d Mercy, blushing. "He is a right
civil-spoken gentleman, and you know you saved his life."

"The more fool I. I wish I had known he was going to rob me of my lass's
heart, I'd have seen him die a hundred times ere I'd have interfered.
But they say if you save a man's life he'll make you rue it. Mercy, my
lass, you are well respected in the parish. Take a thought, now: better
be a farrier's wife than a gentleman's mistress."

Mercy did take her head "out of the cow" at this, and, for once, her
cheek burned with anger; but the unwonted sentiment died before it could
find words, and she said, quietly, "I need not be either, against my
will."

* * * * *

Young Carrick made many such appeals to Mercy Vint; but he could never
bring her to confess to him that he and she had ever been more than
friends, or were now anything less than friends. Still he forced her to
own to herself, that, if she had never seen Thomas Leicester, her quiet
affection and respect for Carrick would probably have carried her to the
altar with him.

His remonstrances, sometimes angry, sometimes tearful, awoke her pity,
which was the grand sentiment of her heart, and disturbed her peace.

Moreover, she studied the two men in her quiet, thoughtful way, and saw
that Carrick loved her with all his honest, though hitherto tepid
heart; but Griffith had depths, and could love with more passion than
ever he had shown for her. "He is not the man to have a fever by reason
of me," said the poor girl to herself. But I am afraid even this
attracted her to Griffith. It nettled a woman's soft ambition; which is,
to be as well loved as ever woman was.

And so things went on, and, as generally happens, the man who was losing
ground went the very way to lose more. He spoke ill of Griffith behind
his back: called him a highwayman, a gentleman, an ungrateful,
undermining traitor. But Griffith never mentioned Carrick; and so, when
he and Mercy were together, her old follower was pleasingly obliterated,
and affectionate good-humor reigned. Thus Griffith, _alias_ Thomas,
became her sunbeam, and Paul her cloud.

But he who had disturbed the peace of others, his own turn came.

One day he found Mercy crying. He sat down beside her, and said, kindly,
"Why, sweetheart, what is amiss?"

"No great matter," said she; and turned her head away, but did not check
her tears, for it was new and pleasant to be consoled by Thomas
Leicester.

"N