raming　round　and　gathering　over　me：　I　trembled　to　hear　some　fatal　word　spoken　which　would　at　once　declare　and　rivet　the　spell。

“And　what　does　your　heart　say？”　demanded　St。　John。

“My　heart　is　mute；—my　heart　is　mute；”　I　answered；　struck　and　thrilled。

“Then　I　must　speak　for　it；”　continued　the　deep；　relentless　voice。　“Jane；　e　with　me　to　India：　e　as　my　helpmeet　and　fellow…　labourer。”

The　glen　and　sky　spun　round：　the　hills　heaved！　It　was　as　if　I　had　heard　a　summons　from　Heaven—as　if　a　visionary　messenger；　like　him　of　Macedonia；　had　enounced；　“e　over　and　help　us！”　But　I　was　no　apostle；—I　could　not　behold　the　herald；—I　could　not　receive　his　call。

“Oh；　St。　John！”　I　cried；　“have　some　mercy！”

I　appealed　to　one　who；　in　the　discharge　of　what　he　believed　his　duty；　knew　neither　mercy　nor　remorse。　He　continued—

“God　and　nature　intended　you　for　a　missionary’s　wife。　It　is　not　personal；　but　mental　endowments　they　have　given　you：　you　are　formed　for　labour；　not　for　love。　A　missionary’s　wife　you　must—shall　be。　You　shall　be　mine：　I　claim　you—not　for　my　pleasure；　but　for　my　Sovereign’s　service。”

“I　am　not　fit　for　it：　I　have　no　vocation；”　I　said。

He　had　calculated　on　these　first　objections：　he　was　not　irritated　by　them。　Indeed；　as　he　leaned　back　against　the　crag　behind　him；　folded　his　arms　on　his　chest；　and　fixed　his　countenance；　I　saw　he　was　prepared　for　a　long　and　trying　opposition；　and　had　taken　in　a　stock　of　patience　to　last　him　to　it