ers that had befallen his
household? He reflected that every link in that chain of evil seemed
to be coupled to the gyves that hung about his own wrists. Wilson's
life in Wythburn--his death--Sim's troubles--Rotha's sorrow--even his
father's fearful end, and the more fearful accident at the
funeral--then his mother's illness, nigh to death--how nigh to death
by this time God alone could tell him here--all, all, with this last
misery of his own banishment, seemed somehow to centre in himself.
Yes, yes, sin and its wages must be in this thing; but what sin, what
sin? What was the crime that cast its shadow over his life?

"As the waters run when the flood-gates are up," said the preacher,
"so doth the visitation of God's love pass away from thee."

Of what use, then, would be the amnesty of the King? Mockery of
mockeries! In a case like this only the Great King Himself could
proclaim a pardon. Ralph put his hands over his eyes as the vision
came back to him of a riderless horse flying with its dread burden
across the fells. No sepulture! It was the old Hebrew curse--the
punishment of the unpardonable sin.

He thought again of his stricken mother in the old home, and then of
the love which had gone from him like a dream of the night. Heaven had
willed it that where the heart of man yearned for love, somewhere in
the world there was a woman's heart yearning to respond. But the curse
came to some here and some there--the curse of an unrequitable
passion.

* * * * *

The church bells were still ringing over the darkened town.

Rotha was happy in her love; Heaven be with her and bless her! As for
himself, it was a part of the curse that lay on him that her face
should haunt his dreams, that her voice should come to him in his
sleep, and that "Rotha, Rotha," should rise in sobs to his lips in the
weary watches of the night.

Yes, it must be as he had thought--God's hand was on him. Destiny had
to work its own way. Why should he raise his feeble hands to prevent
it? The end would be the end, whenever and wherever it might come.
Why, then, should he stir?

Ralph had determined to go no farther. He would stay in Preston over
the night, and set out again for the north at daybreak. Was it despair
that possessed him? Even if so, he was stronger than before. Hope had
gone, and fear went with it.

Take heart, Ralph Ray, most unselfish and long-suffering of men. God's
hand is indeed upon you, b