side; but, whenever he righted himself
for a moment, he either poked Wainwright or winked at him, not lightly
or jocularly, but with a certain anxious, concealed earnestness which
was evidently real. "Head is my name," he whispered again; "better write
it down--Bethuel Head." And when Wainwright, who generally did
imperturbably whatever other people asked him to do, finding it in the
end the least trouble, finally did write it down, the little man seemed
relieved. "Their blood has dyed the pure mountain-streams," he whispered
solemnly, as the coach crept down a dark gorge with the tree-branches
sweeping its sides; "but I shall go out, yea, I shall go out as did
David against Goliath, and save one man--one!"

"Do," said Stephen. What the little brother meant he neither knew nor
cared to know; going through life without questions he had found to be
the easiest way. Besides, he was very tired. He had never "rejoiced in
his strength," even when he was young; he had always had just enough to
carry him through, with nothing over. The seven hours on the
mountain-road, which climbed straight up on one side of the Blue Ridge,
and straight down on the other, now over solid rock, now deep in red
clay, now plunging through a break-neck gorge, now crossing a rushing
stream so often that the route seemed to be principally by water, had
driven him into the dull lethargy which was the worst ailment he knew;
for even his illnesses were moderate. He fell asleep mentally, and only
woke at the sound of a girl's voice.

It was twilight, and the stage had stopped at Ellerby Mill. Two of the
ministers alighted there, to take horse and go over solitary roads
homeward to small mountain-villages, one ten, one fifteen miles away.
Brother Bethuel was leaning over the side, holding on to his tall hat,
and talking down to a young girl who stood at the edge of the roadway on
a bank of ferns.

"Masters is better, Miss Honor," he said, "or was the last time I saw
him; I do not think there is any present danger."

"I am very glad," answered the girl with earnestness; her eyes did not
swerve from the little minister's face, although Wainwright was now
looking down too. "If we could only have him entirely well again!"

"He will be!--he will be!" answered Brother Bethuel. "Pray for him, my
sister."

"I do pray," said the girl--"daily, almost hourly." Into her dark eyes,
uplifted and close to him, Wainwright could look directly, himself
unnoticed as