t yours: and that often means, up
the steeper-looking bank of the two."

Countess was silent. David applied himself to bending the pin of a
brooch, which he thought rather too straight.

"Is it ever right to do wrong?" she said suddenly.

"Why, no!--how could it be?" answered David, looking up.

"You put me deeper in the slough, every word you say. I will go no
further to-day."

And she turned and walked away.

"Christie," said David to his wife that evening, "thou and I must pray
for our mistress."

"Why, what's the matter with her?"

"I don't know. She's in some trouble; and I think it is not a little
trouble. Unless I mistake, it is trouble of a weary, wearing sort, that
she goes round and round in, and can't see the way out."

"But what are we to ask for, if we know nothing?"

"Dear heart! ask the Lord to put it right. He knows the way out; He
does not want us to tell Him."

A fortnight elapsed before any further conversation took place. At the
end of that time Ash Wednesday came, and David and Christian went to
church as usual. The service was half over, when, to their unspeakable
astonishment, they perceived Countess standing at the western door,
watching every item of the ceremonies, with an expression on her face
which was half eager, half displeased, but wholly disturbed and wearied.
She seemed desirous to avoid being seen, and slipped out the instant
the mass was over.

"Whatever brought her there?" asked Christian.

David shook his head.

"I expect it was either the Lord or the Devil," he said. "Let us ask
Him more earnestly to bring her out of the slough on the right side."

"Did you see me in All Hallows this morning?" asked Countess abruptly,
as they sat beside the fire that night. The children were in bed, and
Olaf lying on the hearth.

"Ay, I did," replied Christian; and her tone added--"to my surprise."

"What are those things for there?"

"What things?"

"A number of dolls, all painted and gilt."

"Do you mean the holy images?"

"I mean the images. I don't believe in the holiness."

"They are images of the blessed saints."

"What are they for?" demanded Countess, knitting her brows.

"The priest says they are to remind us, and are helps to prayer."

"To whose prayers?" said Countess disdainfully. "No woman in England
prays more regularly than I; but I never wanted such rubbish as that to
help me."

"Oh, they don't help me," said David. "I never pay any atte