Some glared and gleamed upon him with the fire of murder in their eyes; some pointed to a cheerless apartment, in which he saw his wife and children cowering and shivering over a few dying embers, and they said--"It is your work! It is your work!" They were devils in distorted human shapes, and he was terribly afraid.

Suddenly he was set upon by one, who caught him by the throat and dragged him into what seemed the cell of a prison, where he was cast upon a heap of straw, and left shuddering with cold and fear.
Alone, for days and weeks he remained in this prison, until despair seemed to dry up the very blood in his veins, and, after a desperate struggle to break through the bars of his narrow house, he sank down exhausted and ready to die.

Then came a new horror.

He had died, to all outward appearance, and was in his coffin.

He felt his body compressed, and gasped and panted for air in his narrow house of boards.