“Why, then, my husband, go. I think it _is_ the good God prompts thee. Else thou couldst not go from us who need thee so. And, if ’tis He—why—He knows thy heart—and He will go with thee and keep thee, and bring thee back to us. Thou art our all. For that I pray. For that each night we all shall pray. So—Christof—go with God. And I, thy Christine—I will stay and keep thine oath for thee—here in our little land—I will not forsake one of the little ones—not one of the old or blind or maimed or simple ones. And I shall have joy in this—remember that! Great joy shall I have in keeping thy oath for thee—to the priest—thy ancestors—thy God—until thou comest back to keep it once again thyself. Farewell, O sweetest lover ever woman had, farewell until thou comest back to me again!” She took the brazen shears which hung at her belt and, cutting an unruly lock, she put it in his hands while her white lips moved in benediction. And so he went, looking last upon her at that turning of the road, and she, there, her last on him. IV THE HOME OF THE FREE There is a city which vaunts itself because in its laws oppression and injustice are not; where the popular shibboleth is freedom; whence liberty throughout all the land hath of old been proclaimed; where the proudest boast writ upon its monuments is of the sublime quality of its justice. A great bell booms the hour of ten, and at the last reverberation the judge of the Quarter Sessions of the Peace advances from his retiring room and takes his place upon the bench. The crier raps the chamber to silence and delivers the customary invitation of the Commonwealth to the Falstaffian company being marshalled into the receiving docks. “Oyez! oyez! oyez! All manner of persons who stand bound to appear before this honorable court, holden here this day, come forward, and ye shall be heard. And may God save the Commonwealth and this honorable court.” Instantly a felon starts forward to the bar. An officer restrains him. The benchers laugh. He has accepted the invitation of the Commonwealth too literally. He cannot come forward and be heard. The grand jury must first second the invitation of the State. This body now files into its place. “Gentlemen of the grand jury, have you any bills of indictment to present to the court?” the crier asks, and is rewarded with a considerable parcel. The clerk scrutinizes these, the court does likewise, and then they come into the hands of the prosecuting officer, who briskly takes one from the top and calls a name: “Christof Nielsen!” Meanwhile, in seeming confusion, the grand jury is discharged and the petit jury called, and sworn. “You, and each of you, do swear that you will well and truly try, and a true deliverance make, between the Commonwealth and the prisoner at the bar, whom you will have in charge, and a true verdict render, according to the evidence, so help you God.” Again the crier calls: