preacher at the Cross that day was a Black Friar--a tall spare man,
whom some might call gaunt and ungainly; a man of quick intelligence and
radiant eyes, of earnest gesture and burning words. No idle monastic
reveller this, but a man of one object, of one idea, full of zeal and
determination. His years were a little over forty, and his name was
John Laurence. But of himself Agnes thought very little; her whole soul
was concentrated upon the message which he had brought her from God.
God loved her! Since her mother died, she had been unloved. God loved
her! And she had never asked Him for His love--she had never loved Him.

It was just the blessed fact itself which filled the heart, and mind,
and soul of Agnes Stone. As to how it had come about, she had very
little idea. She had not heard enough of the Friar's sermon to win any
clear notion on that point; it was enough for her that it was so.

It never occurred to her to doubt the fact, and demand vouchers. It
never occurred to her to suppose that her own hard lot was any
contradiction to the theory. And it never occurred to her to imagine,
as some do, that God's love led to no result; that He could love, and
not care; that He could love, and not be ready to save. Human love was
better than that. The mother who, alone of all creatures, so far as she
knew, had ever loved Agnes Stone, had shown her love by always caring,
by always shielding from danger where it lay in her power. And surely
the Fountain could be no weaker than the stream; the love of a weak,
fallen, fallible human creature must be less, not more, than the love of
Him who is, and who was, and who is to come; who is the same yesterday,
and to-day, and for ever.

"Hie thee down this minute, thou good-for-nothing hussy!" thundered the
voice of Mistress Winter up the garret stairs, as Agnes was hastily
resuming her working garb. "I'll warrant thou didst ne'er set the foul
clothes a-soaking as I bade thee ere thou wentest forth to take thy
pleasure, and left me a-slaving hither! Get thee to thy work, baggage!
Thou art worth but one half as many pence as there be shillings in a
groat! [A fourpenny-piece.] I'll learn thee to gad hearing of
sermons!"

"I set the clothes a-soaking ere I went forth, Mistress," said Agnes,
coming quickly down stairs, and setting to work on the first thing she
saw to need doing.

"Marry come up!" ejaculated Mistress Winter, looking at her. "Good
lack! hast met wi