ul doctor-nurse, he came to her, as she sat in the
church, and said quietly:

"Miss Lowe, I'm going up yon----" pointing to his own cabin, seen now
between the bare trees, "to straighten it up a bit," she wept as if her
heart would break. Martin did not witness the outbreak; he had set
forth upon his task. Marcia Lowe was alone and upon her knees.

"Dear God!" she repeated over and over; "dear God! he is saved. He'll
open the way to others."

Martin Morley went upon his new course unheeded for a time, for a
tragic happening to Cynthia and a calamity to the community threw the
little doctor and many others into chaos.

Cynthia had been a month in Crothers' factory, when one late afternoon
he said to her:

"Little miss, could you bide at The Forge tonight?" Cynthia started
back and looked at him.

"It's this-er-way; you've become mighty helpful to me and I've got a
batch of letters to get off by the morning's mail. It looks like there
is going to be snow, too, and I'd hate to keep you late and then send
you toting home after dark. Now if you can stop over and work 'long o'
me till--say ten o'clock, we can finish the work and I'll set you down
safe and sound at my boarding-house for a good night's rest."

Cynthia gave her usual shudder and sought about for an excuse. She
knew Crothers' boarding-house keeper; knew her to be a decent soul who
had more than once, lately, brought a hot meal to her at midday when
she brought Crothers'. There was snow in the air, too, and a late ride
through the woods at night was almost more awful than to stay at the
factory.

"They-all will worry," she faltered in her pretty, slow way.

"I sent word by Hope's boys," Crothers reassured her, "they've just
gone. I knew I could depend upon you."

Cynthia struggled to control herself, and finally gave her smile and
shrugged her shoulders.

The mistress of the boarding-house brought to the factory a piping hot
supper for two at seven o'clock. She seemed to know all about
Cynthia's proposed stay, and showed no sign of misunderstanding it.

"You better fotch the chile in 'bout nine," she suggested to Crothers
as she went out; "she do look clean beat now. Quality don't last out
at work like trash do; they certainly do tucker out sooner."

Crothers bade the garrulous woman a pleasant good night, and then set
himself busily to the task of mastering a pile of correspondence on his
desk. Cynthia went to the little table by the w