n Dickson; nor did Allison herself escape from the
hearing of bitter words. But Dickson took it calmly, and bore it as
part of his duty and his day's work.

"I'm weel used with it," said he. "His hard words maybe ease him, poor
man, and they do me nae ill."

And they did Allison "no ill," in one way. She was too sorry for him to
be angry on her own account, and listened in silence. Or, if he forgot
himself altogether and gave her many of them, she rose quietly and went
out of the room. She expected no apology when she returned, and none
was ever offered, and his ill words made her none the less patient with
him, and none the less ready at all times to do faithfully the duties
which she had undertaken of her own free will.

But they made her unhappy many a time. For what evidence had she that
her sacrifice was accepted? Had she been presumptuous in her desires
and hopes that she might be permitted to do some good to this man, who
had done her so much evil? Had she taken up this work too lightly--in
her own strength which was weakness--in her own wisdom which was folly?
Had she been unwise in coming, or wilful in staying? Or was it that she
was not fit to be used as an instrument in God's hand to help this man,
because she also had done wrong? She wearied herself with these
thoughts, telling herself that her sacrifice had been in vain, and her
efforts and her prayers--all alike in vain.

For she saw no token that this man's heart had been touched by the
discipline through which he had passed, or that any word or effort of
hers had availed to move him, or to make him see his need of higher help
than hers. So she grew discouraged now and then, and shrunk from his
anger and his "ill words" as from a blow. Still she said to herself:

"There is no turning back now. I must have patience and wait."

She had less cause for discouragement than she supposed. For Brownrig
did, now and then, take to heart a gently spoken word of hers; and the
words of the Book which his mother had loved, and which brought back to
him the sound of her voice and the smile in her kind eyes, were not
heard altogether in vain. He had his own thoughts about them, and about
Allison herself; and at last his thoughts took this turn, and clung to
him persistently.

"Either she is willing to forgive me the wrong which she believes I did
her, or else she thinks that I am going to die."

Dickson did not have an easy time on the morning when