CHAPTER I “He who in his heart—” there was verse and chapter for it. Joan was a murderess. Just as well, so far as Joan was concerned, might she have taken a carving-knife and stabbed Deacon Hornflower to the heart.!

“No, dear,” answered Mary. “It’s only one or two who have nowhere else to go.” “Yes, dear, and of course that can happen too,” agreed the little old lady.

He looked into her eyes, holding her hand, and she felt his body trembling. She knew he was about to speak, and held up a warning hand. Madge looked at her in silence for quite a while. “How confident you are,” she said. “How I envy you.” “I suppose it would mean stagnation,” admitted Madge. “And yet I don’t know. Are there not forces moving towards right that are crying to us to help them, not by violence, which only interrupts—delays them, but by quietly preparing the way for them? You know what I mean. Erasmus always said that Luther had hindered the Reformation by stirring up passion and hate.” She broke off suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, if God would only say what He wants of us,” she almost cried; “call to us in trumpet tones that would ring through the world, compelling us to take sides. Why can’t He speak?”