brow.

"My life seems doomed to these single scars," he had said, not bitterly,
during one of the sweet convalescent days.

"But not through any fault of yours, dear one," Margaret had answered.
"I have the same wounds, mark for mark, but they are in my heart," and
she kissed his brow, ordained to another burden.

"Where shall we go?" said Margaret. He had heard the words before, and
rich memories came back. The freedom of the world was theirs; for they
had been absolved from the stigma of disease, and the sentinel had
ceased from his labours.

"I must go home now," she continued, "for it will soon be dark."

"I had forgotten about darkness," said Angus. "Come with me. I want to
do something for my mother's sake."

"'Your mother's sake!'" she repeated, "did your mother ever know the
poor woman who died of the disease? or her little child? Did you care
for them for her sake?"

"I cared for them for her sake," Angus answered, "but my mother never
knew her; they lived in different countries--but their sorrows were
related. Let us turn here."

They turned off into a quiet street, and presently entered the old
stone-cutter's shop. Angus spoke to him apart for a time; finally the
old man said:

"Perhaps you'd better write it down."

"Very well, I will," replied Angus.

The old stone-cutter adjusted his glasses: "Nothin' on the big stone
about her age?"

"No, nothing," answered Angus.

"Nor nothin' about her folks?"

"No, nothing," said Angus again.

"And nothin' on the little stone only this?"

"Nothing more," said the other.

"All right, sir, I understand then. The big stone is just to have 'Luke.
7:47: For she loved much,' and the little one: 'My brother.' All right,
I'll set 'em up to-morrow, only I kind o' thought it didn't give a
terrible lot of information. But I suppose you know the meanin' of it."

"Yes, I know," said the man with the mark upon his brow.

XXVII

_The HIDDEN CRUCIFIX_

We had only one incurable sorrow in St. Cuthbert's manse. That of course
had to do with Margaret and her love--for whoso would heal sorrow must
find a cure for love. We could not find it in our hearts to give her up
to a union so wounding to our pride as her marriage to Angus would have
been. The righteous will have cried out long ago against this unseemly
spirit on the part of a gospel minister. But my only care is to set down
things, myself among them, as they really were.

Besides, it is easy to p