for
his actions. How his eyes flamed, as if a fire burned in their depths.
How he would fall into silence all of a sudden. How he would burst out
into wild rage, and then how gentle and kind he could be. How gentle to
me that last night when he came to tell me about Jack.' Then Bryda
looked up into the clear sky above her head, as if to seek an answer to
her question there, as if there she could solve this mystery.

And although not in words, there came to her soul a great overpowering
sense of the Love of God; and in that Love alone we can find the key
which opens out the boundlessness of His mercy.

Like as a father pities! When man is pitiless and forgetful, when man
judges with a hard judgment, the All-loving One _remembers_ our frame,
and in His love and in His pity redeems and pardons.

CHAPTER XVII

THE LAST.

Ten years had passed away, and Peter Palmer had long been laid to rest
under the yew tree shade in the village churchyard.

Dorothy Burrow had found a soft place in the heart of a neighbouring
farmer, and had taken to herself a second husband, and gone to live near
Bath.

The old farm had passed into other hands, and little fair-haired
children played under the boughs of the orchard, whence many of the old
trees had been cleared and young ones planted in their stead.

The lichen-covered roof of the homestead had been repaired, and the
appearance of the place bespoke prosperity and comfort.

It was a May evening in 1780 when heavy footsteps were heard coming
slowly up the lane at the side of the farm, and a tall athletic man went
to the wicket-gate and leaned upon it with folded arms.

Presently a woman, with a child in her arms, came up to him and said,--

'Good evening. Fine weather, isn't it? There was a sharp shower this
morning, and we can almost see the things growing.'

'Who lives here at Bishop's Farm?'

'_I_ do,' was the prompt reply. 'My husband bought the place when Peter
Palmer died four years ago. Are you a stranger in these parts?'

'Yes; that is, I knew the place once, years ago--ten years ago.'

'Ah, there's many changes in ten years! I can scarce believe it is
twelve since I married, only for the children,' looking fondly down on a
crowd of little boys and girls who were under the care of a tall girl of
ten, 'only the children tell me it's true.'

'Do you happen to know where the Miss Palmers are? Are they--married?'

'One is married to the Squire at Rock House--a