'Therefore let us patiently suffer the afflictions which the Lord may yet send us for our good, without hatred towards the instruments he may employ for that purpose, and thus seek to become worthy of the glorious martyrs to the pure Christianity of the first ages, and of this our blessed friend. Should He require us also to lay down our lives for our faith, so will we without anger or opposition bow our necks to the death-dealing axe, and die with the departing exclamation of our Savior, 'it is fulfilled!--Amen.'' He retired. The lid of the coffin was fastened down, and it was then lowered into the earth. In accordance with a pious old custom, the husband and orphans each cast three handsful of earth into the grave, as a last farewell, and the bereaved man then retired, tearless as he had come, while the children found relief for their sorrow in audible weeping. All the spectators now-pressed about the grave to pay the last honors to the dear departed, and from hundreds of hands fell the earth upon the coffin below. The young Franciscan also, by great exertion made a path for himself to the grave; having thrown in his handful of earth, he hastily caught hold of his companions, and exclaiming, 'now forward, the moments are precious!' led them away. 'Why should the moments be so precious to this monk?' mused the observant Lichtensteiner; and then, after a moment's reflection, he suddenly cried, 'the captain may be able to explain it!'--and ran from the church-yard. CHAPTER XVI. In a low chamber in the little village of Friedland, eight days later, lay the aged Mrs. Rosen on the sick bed upon which the effects of her long confinement in the cellar, the extraordinary exertions consequent upon her sudden flight, and more than all, her sorrow for the loss of her beloved daughter, had thrown her. The owner of the house, a weaver's widow, who had formerly been a servant to her, and who had been indebted to her liberality for her comfortable establishment, stood at the head of her bed with a phial and spoon in her hand, and with a countenance expressive of the tenderest sympathy. Before the bed sat Oswald and the weeping Faith. 'Compose yourself, my daughter,' said the matron. 'I shall surely recover from this illness. Alas, one may suffer much before the thread of life will break! I feel much better to-day than I did yesterday, and I hope not to be the cause of anxiety much longer.' 'God grant it!' sobbed Faith, sinking upon her knees before the bed, and covering her dear mother's hand with her kisses and tears. At that moment Jonas, the widow's son, entered the cottage with his hat and traveling staff, gave them a melancholy and silent greeting, and began to unpack his bundle. 'So soon returned from Schweidnitz?' asked Oswald. 'What is the state of affairs there?'