ything is against
me--everything, everything."

Rising hastily, she added, "Perhaps Robbie has gone to Carlisle. I
must be off, Liza."

In another moment she was hurrying up the road.

* * * * *

Taking the high path, the girl came upon the Quaker preachers,
surrounded by a knot of villagers. To avoid them she turned up an
unfrequented angle of the road. There, in the recess of a gate, unseen
by the worshippers, but commanding a view of them, and within hearing
of all that was sung and said, stood Garth, the blacksmith. He wore
his leathern apron thrown over one shoulder. This was the hour of
mid-day rest. He had not caught the sound of Rotha's light footstep as
she came up beside him. He was leaning over the gate and listening
intently. There was more intelligence and also more tenderness in his
face than Rotha had observed before.

She paused, and seemed prompted to a nearer approach, but for the
moment she held back. The worshippers began to sing a simple Quaker
hymn. It spoke of pardon and peace:--

Though your sins be red as scarlet,
He shall wash them white as wool.

Garth seemed to be touched. His hard face softened; his lips parted,
and his eyes began to swim.

When the singing ceased, he repeated the refrain beneath his breath.
"What if one could but think it?" he muttered, and dropped his head
into his hands.

Rotha stepped up and tapped his shoulder.

"Mr. Garth," she said.

He started, and then struggled to hide his discomposure. There was
only one way in which a man of his temperament and resource could hope
to do it--he snarled.

"What do you want with me?"

"It was a beautiful hymn," said Rotha, ignoring his question.

"Do you think so?" he growled, and turned his head away.

"What if one could but think it?" she said, as if speaking as much to
herself as to him.

Garth faced about, and looked at her with a scowl.

The girl's eyes were as meek as an angel's.

"It's what I was thinking mysel', that is," he mumbled after a pause;
then added aloud with an access of irritation, "Think what?"

"That there is pardon for us all, no matter what our sins--pardon and
peace."

"Humph!"

"It is beautiful; religion is very beautiful, Mr. Garth."

The blacksmith forced a short laugh.

"You'd best go and hire yourself to the Quakers. They would welcome a
woman preacher, no doubt."

She would have bartered away years of her life at this instant