e morning, and was there with his
wife in the evening, Mrs Bradly having undertaken to look after the
baby. As for Bradly himself, his face was a sight worth seeing on that
Sunday. It was always brighter than usual on the Lord's-day; but on
this particular Sabbath every line of his features shone with a glow of
gladness, as though, like Moses, he had just come down from the mount.
It need hardly be said that the vicar's heart also deeply rejoiced. As
for the inhabitants of Crossbourne generally, some were glad, with a
spice of caution in their gladness; some shook their heads and smiled,
meaning thereby to let all men know that, in case Foster should not
persevere in his new career, _they_, at any rate, had never been over-
sanguine as to the genuineness of his reformation; some simply looked
grave; while the profligate and the profane gnashed their teeth with
envy hatred, and malice, and exchanged vehement asseverations of "how
they'd pay off the sneaking humbug of a deserter, and no mistake."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A BLIGHTED LIFE.

Spring had come, but the cloud still rested on poor Jane Bradly. True,
her heart was lighter, for she now believed with her brother that there
was deliverance at hand for her, and that the mists were beginning to
melt away. She was firmly persuaded that her character would be
entirely cleared. But when? How soon would the waiting-time come to an
end? And what good could come out of such a trouble? Here was the
trial of her faith; but she bore it patiently, and the chastening was
producing in her, even now, "the peaceable fruit of righteousness." She
began to improve in health and strength, and had lost much of the look
of abiding care; for the habitual peace of a mind stayed on God, and the
consciousness of innocence as regarded the wrong-doing of which she had
been suspected, kept her calm in the blessedness of a childlike trust.

But there was one who lived not far from her, a sister in affliction,
about whose sad heart the clouds were gathering thicker and thicker.
Spring, with its opening buds and rejoicing birds, brought no gladness
to the spirit of Clara Maltby. She was gradually wasting away. Change
of air and scene had been recommended, but she would not hear of leaving
home, and clung with a distressing tenacity to her round of daily
studies, shortening her brief time of exercise, and seeming anxious to
goad herself into the attainment of the utmost amount of knowled