len.

"He is lost to all sense of propriety; apparently he has no thought of
what he owes you. Well, I shall go to Lockhaven to-morrow."

"It is all for me!" Helen said. "Oh, uncle Archie, if you would just
understand that!"

Dr. Howe gave an explosive groan, but he only said, "Tell Lois to pack my
bag. I'll take the early train. Oh, Helen, why can't you be like other
women? Why do you have to think about beliefs? Your mother never doubted
things; why do you? Isn't it enough that older and wiser people than you
do not question the faith?"

At the last moment he begged her to accompany him. "Together, we can
bring the man to his senses," he pleaded, and he secretly thought that
not even the hardness and heartlessness of John Ward could withstand the
sorrow in her face. But she refused to consider it.

"Have you no message for him?" he asked.

"No," she answered.

"Sha'n't I tell him how you--miss him, Helen?"

A light flashed across her face, but she said simply, "John knows," and
her uncle had to be content with that.

Dr. Howe grew more intolerant with each mile of his journey. Every
incident touched him with a personal annoyance at the man he was going to
see. The rattling, dingy cars on the branch railroad afflicted him with
an irritated sense of being modern; the activity about the shabby station
jarred upon his remembrance of Ashurst's mellow quiet; the faces of the
men in the lumber-yards, full of aggressive good-nature, offended his
ideas of dignity and reserve. A year ago, Dr. Howe would have thought all
this very entertaining, and simple, and natural. Now, that a man who
lived in such a place, among such people, should have it in his power to
place the Howes in a conspicuous and painful position was unbearable!

By the time he reached the parsonage, to which an officious young person
of whom he had inquired his way conducted him, he had attained a pitch of
angry excitement which drove all theological arguments out of his mind.
Alfaretta greeted him with a blank stare, and then a sudden brightening
of her face as he gave his name.

"You're her uncle!" she cried. "How is she? and when is she comin' back?
She ain't sick?"--this with quick alarm, for Dr. Howe had not answered
her questions.

"No, no, my good woman," he said impatiently, "certainly not. Where is
your master?"

"The preacher's not home," the girl answered coldly. She was not used to
being called "my good woman," if she did live out. "