In a few instants she guided my father and mother into our dungeon, holding a hand of each.

As they entered, the red fire-light leaped up and showed their grave faces.

The first thing my father did, after taking us in at a glance, was to say, "Children, let us pray!" Even the little ones, roused from their slumber, and but half awake, put up their hands.

My mother and the girls knelt; my father stood.
His prayer began with earnest thanksgiving that we were all together again, and that, though his worldly substance had been taken from him, there was no loss of life or limb.

Then he returned hearty thanks that, in this our day of spiritual trial and temptation, there had been no apostacy, no temporizing cowardice, no falling short.