gave her.

Presently, in the middle of an eloquent period, the preacher stopped.

She almost sighed; a soothing music had ended. Could the sermon be ended
already? No; she looked round; the people did not move.

A good many faces seemed now to turn her way.' She looked behind her
sharply. There was nothing there.

Startled countenances near her now eyed the preacher. She followed their
looks; and there, in the pulpit, was a face as of a staring corpse. The
friar's eyes, naturally large, and made larger by the thinness of his
cheeks, were dilated to supernatural size, and glaring her way out of a
bloodless face.

She cringed and turned fearfully round: for she thought there must be
some terrible thing near her. No; there was nothing; she was the outside
figure of the listening crowd.

At this moment the church fell into commotion, Figures got up all over
the building, and craned forward; agitated faces by hundreds gazed from
the friar to Margaret, and from Margaret to the friar. The turning to
and fro of so many caps made a loud rustle. Then came shrieks of nervous
women, and buzzing of men; and Margaret, seeing so many eyes levelled at
her, shrank terrified behind the pillar, with one scared, hurried glance
at the preacher.

Momentary as that glance was, it caught in that stricken face an
expression that made her shiver.

She turned faint, and sat down on a heap of chips the workmen had left,
and buried her face in her hands, The sermon went on again. She heard
the sound of it; but not the sense. She tried to think, but her mind was
in a whirl, Thought would fix itself in no shape but this: that on that
prodigy-stricken face she had seen a look stamped. And the recollection
of that look now made her quiver from head to foot.

For that look was "RECOGNITION."

The sermon, after wavering some time, ended in a strain of exalted,
nay, feverish eloquence, that went far to make the crowd forget the
preacher's strange pause and ghastly glare. Margaret mingled hastily
with the crowd, and went out of the church with them.

They went their ways home. But she turned at the door, and went into the
churchyard; to Peter's grave. Poor as she was, she had given him a slab
and a headstone. She sat down on the slab, and kissed it. Then threw her
apron over her head that no one might distinguish her by her hair.

"Father," she said, "thou hast often heard me say I am wading in deep
waters; but now I begin to think God only