The only true answer seems scarcely possible: and yet the only answer possible is awfully true. The man was born a Jew, and had become a Christian. It was only natural that this should turn the Jewish community against him; and all his acquaintances deserted him as a matter of course. But surely this very fact should have made the Christian community more friendly and helpful! Alas, the Christian community, in bondage to the iron yoke of Rome, hated him more as a Jew than they welcomed him as a Christian. Rome has always been the hater and opponent of Israel. The law of England at that time was actually this: that if a Jew became converted to Christianity, he forfeited everything he possessed to the Crown, and had to begin the world again. This had been the lot of poor David ben Mossi, and his wife Ruth, whose conversion had taken place under Gerhardt's preaching. They were too honest to hide the change in their convictions, though to reveal it meant worldly ruin. They applied for baptism, and by so doing literally gave up all for Christ--home, goods, gain, and occupation, not to speak of friends. David obtained work as a woodcutter, which brought them in just enough to keep life in them and rags about them; and he built with his own hands, aided by his faithful Ruth, the mud hovel, wherein they found the only shelter that this cold world had for them. They had left Reading, preferring solitude to averted looks and abusive tongues; and not a creature in Dorchester came near them. Alike as Jews and as poor people, they were not worth cultivating. David had retained his name, being one used also by Christians; but Ruth had been required to change hers. She had chosen the name of Christian, as the most truthful and expressive that she could take. "And I like to feel," she said to David, "that I have something of our blessed Lord in my name." "Let us keep Him in our hearts, Wife," was the answer: "then it will not much matter whether or no we have Him any where else." It was bitterly cold in the hovel that snowy night. The children had cried themselves to sleep, and the parents felt as if they could easily have done the same. The lights were out at Dorchester, and all nature had settled down to rest, when Christian, who could not sleep for the cold, fancied she heard a voice outside the hut. "David!" it seemed to say. But the voice, if voice there were, was faint, and Christian did not like to rouse the husband who had lost his suffering in sleep, for what might have been a mere fancy. The voice spoke again. "Ruth!" it said this time. Christian hesitated no longer. "David! There is one without, calling on us. And it must be one we knew of old, for it calls me by my old name. Pray thee, get up, and let the poor soul in; 'tis not a night for a dog to tarry without, never speak of a human creature, who must be in some trouble." David sat up and listened. "I hear nothing, Wife. I think thou must have been dreaming."