"It was wrong of me to ever bring you here," he said sadly.

"But I did not know--I would never have believed." Then wrath took hold of him--the awful, cold anger of the Puritan that hates evil as a concrete thing, to be ripped apart with steel.

"God's wrath shall burst on Howrah!" he declared.

"Sodom and Gomorrah were no worse! Remember what befell them!" "Remember Lot!" said Rosemary.

"Come away!" "Lot stayed on to the last, and tried to warn them! I will warn the Resident! Here, give me my writing things--where are they ?" He pushed her aside, none too gently, for the fire of a Covenanter's anger was blazing in his eyes.
"There are forty thousand British soldiers standing still, and wrong--black, shameful wrong--is being done! For a matter of gold--for fear of the cost in filthy lucre--they refrain from hurling wrong-doers in the dust! For the sake of dishonorable peace they leave these native states to misgovern themselves and stink to high heaven! Will God allow what they do?
The shame and the sin is on England's head! Her statesmen shut their eyes and cry 'Peace, peace!' where there is no peace.