ts stirred by the momentary excitement
caused by her appearance.

The Curate, taking his stand in the pulpit that morning, saw after the
first moment only two faces among his congregation. One, from among the
old men and women in the free seats, looked up at him with questioning
in its deep eyes, as if its owner had brought to him a solemn problem
to be solved this very hour, or forever left at rest; the other, turned
toward him from the Barholm pew, alight with appeal and trust. He stood
in sore need of the aid for which he asked in his silent opening prayer.

Some of his flock who were somewhat prone to underrate the young
Parson's talents, were moved to a novel comprehension of them this
morning. The more appreciative went home saying among themselves that
the young man had power after all, and for once at least he had preached
with uncommon fire and pathos. His text was a brief one,--but three
words,--the three words Joan had read beneath the picture of the dead
Christ: "It is finished!"

If it was chance that led him to them to-day, it was a strange and
fortunate chance, and surely he had never preached as he preached then.

After the service, Anice looked for Joan in vain; she had gone before
the rest of the congregation.

But in the evening, being out in the garden near the holly hedge, she
heard her name spoken, and glancing over the leafy barrier, saw Joan
standing on the side path, just as she had seen her the first time they
had spoken to each other.

"I ha' na a minnit to stay," she said without any prelude, "but I ha'
summat to say to yo'."

Her manner was quiet, and her face wore a softened pallor. Even her
physical power for a time appeared subdued. And yet she looked steady
and resolved.

"I wur at church this mornin'." she began again almost immediately.

"I saw you," Anice answered.

"I wur nivver theer before. I went to see fur mysen. I ha' read the book
yo' g' me, an' theer's things in it as I nivver heerd on. Mester Grace
too,--he coom to see me an' I axt him questions. Theer wur things as I
wanted to know, an' now it seems loike it looks clearer. What wi' th'
pickur',--it begun wi' th' pictur',--an' th' book, an' what _he_ said
to-day i' church, I've made up my moind."

She paused an instant, her lips trembled.

"I dunnot want to say much about it now," she said, "I ha' not getten
th' words. But I thowt as yo'd loike to know. I believe i' th' Book; I
believe i' th' Cross; I believe i