minister or his wife, concerning Allison or her affairs. But in
seeking to comfort the mother in her first loneliness, when her son went
away, the minister had almost unconsciously shown her that he knew even
more of John's disappointment and remorse than she herself knew. She
had made no response, for she believed that for all concerned, silence
was best.

As for Brownrig, whether he were dying or not, how could he be helped or
comforted by the sight of the woman against whom he had so deeply and
deliberately sinned? As to the saving of his soul, God was gracious,
and full of compassion. He had many ways of dealing with men, whether
in mercy or in judgment. Could it be God's will that Allison's life
should be still one of sacrifice, and pain, and loss, because of him?
Surely, surely not.

Meanwhile Allison was repeating to herself Crombie's words:

"Life and death! It is the matter of a soul's salvation! It is not
between you and that bad man any more. It is between you and the Lord
himself, who is ever merciful, and ready to forgive. Forgive and it
shall be forgiven unto you--"

Over and over again, the words repeated themselves to her as she sat in
silence, till Mrs Beaton said gently:

"Allison, you have been greatly moved and startled by that which you
have heard. You are in no state to decide anything now. Sleep upon it,
my dear. Take time to look upon this matter in all lights, before you
suffer yourself to be entangled in a net from which there may be no
escape for many a year and day--from which you may never, all your life,
escape. Allison, do you think the Lord has kept you safe these years,
to let you lose yourself now? No, I will say nothing to influence you
against your conscience. Do nothing hastily, that is all I ask. Seek
counsel, as I shall seek it for you."

But when the old woman had kissed her, and blessed her, and bidden her
good-night, she held her fast and could not let her go, till Allison
gently withdrew herself from her clasp.

"Pray to God to guide me in the right way," she whispered, and then she
went away.

Mrs Beaton slept little that night--less than Allison did, though she
had much to do before she laid herself down beside little Marjorie.
"Seek counsel," Mrs Beaton had said. And this in the silence of the
night, she herself tried to do. And gradually and clearly it came to
her that better counsel was needed than that which she would fain have
given to her fri