we were not forced to learn any
more verses. But the words of the little book were quite a different
thing to me--they seemed as if they came to me from another world. They
made me miserable: for they showed me what I hadn't got, which was
peace; and what I was not, which was one of Christ's little flock. I
had _heard_ all about it before, but I had never _felt_ about it till
then. And it made me wretched as I read. So I threw down the book on
the table in a pet; but somehow I couldn't let it be. So I carried it
off to my bedroom, and kept reading one marked verse after another till
mother called for me. But I was thinking about the little Bible all the
time; and yet I didn't want to think about it, for it made me more and
more unhappy.

"So I determined to get rid of it; for every time I looked at one of
those red-ink lines, the words above it seemed as though they were put
there to condemn me. And, besides, I was afraid that any one should see
me with that Bible, and want to know where I got it; for if the owner of
the bag, who was of course the owner of the Bible too, should make a
noise about the loss in the town, and it were to come round to him that
I'd got the Bible, he'd be wanting me to tell him what had become of the
bag and the bracelet. So I resolved to get rid of the little book; but
something in my heart or conscience wouldn't let me burn it, or pull it
to pieces and destroy it. Then, all of a sudden, it came into my mind--
it may be that God put it there--that I would try to drop it somewhere
about William Foster's house, where he or his wife would find it. I
used to know Kate Foster well before I went to the boarding-school, as
we were schoolfellows when we were little girls. I thought that perhaps
the marked verses might do one or other of them good: for I felt how
much they both needed it, and if the little book made me unhappy,
possibly it might make them happy; and, at any rate, I should feel that
I had done better than destroy it, and Foster's house would be the last
place any one would be thinking of tracing a Bible to.

"So, late on in the evening, about ten o'clock, I crept round to the
back of William Foster's house, and intended to have lifted the latch of
the outer door softly, and placed the Bible on the window-sill inside.
But just then I heard Kate's voice. I could hardly believe my ears--
yes--she was praying and crying; pouring out her heart to God with
tears. Oh, I was cut