r strength
as she had urged him to do--surely she would not cast him off for one
offence--he had been most strictly moderate up to that unhappy day--he
implored her forgiveness--he asked her to try him only once more--he
loved her so dearly, so passionately, that her rejection would be death
to him.

What could she say? She was but a poor erring sinner herself and should
she at once shut the door of pity upon him? He had fallen indeed, but
he might be taught such a lesson by that fall as he might never forget.
Once more--she would try him once more, if her parents thought her right
in doing so. And could they say nay?--they felt they could not. Little
as they really hoped for any permanent improvement, they considered that
they should be hardly right in dissuading their child from giving the
poor penitent another trial.

So Mary wrote back a loving earnest letter, imploring Frank to seek his
strength to keep his resolution in prayer. Again they met; again it was
sunshine; but, to poor Mary's heart, sunshine through a cloud.

CHAPTER SIX.

A DISCUSSION.

It was about a month after the harvest-home, so full of sad memories for
all at the hall and rectory, that Mr Oliphant was seated one afternoon
in the drawing-room of Greymoor Park. The company assembled consisted
of the baronet and Lady Oldfield; the baronet's brother, Reverend John
Oldfield; Dr Portman, the medical man; and Bernard Oliphant.

Mr John Oldfield had been telling the news of his part of the county to
his brother and sister-in-law.

"You'll be sorry to hear," he continued, "that poor Mildman's dead."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the rector. "I'm very sorry. Was there any change
in him before his death?"

"No, I fear not. His has been a very sad case. I remember him well
when he was vicar of Sapton. A brighter and more loving Christian and
pastor I never knew, but somehow or other he got into drinking habits,
and these have been his ruin."

"Poor man," said Sir Thomas, "he used to be the laughing-stock of old
Bellowen, his squire; it was very grievous to see a man throw himself
away as he did. The squire would ply him with drink, and press the
bottle upon him, till poor Mildman was so tipsy that he had to be taken
by the servants to the vicarage. Sometimes the butler had to put him
into a cart, when it was dark, and had him tumbled out like so much
rubbish at his own door."

"Really," said Lady Oldfield, "I was surprised to hear Mr Bel