n answer, she went on, "I don't see that he does any
harm, any way. You say yourself he's as good as can be."

"So he is, poor gentleman; but he's mad, and getting madder. I don't
know exactly what's brewing, but I tell you this, there's going to be
trouble of some sort before long."

"What sort?"

"Well, for one thing, drunken Job is calling out in the rum-hole that
he'll kill his wife if he finds her up to any more religious nonsense;
and she is up to something of that sort, and he's quite able to do it,
too. I heard him beating her the other night."

Eliza shuddered.

"I'm a kind-hearted fellow, Miss White," he went on, with feeling in his
voice. "I can't bear to feel that there's something hanging over the
heads of people like her--more than one of them perhaps--and that
they're being led astray when they might be walking straight on after
their daily avocations."

"But what can they be going to do?" she asked incredulously, but with
curious anxiety.

"Blest if I know! but I've heard that old man a-praying about what he
called 'the coming of the Lord,' and talking about having visions of
'the day and the month,' till I've gone a'most distracted, for otherwise
he does pray so beautiful it reminds me of my mother. He's talking of
'those poor sheep in the wilderness,' and 'leading them' to something.
He's mad, and there's a dozen of them ready to do any mad thing he
says."

"You ought to go and tell the ministers--tell the men of the town."

"Not I--nice fool I'd look! What in this world have I to accuse him of,
except what I've heard him praying about? I've done myself harm enough
by having him here."

"What do you want me to do then?"

"Whatever you like; I've told you the truth. There was a carter at
Turrifs drunk himself to death because of this unfortunate Mr. Cameron's
rising again--that's one murder; and there'll be another."

With that he turned on his heel and left her in his own room. He only
turned once to look in at the door again. "If _you're_ in any trouble,
I'm real soft-hearted, Eliza; I'll be real good to you, though you've
been crusty to me."

If she was in trouble then, she did not show it to him.

CHAPTER XVI.

Nothing contributes more frequently to indecision of character in the
larger concerns of existence than a life overcrowded with effort and
performance. Had Robert Trenholme not been living at too great a pace,
his will, naturally energetic, would not, during that s