uld not be comforted, she reached the Vicarage, and rang at
the back door bell. Some time elapsed before the door was opened;
and then the babe was screaming so vociferously, and struggling in
her arms with such energy, that she was not able to make herself
heard when she asked for the Parson.

The woman who had answered the summons was a stranger, consequently
did not know Mehetabel. She made signs to her to go away.

The cries of the child became more violent, and the mother's
efforts were directed towards pacifying it. "Let me come in, I
pray! I pray!" she asked with a brow, in spite of the cold, bathed
in perspiration.

"I cannot! I must not!" answered the woman. She caught her by the
arm, drew her aside, and said--"Do you not know? Look! the blinds
are all down. He died in the night!"

"Dead!" cried Mehetabel, reeling back. "My God! whither shall I go?"

CHAPTER XXXIX.

AT THE SILK MILL.

Mehetabel sank on the grass by the drive.

"I am worn out. I can go no further," she said, and bowed her head
over the child.

"You cannot remain here. It is not seemly--a house of mourning,"
said the woman.

"He would not mind, were he alive," sobbed Mehetabel. "He would
have cared for me and my babe; he was always kind."

"But he is not alive; that makes the difference," said the servant.
"You really must still the child or go away."

"I cannot go another step," answered Mehetabel, raising her head
and sinking it again, after she had spoken.

"I don't know what to do. This is unreasonable; I'll go call the
gardener. If you won't go when asked you must be removed by force."

The woman retired, and presently the gardener came up. He knew
Mehetabel--that is to say, knew who she was.

"Come," said he, "my cottage is just yonder. You must not remain
here on the green, and in the cold. No wonder the child screams.
There is a fire in my house, and you can have what you like for a
while, till you are rested. Give me your hand."

Mehetabel allowed him to raise her, and she followed him mechanically
from the drive into the cottage, that was warm and pleasant.

"There now, missus," said the man; "make yourself comfortable for
an hour or two."

The rest, the warmth, were grateful to Mehetabel. She was almost
too weary to thank the man with words, but she looked at him with
gratitude, and he felt that her heart was over full for her to
speak. He returned to his work, and left her to herself. There was
no one