He found two small furnished rooms which would answer his purpose till his own furniture should arrive, and he and his wife took possession that same morning. He then wrote to his landlord in London—a man whom he knew he could trust—and directed him to send his goods. For the present, although he had no fear whatever of any prosecution, he thought fit to adopt a feigned name, with which we need not trouble ourselves. In the afternoon he sallied out to seek employment. The weather had cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still refused to accompany him, and she occupied herself moodily with setting the place to rights, as she called it, although, as it happened, it was particularly neat and clean. There was not so much printing done in Manchester then as now, and Zachariah had no success. He came home about seven o’clock, weary and disheartened. His wife was one of those women who under misfortune show all that is worst in them, as many women in misfortune show all that is best. “You might have been sure you would get nothing to do here. If, as you say, there is no danger, why did you not stay in London?” “You know all about it, my dear; we were warned to come.” “Yes, but why in such a hurry? Why didn’t you stop to think?” “It is all very well to say so now, but there were only a few minutes in which to decide. Besides, when I got home I found you gone.” Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the last part of this remark, which, of course, settled the whole question, but continued: “Ah, well, I suppose it’s all right; but I’m sure we shall starve—I am convinced we shall. Oh! I wish my poor dear mother were alive! I have no home to go to. What _will_ become of us?” He lost his patience a little. “Jane,” he said, “what is our religion worth if it does not support us in times like these? Does it not teach us to bow to God’s will? Surely we, who have had such advantages, ought to behave under our trials better than those who have been brought up like heathens. God will not leave us. Don’t you remember Mr. Bradshaw’s sermon upon the passage through the Red Sea. When the Israelites were brought down to the very shore with nothing but destruction before them, a way was opened. What did Mr. Bradshaw bid us observe? The Egyptians were close behind—so close that the Israelites saw them; the sea was in front. The road was not made till the enemy was upon them, and then the waters were divided and became a wall unto them on their right hand and on their left; the very waters, Mr. Bradshaw remarked, which before were their terror. God, too, might have sent them a different way; no doubt He might, but He chose _that_ way.”