ke a little bit of Paradise to the
child-eyes of the pupils of Betty Chivers in summer, when the air
was honey-sweet with the fragrance of the flowering furze, and
musical with the humming of bees; and the earth was clotted with
spilt raspberry cream--the many-tinged blossom of the heather--alas!
it was now sad, colorless, dripping, cold, and repellent.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE CAVE.

Mehetabel made her way down the steep side of the gully, and to the
cave, burdened with the babe she carried in her arms. She bore a
sack over her back that contained some dry turves, shavings, and a
few potatoes, given her by the school-dame. The place of refuge had
obviously been frequented by children long after the time when
Mehetabel and Iver had retired to it on hot summer days. The sides
of the entrance had been built up with stones, with moss driven
into their interstices. Within, the floor was littered with dry
fern, and in one place was a rude hearth, where fires had been
kindled; this was immediately under a vertical opening that served
as chimney, and prevented the smoke of a fire from filling the cave.

The young mother laid her child on the shawl she spread over the
bracken, and proceeded to kindle a fire with a tinder-box lent her
by Mrs. Chivers. It amused the babe to watch the sparks as they
flew about, and when the pile of turves and sticks and heather was
in combustion, to listen to the crackle, and watch the play and
leap of the flames.

As the fire burnt up, and the blue smoke stole through the natural
chimney, the whole cave glowed orange.

The air was not cold within, and in the radiation from the fire,
the place promised to be warm and comfortable.

The child crowed and stretched its feet out to the blaze.

She looked attentively at the babe.

What did that wicked young lawyer mean by saying that it would die
through exposure? It had cried and moaned. All children cry and
moan. They have no other means of making their wants known. Wet the
little creature was not; she had taken every precaution against
that, but her own garments steamed in the heat of the fire she had
kindled, and leaving the babe to watch the dancing flames, she
dried her wet gown and stockings in the glow.

Then by the reflection Mehetabel could see on the nether surface of
the sandstone slab at the entrance the initials of herself and Iver
that had been cut by the latter many years ago, with a true-lover's
knot uniting them. And t