But while speaking these few words Martha grew sopale that she looked fitter to be laid in her coffin than tostand in the presence of Father Ephraim and the elders；she shuddered， also， as if there were something awful orhorrible in her situation and destiny. It required， indeed， amore than feminine strength of nerve to sustain the fixedobservance of men so exalted and famous throughoutthe Beet as these were. They had overcome their naturalsympathy with human frailties and affections. One， whenhe joined the society， had brought with him his wife andchildren， but never from that hour had spoken a fondword to the former or taken his best-loved child upon hisknee. Another， whose family refused to follow him， hadbeen enabled—such was his gift of holy fortitude—toleave them to the mercy of the world. The youngest of theelders， a man of about fifty， had been bred from infancyin a Shaker village， and was said never to have claspeda woman’s hand in his own， and to have no conceptionof a closer tie than the cold fraternal one of the sect.
Old Father Ephraim was the most awful character of all.
In his youth he had been a dissolute libertine， but wasconverted by Mother Ann herself， and had partaken of thewild fanaticism of the early Shakers. Tradition whisperedat the firesides of the village that Mother Ann had beencompelled to sear his heart of flesh with a red-hot ironbefore it could be purified from earthly passions.
However that might be， poor Martha had a woman’sheart， and a tender one， and it quailed within her as shelooked round at those strange old men， and from them tothe calm features of Adam Colburn. But， perceiving thatthe elders eyed her doubtfully， she gasped for breath andagain spoke.
“With what strength is left me by my many troubles，”
said she， “I am ready to undertake this charge， and to domy best in it.”
“My children， join your hands，” said Father Ephraim.
They did so. The elders stood up around， and thefather feebly raised himself to a more erect position， butcontinued sitting in his great chair.
“I have bidden you to join your hands，” said he， “not inearthly affection， for ye have cast off its chains for ever，but as brother and sister in spiritual love and helpers ofone another in your allotted task. Teach unto others thefaith which ye have received. Open wide your gates—Ideliver you the keys thereof—open them wide to all whowill give up the iniquities of the world and come hither tolead lives of purity and peace. Receive the weary ones whohave known the vanity of earth； receive the little children，that they may never learn that miserable lesson. And ablessing be upon your labors； so that the time may hastenon when the mission of Mother Ann shall have wrought itsfull effect， when children shall no more be born and die，and the last survivor of mortal race—some old and wearyman like me—shall see the sun go down nevermore to riseon a world of sin and sorrow.”
The aged father sank back exhausted， and the surroundingelders deemed， with good reason， that the hour was comewhen the new heads of the village must enter on theirpatriarchal duties. In their attention to Father Ephraimtheir eyes were turned from Martha Pierson， who grewpaler and paler， unnoticed even by Adam Colburn. He，indeed， had withdrawn his hand from hers and foldedhis arms with a sense of satisfied ambition. But paler andpaler grew Martha by his side， till， like a corpse in itsburial-clothes， she sank down at the feet of her early lover；for， after many trials firmly borne， her heart could endurethe weight of its desolate agony no longer.
