Although carefully nurtured in the lap of luxury, Hugo Berlaymont had his trials. Many of the members of the reformed faith frowned upon him because he had not come out boldly and espoused their cause.
“A man cannot be called a Christian who fears to acknowledge himself as one: who places the opinions of his fellows, or his own human interests and affections, before the glory of God,” they said.
Hugo was a sensitive lad, and he felt these words of reproof keenly. He was strong to suffer himself, but he could not bear to inflict suffering upon others. He loved his uncle truly, and he knew that to avow himself a Protestant would be to fill his uncle’s heart with the bitterest anguish. He had talked the matter over with Junius.
“I have often felt, my good pastor, that this deception was not becoming in a follower of Christ; but by making a confession of my faith I shall not only redouble my uncle’s persecutions, but I shall also be deprived of the power of assisting the brethren when they come to me secretly, as they have felt free to do. I want to do right. Decide the question for me, dear pastor Junius.”
The preacher looked into the guileless face of the boy who had grown very dear to his heart, and placed his arm about his shoulder.
“My dear lad, I feel that you are not doing wrong, considering the peculiar circumstances in
