ld, of the shepherd for the sheep, and made earthly love the
stepping-stone to raise us into the thought of the possibility of that
greater Love outside ourselves.

[Illustration: St. Thomas' Hospital.]

The next time she came to the hospital, Kate had much to ask her about
the Orphanage. They talked pleasantly for a short time; and then,
after a pause Kate said: "Mother Agnes, something is frightening me."

"What is it, Kate?"

Another pause--so long that it seemed as if Kate did not mean to speak
again--and then she said: "The love of God frightens me."

"But, Kate, _that_ was meant to be the greatest joy and comfort of our
lives."

"It is always there," said Kate, earnestly, "burning into me so that I
cannot forget it. It is much worse to bear than the pain. Indeed, I
cannot bear it, it is almost intolerable. Night and day, I can never,
never forget it. And oh, Mother Agnes, if I had killed my own little
Frances, it would not have given me the trouble it does to think of the
things I have done against Jesus Christ."

Kate's words, her face, and her whole manner awed Mother Agnes so much
that she could not speak for some moments. And then she talked to Kate
for long--gently and tenderly and more plainly than she had ever done
before. Kate said good-bye to her with eyes that were full of tears.

That night, before she went to sleep, Frances said:

"Kate, does what you spoke of still burn into you?"

Kate was startled, for she did not think that Frances had heard the
half-whispered conversation.

"Yes," she said, "it is there just the same. I can scarcely bear it!
What can I do?"

"I don't know what you can do," said Frances, "except that you are
bound to speak to Him about it."

Kate turned on her pillow with a half sob, and said no more.

CHAPTER IV.

IN A THIRD-CLASS CARRIAGE.

"Kate--I can't sing any more--I'm just tired out with happiness."

"Cuddle up against me, darling, and try and go to sleep then."

"Then, dear Kate," said Frances, earnestly, "will you _promise_ to tell
me all about the next stations, and the green fields, and the sheep,
and the cows, and the people hay-making, and the dear little white
houses. And I will dream about the sea. Oh, I am so glad that you and
I are going to the sea."

So the little head with its mass of golden brown hair found a
resting-place on Kate's shoulder, and silence reigned for a time. And
Kate, her arm round the sleeping child, wat