on the ground with the point of her stick.

"Ah, well, you'll be wanting to get on," said the old lady. "Now, do
bring your future daughter-in-law to tea with us some day. I've got a
daughter-in-law staying with me now. I should like you to meet Rose. She
plays the violin very nicely. And we have a garden we're rather proud
of, though of course this is the wrong time of the year to see it. Yet
I'm sure things are looking very nice just now. Just look at it! Could
anything," she asked, looking round with happy eyes, "be prettier than
this? Look at the sunlight travelling over that hill!" She cast a shy
glance at Marion, who was continuing to watch the point of her stick,
and bravery came into her soft gay glance. "It's passing over the
earth," she said tremulously but distinctly, "like the kindness of God."

A silence fell. "The wee thing has courage," thought Ellen to herself.
"It's plain to see what's happened. Marion's often sneered at her
religion, and she's just letting her see that she doesn't mind. I like
people who believe in something. Of course it might Le something more
useful than Christianity, but if she believes it...."

Marion lifted her head, stared at the hillside, and said, "Yes. And
look. It is followed by the shadow, like His indifference."

Tears came into the old lady's eyes. "Good-bye. We must settle on an
afternoon for tea. I'll send somebody round with a note. Good-bye." She
pushed past them, a grieved and ruffled little figure, a peony-spot of
shock on each cheek, and then she looked back at Ellen. "We'll all look
forward to seeing you, my dear," she called kindly; but feared, Ellen
saw, to meet the hard eyes of this terrible woman, who was staring
after her with a look of hostility that, directed on this little
affirmation of love and amiability, was as barbarous as some ponderous
snare laid for a small, precious bird.

"Let's get on," said Marion.

They climbed the hill and went along a path that followed the skyline of
the ridge, over which the sea-borne wind slid like water over a sluice.
To be here should have brought such a stinging happiness as bathing. It
should have been wonderful to walk in such comradeship with the clouds,
and to mark that those which rode above the estuary seemed on no higher
level than this path, while beneath stretched the farm-flecked green
pavement of Kerith Island, and ahead, where the ridge mounted to a
crouching summit, stood the four grey towers of the