on his way to the gulley. What had been only a
glade reaching from rock to stream, hidden in copsewood, was now an open
space trodden by cattle, with the actual straw-yard more in the rear,
but with a goat tethered on it and poultry running about. It was a sunny
afternoon, and in a wooden chair placed so as to catch the warmth, with
feet on a stool, sat, knitting, a figure that Mr. Holworth at first
thought was that of an aged man; but as he emerged from the wood, and
the big dog sprang up and barked, there was a looking up, an instant
silencing of the dog, a rising with manifest effort, a doffing of the
broad-brimmed hat, and the clergyman beheld what seemed to him his
old Churchwarden's face, only in the deadly pallor of long-continued
illness, and with the most intense, unspeakable look of happiness and
welcome afterwards irradiating it, a look that in after years always
came before Mr. Holworth with the "Nunc dimittis."

Dropping the knitting, and holding by the chair, he stood trembling and
quivering with gladness, while, summoned by the dog's bark, Patience,
pail in hand, appeared on one side, and Ben, tall and slight, with his
flail, on the other.

"My dear lad," was all Mr. Holworth could say, as he took the thin,
blanched hand, put his arm round the shoulders, and reseated Stead,
still speechless with joy. Patience, curtseying low, came up anxiously,
showing the same honest face as of old, though work and anxiety had
traced their lines on the sun-burnt complexion, and Ben stood blushing,
and showing his keener, more cultivated face, as the stranger turned to
greet them so as to give Steadfast time to recover himself.

"Oh! sir, but we are glad to see your reverence," cried Patience. "Will
you go in, or sit by Stead? Ben, fetch a chair."

"And is this fine strapping fellow, the sickly babe that you were never
to rear, Patience?"

"God has been very good to us, sir," said Patience.

"And this is best of all," said Stead, recovering breath and speech. "I
thank Him that I have lived to see this day! It is all safe, sir."

"And you, you faithful guardian, you have suffered for it."

If it had not been for Blane's partial revelations, Mr. Holworth never
would have extracted the full story of how for that sacred trust,
Steadfast Kenton had endured threats and pain, and had foregone ease,
prosperity, latterly happiness, and how finally it had cost him health,
nay life itself, for he was as surely dying of the