luctant weakness, that their persecutions are triumphant power. Brethren of the Netherlands, will you suffer such atrocities to take place on this free soil?”
The audience was strongly moved. The men clenched their fists, and their eyes flashed fire. Their labored breathing sounded like a reply to the preacher's question.
Junius raised his hand and all was silent. With a face working with suppressed emotion, he leaned forward and said:
“Brethren, let me relate what I last heard from the Inquisition in Spain. You all know about the dreadful oubliette, that dark, sealed dungeon, where the poor victim is starved by degrees. The other day one of these dreadful places was opened. Only the skeleton of a man was found, but on the wall above his head he had traced with a piece of charcoal his confession of faith: ‘O Christ, they may separate me from Thy Church, but they cannot separate me from Thee.’
“Remember this, my brethren: it is not alone for our own sakes that we are willing to suffer, but for Christ's sake. It is for His sake that we are killed all the day long. But thanks be to God, we shall yet come off more than conquerors, through Him who hath loved us.”
The preacher's face lighted up with a serene smile, which lent to it a singular charm. For the
