ditions, they
loved justice before mercy, and seldom walked humbly before God.
And yet these Rehoboth mothers had borne and reared a strong
offspring--children hard, narrow, and self-righteous, yet of firm
fibre, and of real grit withal.

The mothers of Rehoboth were famous women, and bore the names of
the great Hebrew women of old. Among them were Leahs, Hannahs,
Hagars, and Ruths, yet none held priority to Deborah Heap, the
mother of Matt. Tall, gaunt, iron-visaged, with crisp, black locks
despite her threescore years, she was a prophetess among her
kindred--mighty in the Scriptures, and inflexible in faith.

Hers was the illustrious face of that afternoon's
congregation--the face a stranger would first fasten his eye on,
and on which his eye would remain; a face, too, he would fear.
History was writ large on every line, character had set its seal
there, and a crown of superb strength reposed on the brow. She
guarded the door of her pew, which door she had guarded since her
husband's death; and her deep-set eyes, glowing with suppressed
passion, never flinched in their gaze at the preacher. Now and
again the thin nostrils dilated as Mr. Penrose smote down some of
her idols; but for this occasional sign her martyrdom was mute and
inexpressive.

No one loved Deborah Heap, although those who knew her measured
out to her degrees of respect. She was never known to wrong friend
or foe; and yet no kindly words ever fell from her lips, nor did
music of sympathy mellow her voice. Her life had been unrelieved
by a single deed of charity. She was, in old Mr. Morell's
language, 'a negative saint.' Mr. Penrose went further, and called
her 'a Calvinistic pagan.' But none of these things moved her.

The grievance of her life was Matt's marriage with an alien; for
Miriam was a child of the Established Church. Great, too, was the
grievance that no children gladdened the hearth of the unequally
yoked couple; and this the old woman looked on as the curse of the
Almighty in return for her son's disobedience in sharing his lot
with the uncovenanted.

And yet Matt loved his mother; not, however, as he loved his wife,
for whom he held a tender, doating love, which the old woman was
quick to see, though silent to resent, save when she said that
'Matt were fair soft o'er th' lass.' Nothing so pleased him as to
be able to respect his mother's wish without giving pain to his
wife. Always loyal to Miriam, he sought to be dutiful to Debor