a Moll's ghosts.

"They be a-callin' ye from yer house," remarked Tess, after a long
stillness.

"Yes, I hear them.... It is my father. But I am so tired that it seems
as if I could never climb the hill. I'll see you a minute to-morrow,
Tess.... If I can't, will you bring the baby to the church Sunday, at
eleven o'clock?... Thank you, dear; thank you.... Good-bye, precious
little Dan.... And--and forgive me, Tessibel!"

CHAPTER XL

Minister Graves watched his child painfully climb the front steps. He
could see, even through the dim shadows, how thin she had become, how
she panted for breath over the slight exertion of walking up the hill. A
thought that stung him like a whip seized him, convulsing his heart and
shaking his powerful frame as if he had been attacked by sudden ague.
Was his daughter going to die? She could not die--God would not take her
from him! He remembered Teola's birth, with a groan of pain: remembered
how he had taken the dark-haired babe, so tiny and helpless, into his
study alone, and had uttered the sincerest prayer of a father's life,
that the blessings of Heaven would cover his new-found treasure and
would guide the little footsteps during the whole bright future--her
future must be bright, with his love to shield her. He could remember
each succeeding day--his pride and ambitions for her--and now--

Teola paused on the top step, clinging to the veranda pillar. He came
hastily to her, the darkness covering the emotions that had paled his
face, and bent over the exhausted girl, kissing her lips tenderly.

"Teola, darling! My darling, why will you persist in being out at
night?... See, now, how you are coughing.... Child, what would become of
me, if anything should happen to you?"

Teola knew the heart of her father. He had sternly preached orthodox
doctrine, had persecuted the squatters according to his beliefs; but he
loved his children, and especially had he idolized her. The thought of
the babe in the fisherman's hut sped through her mind, her father's
consternation and horror if she should be compelled to tell her secret.
But Tessibel stood in her place as mother to the little boy, and had
taken an oath that nothing could force her to break. The squatter had
been the scapegoat upon which had been heaped the sins of a girl no one
had thought capable of doing wrong. Teola, resting in her father's arms,
struggled with her conscience, trying to press down the moral weakness
that