the next step ere I
must set down my foot. That is enough, Barbara, for `such as keep His
covenant,' and I have ever counted thee amongst them."

"Eh, Master Robin, but 'twere easier done to walk in darkness one's
self, than to see yon little pet lamb--"

And Barbara's voice faltered.

"Hath somewhat troubled thee specially at this time?"

In answer, she told him what she had just seen.

"And I do trust, Master Robin, I have not ill done to say this unto you,
but of a truth I am diseased [uneasy, anxious] touching my jewel, lest
she fall into the like evil courses, being to dwell here."

"Thou hast not ill done, friend; nor will I neglect the warning, trust
me."

"I thank you much, Master. And how doth good Mistress Thekla? Verily I
am but evil-mannered to be thus long ere I ask it."

"She is well, and desiring much to see thee."

"And your childre, Master Robin,--have you not?"

"I have five childre, Barbara, two sons and three daughters; but of them
Christ hath housen four in His garner, and hath left but one in my
sight. And that seemed unto us a very strange way; yet was it mercy and
truth."

"Eh, but I could ne'er repine at a babe's dying!" said Barbara, shaking
her head. "Do but think what they 'scape of this weary world's
troubles, Master Robin."

"Ah, Barbara, 'tis plain thou never hadst a child," said Mr Tremayne,
sighing. "I grant all thou hast said. And yet, when it cometh to the
pass, the most I can do is to lift mine head and hold my peace, `because
God did it.' God witteth best how to try us all."

"Nay, if He would but not try yon little lambkin!"

"An unhappy prayer, Barbara; for, that granted, she should never come
forth as gold.--But I must be on my way to give Jack his Latin lesson.
When thou canst find thy way to my dwelling, all we shall be full fain
to see thee. Good morrow."

When Clare was undergoing her ordeal in the schoolroom, an hour later,
Barbara set out on her visit to the parsonage. But she missed her way
through the park, and instead of coming out of the great gates, near the
foot-bridge, she found herself at a little gate, opening on the road,
from which neither church nor village could be seen as landmarks. There
was no cottage in sight at which to ask the road to the parsonage.
While Barbara stood and looked round her, considering the matter, she
perceived a boy of about twelve years old slowly approaching her from
the right hand,--evidently a gentleman's