ntire to Christ. The
snapping of it here at this point or a few spaces farther on would be
a matter of no more moment than the length of a thread. This world had
nothing to give him, nothing to withhold from him. But to guard his
secret at the cost of another life, and that a young, vigorous,
battling life full of future and promise, full of youth and the glory
of living, the life of a boy he loved--that was another matter. Never
had he reckoned with a thing such as that. Life had always been so
direct, so square-cut for Joseph Winthrop. To think right, to do
right, to serve God; these things had always seemed very simple. But
the thing that he had done to-day was breaking his heart. He could not
have done otherwise. He had been given no choice, to be sure.

But was it possible that God would have allowed things to come to
that issue, if somewhere, at some turn in that line of circumstances
which had led up to this day, Joseph Winthrop had not done a wrong? It
did not seem possible. Somewhere he had done wrong or he had done
foolishly--and, where men go to direct the lives of others, to do
unwisely is much the same as to do wickedly.

What use to go over the things that he had done, the things that he
had advised? What use to say, here he had done his best, there he
thought only of the right and the wise thing. Somewhere he had spoken
foolishly, or he had been headstrong in his interference, or he had
acted without thought and prayer. What use to go over the record? He
could only carry this matter to God and let Him see his heart.

He stumbled in the half light of the darkened little church and sank
heavily into the last pew. Out of the sorrow and anguish of his heart
he cried out from afar to the Presence on the little altar, where he,
Bishop of Alden, had often spoken with much authority.

When Cynthe Cardinal saw Ruth Lansing go up into the witness stand she
sank down quietly into a front seat and seemed fairly to devour the
other girl with the steady gaze of her fierce black eyes. She hung
upon every fleeting wave of the contending emotions that showed
themselves on Ruth's face. She was convinced that this girl knew that
Rafe Gadbeau had confessed to the murder of Samuel Rogers and that
Jeffrey Whiting was innocent. She had not thought that Ruth would be
called as a witness, and Dardis, in fact, had only decided upon it at
the last moment.

Once Cynthe Cardinal had been very near to hating this girl, for she
h