When we got into the hall we saw Andrew sitting there and talking with the stranger, who was now clothed like any other man. His face had been bruised and his hair torn by the violence of the people; but, for all these disfigurements, I, looking earnestly at him, could see he was the very one the sight of whose ill-usage had so moved Andrew on our journey; there was the same composed look, and the same strange inward light in his eye.
He rose when he saw Aunt Golding come in, saluting her with the words, ‘Peace be to thee!’ on which she, gravely smiling, said,—
‘You did not bring peace with you to our place of worship, sir; but I trust no one will break your peace in my house, where you are welcome to rest and refresh you this day.’
‘No man can break my peace,’ said he, ‘my soul being e
