Two or three times he
opened his eyes to see what the sounds signified, especially a loud,
bellowing voice almost in his ear that cried texts of Scripture at him.
"_We have but one Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ
Jesus_...."
"_We then, being justified by faith.... For if by the works of the Law
we are justified_...."
He opened his eyes wide at that, and there was the face of one of the
ministers bobbing against the sky, flushed and breathless, yet
indomitable, bawling aloud as he trotted along to keep pace with the
horse.
Then he closed his eyes again. He knew that he, too, could bandy texts
if that were what was required. Perhaps, if he were a better man and
more mortified, he might be able to do so as the martyrs sometimes had
done. But he could not ... he would have a word to say presently
perhaps, if it were permitted; but not now. His pain occupied him; he
had to deal with that and keep back, if he could, those sobs that were
wrenched from him now and again. He had made but a poor beginning in his
journey, he thought; he must die more decently than that.
* * * * *
The end came unexpectedly. Just when he thought he had gained his
self-control again, so as to make no sound at any rate, the hurdle
stopped. He clenched his teeth to meet the dreadful wrench with which it
would move again; but it did not. Instead there was a man down by him,
untying his bonds.
Pages:
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497