nst the assaults of ignorance and superstition? Would
he have been justified in sacrificing his own child, even if he could
thereby save another's? And, moreover, was it not all a wild, heathenish
delusion, which it was his duty as a servant of God to stamp out and
root out at all hazards? Yes, there could be no doubt of it; he had but
exercised his legal right. He had done what was demanded of him by laws
human and divine. He had nothing to reproach himself for. And yet, with
a haunting persistency, the image of the despairing pilot praying God
for vengeance stared at him from every dark corner, and in the very
church bells, as they rang out their solemn invitation to the house
of God, he seemed to hear the rhythm and cadence of the heart-broken
father's imprecation. In the depth of his heart there was a still small
voice which told him that, say what he might, he had acted cruelly. If
he put himself in Atle Pilot's place, bound as he was in the iron bonds
of superstition, how different the case would look? He saw himself, in
spirit, rowing in a lonely boat through the stormy winter night to
his pastor, bringing his only son, who was at the point of death, and
praying that the pastor's daughter might lay her hands upon him, as
Christ had done to the blind, the halt, and the maimed. And his pastor
received him with wrath, nay, with blows, and sent him away uncomforted.
It was a hideous picture indeed, and Mr. Holt would have given years of
his life to be rid of it.

It was on the sixth day after Atle's visit that the pastor, sitting
alone in his study, called Carina to him. He had scarcely seen her
during the last six days, or at least talked with her. Her sweet
innocent spirit would banish the shadows that darkened his soul.

"Carina," he said, in his old affectionate way, "papa wants to see you.
Come here and let me talk a little with you."

But could he trust his eyes? Carina, who formerly had run so eagerly
into his arms, stood hesitating, as if she hoped to be excused.

"Well, my little girl," he asked, in a tone of apprehension, "don't you
want to talk with papa?"

"I would rather wait till some other time, papa," she managed to
stammer, while her little face flushed with embarrassment.

Mr. Holt closed the door silently, flung himself into a chair, and
groaned. That was a blow from where he had least expected it. The child
had judged him and found him wanting. His Carina, his darling, who had
always been cl