anks of youth he was peerless, in strength, in outward
fashion, in character, in conduct; generous, gentle, upright; of a
sensitive conscience that urged extremes of pride and humility; and
brave. And to her this worshipful youth condescended; nay, but it was
even with deference that he honoured her and attended. One touch of
saintliness that had rarefied him was dispelled to her naughty content.

'Rhoda, my child,' said Lois, 'where is the Book? Bring it.' And away the
girl went.

Lois had found that the Bible, formerly left mostly to her sole use, had,
since Rhoda's coming, made unseen departures and returns. Well pleased
with the girl's recluse piety, she was awhile patient of its want.

'Do you leave the Book outside, child? When it is out of hand, you should
lay it back here.'

'It was in the linhay,' said Rhoda, 'and not out of hand. And do you
think 'tis I who take it? 'Tis Christian.'

'Christian!' said Lois, in a voice of such surprise that Rhoda was
disillusioned. 'Then do you never study the Book alone?'

'No,' confessed Rhoda, 'I but listen to your reading and the Church's.'

Lois was disquieted. She had ever secretly deplored the infirm masculine
constitution of Giles and Christian, who accepted from her a spiritual
ration with never a sign of genuine, eager hunger of soul. Yet this
departure was little to her liking. Though fain would she have recognised
the working of the Spirit, she dreaded rather that this was no healthy
symptom in Christian's raw development. A cruel stroke to her was this
second reserve of independence, invading the fastest hold of a mother's
influence. Back came the earlier conviction that her boy's withdrawal
from her must be for wrong-going, and the strain of watchful scrutiny
and prayer returned. It had slackened when her God had shown such favour
as to take out of her soul that iron that for years had corroded there,
that she had vainly striven to expel.

She approached Christian with a diffidence that was painful to him to
perceive; she recommended counsel in any difficulty--not her own, she
said sincerely, though with a touch of bitterness. He was embarrassed by
her close, tender surveillance.

'I have already taken counsel,' he admitted, 'and I think I have got
understanding--at least I have got certain information by heart.'

'Of his Reverence?'

'Yes.'

'Christian, you are not of the doubters?'

'No, mother, of the ignorant.'

Her piercing eyes examined his.