“If that is your counsel, take it to those who are likely to need it. I am going to do the smiting this time, and it's their time to do the turning. They need not trouble themselves, however. Pete will see that they get it on both sides.” “And now sir,” he added, “if you would like to see the prisoners to prepare them for what's coming, you are welcome to,” and opening the door of the room he told the sentinel in the corridor to let the parson into the guard room, and the silenced and horrified man of God mechanically acting upon the hint went out and left him alone. The imagination of the reader will readily depict the state of mind in which the families of the arrested gentlemen were left after the midnight visit of Perez' band. That there was no more sleep in those households that night will be easily understood. In the Edwards family the long hours till morning passed in praying and weeping by Mrs. Edwards and Desire, and the younger children. They scarcely dared to doubt that the husband and father was destined to violence or death at the hands of these bloody and cruel men. At dawn Jonathan, who, on trying to follow his father when first arrested, had been driven back with blows, went out again, and the tidings which he brought back, that the prisoners were confined in the Fennell house and as yet had undergone no abuse, somewhat restored their agitated spirits. An hour or two later the boy came tearing into the house, with white face, clenched fists and blazing eyes. “What is it?” cried his mother and sister, half scared to death at his looks. “They're going,”--Jonathan choked. “They're going to have father whipped,” he finally made out to articulate. “Whipped!” echoed Desire, faintly and uncomprehendingly. “Yes!” cried the boy hoarsely, “like any vagabond, stripped and whipped at the whipping-post.” “What do you mean?” said Mrs. Edwards, as she took Jonathan by the shoulder. “They're going to whip father, and uncle, and all the others,” he repeated, beginning to whimper, stout boy as he was. “Whip father? You're crazy, Jonathan, you didn't hear right. They'd never dare! It can't be! Run and find out,” cried Desire, wildly. “There ain't any use. I heard the Hamlin fellow say so himself. They're going to do it. They said it's no worse than whipping one of them, as if they were gentlemen,” blubbered Jonathan. “Oh no! no! They can't, they won't,” cried the girl in an anguished voice, her eyes glazed with tears as she looked appealingly from Jonathan to her mother, in whose faces there was little enough to reassure her. “Don't, mother, you hurt,” said Jonathan, trying to twist away from the clasp which his mother had retained upon his arm, unconsciously tightening it till it was like a vise. “Whip my husband!” said she, slowly, in a hollow tone. “Whip him!” she repeated. “Such a thing was never heard of. There must be some mistake.”