tage wall. He had placed himself so as to screen the crude light
of the lamp from the wife's eyes; and an old skirt had been hung over a
chair to keep it from little Willie. Between mother and child sat Ann
Mullins, rocking herself to and fro over the fire, and groaning from
time to time--a shapeless sullen creature, brutalised by many children
and much poverty--of whom Marcella was often impatient.

"_And he said, Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy Kingdom. And
He said unto him, Verily, I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with Me
in Paradise."_

The rector's voice, in its awed monotony, dwelt insistently on each
word, then paused. "_To-day_," whispered Mary, caressing Minta's hand,
while the tears streamed down her cheeks; "he repented, Minta, and the
Lord took him to Himself--at once--forgiving all his sins."

Mrs. Hurd gave no sign, but the dark figure on the other side of the
cottage made an involuntary movement, which threw down a fire-iron, and
sent a start through Willie's wasted body. The reader resumed; but
perfect spontaneity was somehow lost both for him and for Mary.
Marcella's stormy presence worked in them both, like a troubling leaven.

Nevertheless, the priest went steadily through his duty, dwelling on
every pang of the Passion, putting together every sacred and sublime
word. For centuries on centuries his brethren and forerunners had held
up the Man of Sorrows before the anguished and the dying; his turn had
come, his moment and place in the marvellous never-ending task; he
accepted it with the meek ardour of an undoubting faith.

"_And all the multitudes that came together to this sight, when they
beheld the things that were done, returned, smiting their breasts_."

He closed the book, and bent forward, so as to bring his voice close to
the wife's ear.

"So He died--the Sinless and the Just--for you, for your husband. He has
passed through death--through cruel death; and where He has gone, we
poor, weak, stained sinners can follow,--holding to Him. No sin, however
black, can divide us from Him, can tear us from His hand in the dark
waters, if it be only repented,--thrown upon His Cross. Let us pray for
your husband, let us implore the Lord's mercy this night--this
hour!--upon his soul."

A shudder of remembrance passed through Marcella. The rector knelt; Mrs.
Hurd lay motionless, save for deep gasps of struggling breath at
intervals; Ann Mullins sobbed loudly; and Mary Harden wept a