I will go among the Gentiles, and if it be the Lord's will, peradventure I may turn away their wrath from my people.

When my wearisome pilgrimage is ended, none shall know the grave of Richard Martin; and none but the heathen shall mourn for him.

Mary! I forgive thee; may the God of all mercies bless thee! I shall never see thee more." Hot and fast fell the tears of that stern man upon the hand of Mary.
The eyes of the young woman glanced hurriedly over the faces of her neighbors, and fixed tearfully upon that of her lover.

A thousand recollections of young affection, of vows and meetings in another land, came vividly before her.

Her sister's home, her brother's instructions, her own strong faith, and her bitter hatred of her lover's heresy were all forgotten.
"Richard, dear Richard, I am your Mary as much as ever I was.