that lay nearest to
his heart.

If Ralph really loved the girl--but how should he know the truth as to
that, unless Rotha knew it? If the girl loved his brother, he could
relinquish her. He was conscious of no pang of what was called
jealousy in this matter. An idol that he had worshipped seemed to be
shattered--that was all.

If he saw that Rotha loved Ralph, he must give up forever his one
dream of happiness--and there an end.

It was in this mood that he opened the kitchen door, just as Rotha had
put her foot on the treadle and taken the flax in her hand.

There the girl sat, side by side with his mother, spinning at the
wheel which within his recollection no hand but one had touched. How
fresh and fair the young face looked, tinged, as it was at this
moment, too, with a conscious blush!

Rotha had tried to lift her eyes as Willy entered. She intended to
meet his glance with a smile. She wished to catch the significance of
his expression. But the lids were heavier than lead that kept her gaze
fixed on the "rock" and flax below her.

She felt that after a step or two he had stood still in front of her.
She knew that her face was crimson. Her eyes, too, were growing dim.

"Rotha, my darling!" She heard no more.

The spinning-wheel had been pushed hastily aside. She was on her feet,
and Willy's arms were about her.

CHAPTER XX. "FOOL, OF THYSELF SPEAK WELL."

As the parson left Shoulthwaite that morning he encountered Joe Garth
at the turning of the lonnin. The blacksmith was swinging along the
road, with a hoop over his shoulder. He lifted his cap as the Reverend
Nicholas came abreast of him. That worthy was usually too much
absorbed to return such salutations, but he stopped on this occasion.

"Would any mortal think it?" he said; "the man Simeon Stagg is here
housed at the home of my old friend and esteemed parishioner, Angus
Ray!"

Mr. Garth appeared to be puzzled to catch the relevancy of the remark.
He made no reply.

"The audacity of the man is past belief," continued the parson. "Think
of his effrontery! Does he imagine that God or man has forgotten the
mystery of that night in Martinmas?"

The blacksmith realized that some response was expected from him. With
eyes bent on the ground, he muttered, "He's getting above with
himself, sir."

"Getting above himself! I should think so, forsooth. But verily a
reckoning day is at hand. Woe to him who carries a load of guilt at
his heart and