ary? Because she had been
sorry, and turned and walked the rest of her life in goodness?
Because He had foreseen her long atonement? So Hetty believed.
For her, too, then the way back to forgiveness lay through conduct--
always through conduct; and for her the road stretched long, for not
until death could she reach assurance. Of a way to forgiveness
through faith (though she must have heard of it a hundred times) she
scarcely thought; still less of a way through faith to instant
assurance. To those who have not travelled by that road its end--
though promised on the honour of God and proclaimed incessantly by
those who have travelled and found it--seems merely incredible.
Hardly can man or woman, taught from infancy to suspect false guides,
trust these reports of a country where to believe and to have are
one.

Hetty sat by the tree and saw the road beyond her, that it was steep
and full of suffering. But for this she did not refuse it: she
desired it rather. She saw also, that along it was no well of
forgiveness to refresh her; the thirst must endure till she reached
the end and went down in darkness to the river. This, too, she must
endure, God in mercy helping her. What daunted her was conscience
whispering that she had as yet no right to that mercy, no right even
to tread the road. For though her sin was abhorrent, in her heart
she loved her fellow-sinner yet. A sound of hoofs aroused her.
Still screened by her tree, she saw her father trot by on the filly.
In spite of the warm settled weather he carried his cloak before him
strapped across the holsters. His ride, therefore, would be a long
one; to Gainsborough at least--or to Lincoln?

She lifted her head and sat erect in a sharp terror. Was her father
going to seek _him_? She had not thought of this as possible.
And if so--

Leaping up she ran into the open and gazed after him, as though the
sight of his bobbing figure could resolve her crowding surmises.
For a minute and more she stood, gazing so; and then, turning, was
aware of her mother coming slowly towards her across the wide field.

A number of shallow ditches, dry at this season, crossed the fields
in parallels; and at each of these Mrs. Wesley picked up her skirts.
"How young she is!" was Hetty's thought as she came nearer, and it
rose--purely from habit--above her own misery. Hetty was one of
those women who admire other women ungrudgingly. She knew herself to
be beautiful, yet in h