Brother More was awaiting me at the coach-office.
He hurried me away, scarcely giving me
time to glance at Gabriel, who stood looking
after me. He was eager to hear of my interview
with my uncle; when I told him of my failure,
he grew thoughtful, saying little until I was in
the railway carriage, when he leaned forward
and whispered, "Tell Priscilla I will come over
in the morning."

Brother More is a rich man; perhaps, for Priscilla's
sake, he will free my father.

Nov. 11. I dreamed last night that Gabriel
stood beside me, saying, "I come to bring thee
glad tidings." But as I listened eagerly, he
sighed, and vanished away.

Nov. 15. Brother More is here every day, but
he says nothing about helping my father. If
help does not come soon, he will be cast into
prison. Peradventure, my uncle will relent, and
offer us some easier terms. If it were only to
live half my time with him, I would consent to
dwell in his house, even as Daniel and the three
children dwelt unharmed in the court of Babylon.
I will write to him to that effect.

Nov. 19. No answer from my uncle. To-day,
going to Woodbury with Priscilla, who wished
to converse with the pastor of the church there,
I spent the hour she was engaged with him in
finding my way to the jail, and walking round
the outside of its gloomy and massive walls. I
felt very mournful and faint-hearted, thinking of
my poor father. At last, being very weary, I
sat down on the step at the gateway, and looked
into my little lot-book again. Once more I drew
the verse, "Be of good courage." Just then,
Brother More and Priscilla appeared. There
was a look upon his face which I disliked,
but I remembered that he was to be my
sister's husband, and I rose and offered him
my hand, which he tucked up under his arm,
his fat hand resting upon it. So we three
walked to and fro under the prison walls.
Suddenly, in a garden sloping away beneath us, I
perceived him whom I call Gabriel (not knowing
any other name), with a fair sweet-looking young
woman at his side. I could not refrain from
weeping, for what reason I cannot tell, unless it
be my father's affairs. Brother More returned
home with us, and sent John Robins away.
John Robins desired me to remember him, which
I will as long as I live.

Nov. 20. Most miserable day. My poor father
is in jail. At dinner-time to-day two most
evil-looking men arrested him. God forgive me for
wishing they were dead! Yet my father spake
very patiently and gently.

"Send for Brother More," he said, after a
pause, "and act according to his counsel."

So after a little while they carried him away.

What am I to do?

Nov. 30. Late last night we were still
discoursing as to our future plans. Priscilla thinks
Brother More will hasten their marriage, and
Susannah has an inward assurance that the lot
will fall to her to be Brother Schmidt's wife.
She spake wisely of the duties of a missionary's
life, and of the grace needed to fulfil them. But
I could think of nothing but my father trying to
sleep within the walls of the jail.

Brother More says he thinks he can see a way
to release my father, only we are all to pray that
we may have grace to conquer our self-will. I
am sure I am willing to do anything, even to
selling myself into slavery, as some of our first
missionaries did in the slave-times in the West
Indies. But in England one cannot sell one's
self, though I would be a very faithful servant.
I want to get at once a sum large enough to
pay our debts. Brother More bids me not spoil
my eyes with crying.

Dec. 1. The day on which my father was
arrested, I made a last appeal to my uncle. This
morning I had a brief note from him, saying he
had commissioned his lawyer to visit me, and
state the terms on which he was willing to aid
me. Even as I read it, his lawyer desired to see
me alone. I went to the parlour, trembling
with anxiety. It was no other than Gabriel who
stood before me, and I took heart, remembering
my dream that he appeared to me, saying, "I
come to bring thee glad tidings."

"Miss Eunice Fielding," he said, in his pleasant
voice, and looking down upon me with a
smile which seemed to shed sunshine upon my
sad and drooping spirit.

"Yes," I answered, my eyes falling foolishly
before his; and I beckoned to him to resume his
seat, while I stood leaning against my mother's
great arm-chair.

"I have a hard message for you," said Gabriel;
"your uncle has dictated this paper,
which must be signed by you and your father.
He will release Mr. Fielding, and settle one
hundred pounds a year upon him, on condition
that he will retire to some German Moravian
settlement, and that you will accept the former
terms."

"I cannot," I cried bitterly. "Oh! sir, ought
I to leave my father?"

"I am afraid not," he answered, in a low
voice.

"Sir," I said, "you must please say 'no' to
my uncle."

"I will," he replied, "and make it sound as
gently as I can. You have a friend in me, Miss
Eunice."

His voice lingered upon Eunice, as if it were
no common name to him, but something rare and
pleasing. I never heard it spoken so pleasantly
before. After a little while he rose to take his
leave.

"Brother," I said, giving him my hand, "farewell."

"I shall see you again, Miss Eunice," he
answered.

He saw me again sooner than he expected, for
I travelled by the next train to Woodbury, and,
as I left the dark carriage in which I journeyed,
I saw him alight from another part of the train,
and at the same instant his eyes fell upon me.