," she mourned, feeling him--it did not matter about
herself; "oh, I am so sorry! Do--do go home at once, and take them off,
and have something hot before you go to bed."

"I will," he said, "if you will go with me." A moment's reflection
showed him that this was the best course--to take her to his own house,
and send a message to Mr Pennycuick that she was there, and safe.

The thought of the town frightened her. She dreaded to go anywhere out
of the solitude of Nature in which she had tried to hide. But he
assured her of privacy and protection, and she was spent and beaten,
and she gave in. Like a child, she stood to be wrapped in the rug and
lifted into the buggy, and they proceeded on their way to his home,
where his old sister kept house for him and mothered his child, with
the aid of one servant.

It was nearly midnight when they arrived, and the parsonage was dark.
Miss Goldsworthy, not expecting him, was sitting up with a sick
parishioner half a mile off; Ruby and the maid were fast asleep. When
the latter was heard stirring in her room, her master called a few
questions to her, and then bade her go back to bed.

"We don't want her poking round," he whispered to Mary, as (when
together they had hurried the mare into her stall) he led the drooping
girl to his study--and how grateful she was to him for this
consideration! He closed the door behind them, and led her gently to
his own arm-chair--she clung to the hand that was so kind to her in her
need--bidding her keep the rug about her (so as not to wet the
furniture); and he lit a kerosene stove that was one of his private
luxuries, always available when the maid-of-all-work was not. He
exhorted his charge to comfort herself by the poor blaze while he
fetched such odds and ends of clothes as he could gather from his
sister's room; and then he told her to change her wet garments for
these dry ones while he performed the same operation for himself
elsewhere. She obeyed him as meekly as a child, and was sitting huddled
in Miss Goldsworthy's faded flannel dressing-gown when he returned,
carrying a kettle and a tray.

"Now I will make you a nice hot cup of tea," said he cheerily, planting
the kettle on a round hole at the top of the stove and the tray on his
writing table. "You put your clothes in the passage? That's right.
We'll dry them presently. Oh, yes"--starting to cut bread and
butter--"you must have something to eat. You have had no dinner."

He forced