me, to loose my grip. But if there is any of the man left in me, if God has not forsaken me utterly, I'll rise and throttle my enemy, thinking of your tears and prayers.'

'Think of something a whole earth and heaven higher,' she cried; 'think of God on the blood-stained cross, and Man on the great white throne.'

'I was taught the story when I was a little chap by Jen,' he said. 'I was not bred an ignorant heathen, the more guilt and shame to me. But, Miss Compton, a saint may help a sinner to read between the lines of his Bible and understand his Maker's ways, so the thought of you may help me. As for poor Honor there, she was never a woman given over to drink as I have been. If I led you to think it of her I deceived you unknowingly. My head is in a whirl and I was never a speechifier-not great at words even when my heart was in my mouth. I want you to hear me say before her that I believe I have had little patience with her from the beginning. I am sure I was mortal hard upon her after I took to drink again.'

'That's enough, Will, more than enough,' cried Honor passionately. I hate to hear

you accusing of yourself-I won't have it. You may do it to me, but not to another. And you know I ain't all that I should be myself; I ain't good as gold like her there—every inch of her.'

'Then we must clear her out of this the first thing, that will be better than blessing her for entering our doors,' he said, leaving the

room.

The moment Iris's errand was done and the strain on her relaxed, though she was convinced she had acted rightly, and felt humbly thankful that she had done it, she began to realize the awkwardness of the situation, standing in that room, beside the strange woman shrinking now in the man's clothes she had borrowed, even without the account to be rendered to Lady Fermor which stared Iris in the face all the time. She was sensible Sir William was right, and that she should be gone.

Lady Thwaite would have asked Iris to take some refreshment, but the hostess did not know how to make the request, at such a time, to such a guest. With a quick perception of the difficulty, Iris went to the table, took up a biscuit, and began to eat. 'I had luncheon at

the Rectory, but I am too late for afternoon tea at home. No, thanks; you must not get fresh tea or coffee for me, Lady Thwaite; this biscuit will do perfectly. I must go at once, to be in time for dinner.'

In the meantime the spring mist had so condensed as to be falling down in drizzling rain.

'I don't mind it, I assure you,' Iris asserted. 'I have an umbrella; I am accustomed to be out in wet weather, and it does not hurt me. We are quite near.' She hardly knew what she was saying.

Sir William came back at that moment to tell her he had ordered the carriage, and Bill Rogers would see her home. He did not offer her either his escort or his wife's. When it came to that, at the mention of Bill, whom she had personified, Lady Thwaite had just enough perception to turn scarlet, and make a quick retreat to avoid meeting her double, in her husband's and Miss Compton's presence, or lest any of the other servants should catch a glimpse of her ladyship in her odd garments before their master and the first 'real lady' who had crossed the threshold since its mistress came to Whitehills.

Sir William went with Iris to the hall-door. 'Miss Compton,' he said, 'whatever may come of this, it ain't words that can make a fit acknowledgment for what you've sought to do to-day; words are idle. Only God can reward you, though He may well have forsaken me, and He may not listen even when I call down blessings on your head.'

6

'God never forsakes,' she said. A mother may forget her child, but He will not forsake. God bless you and Honor, your wife, Sir William!'

He hesitated whether to leave Bill, as beyond comparison the worthier of the two men, to put her into the carriage; but she ended the doubt, which she had not guessed, by holding out her hand to Sir William.

She drove away in the clouding-over afternoon, as she had disappeared in the gathering darkness on the first evening that he had heard of her existence the polar star of his life, which had come so near and yet gone so far from him; the star that was fire, not water, which, if he could repent enough to be converted and turn from the error of his ways so as to reach heaven at last, might yet shine down upon him from the height of glory.

Something of the glory of self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice was still kindling up Iris's little face, though it blanched visibly every moment before the anticipated encounter with Lady Fermor; something of the glow of that noblest enthusiasm which for the time breaks down social barriers was yet bracing her nerves and warming her heart, when she alighted before the hall-door at Lambford, and stood a moment to thank Bill. You are William, our little housemaid's brother,' she said brightly. 'Jenny is a good girl and a good servant, and so I am sure are you. Such servants are beyond price. Let me thank you again, and say how sorry I am for bringing you out and getting you wet.'

Bill louted low like an ancient squire. 'You have nothing to thank me for, miss,' he managed to say. It would have been a rare pleasure to sit on the box, with such as you inside, though it had been raining cats and dogs, which it is only a spring shower that don't hurt a bit. But if I might make bold and take the liberty, I would thank you, miss, and so would everybody as cares for as good a master as ever lived, and nobody's enemy but his own, to this day; and a mistress that