er, irritably.
"There really seems to be ill-luck attending you, and affecting all
with whom you are brought in touch. Your husband--he is dead, and
now you try to jeopardize my fortunes. 'Pon my word, Matabel," he
stood up. "It cannot be. We are willing enough to take in most
people here, but under the circumstances cannot receive you."

"The door," said the girl, also rising, "the door was open at one
time to all but to you. Now it is open to all but to me."

"You must be reasonable, Matabel. I wish you every good in the
world. You can't do better than take Joe Filmer and make yourself
happy. Every one in this world must look first to himself; then to
the things of others It is a law of Nature and we can't alter it."

Leisurely with sunk head on her bosom, Metabel moved to the door.

"If I can assist you with money," suggested Iven

She shook her head she could not speak.

"Or if you want any food--"

She shook her head again.

But at the door she stood, leaned against the jamb turned, and
looked steadily at Iver.

"You are going to the Punch-Bowl?" he asked.

"No, I will not go there!"

"Then, where do you go?"

"I do not know, Iver--you baptized me lest I should become a
wanderer, and now you cast me out, me and my baby to become
wanderers indeed."

"I cannot help myself, dear Matabel. It is a law of Nature, like
that of the Medes and Persians, unalterable."

CHAPTER LI.

THOR'S STONE AGAIN.

Stunned with the sense that her last hope was taken from her, the
cable of her one anchor cut, Mehetabel left the Ship Inn, and
turned from the village. It would be in vain for her to seek
hospitality there. Nothing was open to her save the village pound
and the cell in which the crazy man, Sammy Drewitt, had perished
of cold. There was the cave in which she had found refuge the night
before the death of Jonas. She took her way to that again, over
the heath.

There was light in the sky, and a star was shining in the west,
above where the sun had set.

How still her baby was in her arms! Mehetabel unfolded the shawl,
and looked at the pinched white face in the silvery light from the
sky. The infant seemed hardly to breathe. She leaned her cheek
against the tiny mouth, and the warm breath played over it. Then
the child uttered a sob, drew a long inspiration, and continued
its sleep. The fresh air on the face had induced that deep,
convulsive inhalation.

Mehetabel again covered the child's face