless, unrepentant men--there is my place. For what cause have I the sword of the Spirit put into my hand, Edith, if it is not to defy the enemy where he is most potent? For what is God’s message of sovereign grace and mercy committed to me, if it is not for the succor of my own people stricken by God’s terrible retributive hand? Edith, I must pursue them to the grave’s brink with my Gospel. I must go plead with them, strive with them, suffer with them. If I save but one it is hire enough.” The flush of hopeful enthusiasm had altogether departed from her face; instead of it there was a steadfast, resolute whiteness. This was no slight matter to be undertaken hastily, and the young spirit bowed in solemn awe, even while its determination was formed. “Father,” she asked, “do you go alone?” “Nay, Edith, not so; we are all ready; the brethren, I thank God, do not falter. Master Chester and Titus Vincent are in the field already. There are others who only wait for me to set out upon the way. Young Janeway is at Greenwich; he will have entered on the labor before us; we have not a day to lose. Alas! Edith, those terrible streets of the city! the paleness in all faces--the hurrying away of the dead--men hastening to bury their best beloved, their dearest, the desire of their eyes--out of their sight. Ah! Edith, it is not in our bright days that we think of the import of that word--mercy; but now, when He is visibly among us, a Great Avenger, fulfilling that fearful word of His, ‘I will repay,’ lo! men are opening their terror-stricken souls _now_, to think what it means, and to cry for it, with the voices of despair. God save us! it is a terrible time.” “And father, do all die?” said Edith, with a shudder of natural terror; “is there no hope where it comes?”