mountains, as she pictured Stephen at the mercy of the
pitiless storm.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PANTRY WINDOW.

Stephen had been engaged in his new calling for about a fortnight, and
was coming home, after a long and toilsome day among the flocks, two
hours after sunset, with a keen east wind bringing the tears into his
eyes, when a few paces from his cabin door a tall dark figure sprang up
from a hollow in the cinder-hill, and laid a heavy hand upon his
shoulder. It was just light enough to discern the gloomy features of
Black Thompson; and Stephen inquired fearlessly what he wanted with him.

'I thought thee'd never be coming,' said Black Thompson impatiently.
'Lad, hast thee forgotten thy rights and thy wrongs, that thou comes to
yonder wretched kennel whistling as if all the land belonged to thee?
Where's thy promise to thy father, that thee'd never give up thy rights?
Jackson the butcher has taken Fern's Hollow, and it's to be finished up
in a week or two; and thee'lt see thy own place go into the hands of
strangers.'

'It'll all be put right some day, Thompson, thank you,' said Stephen.

'Right!' repeated Thompson; 'who's to put wrong things right if we won't
take the trouble ourselves? Is it right for the master to grind us down
in our wages, and raise the rents over our heads, till we can scarcely
get enough to keep us in victuals, just that he may add money to money
to count over of nights? Was it right of him to leave the pit yonder
open, till little Nan was killed in it? Thee has a heavy reckoning to
settle with him, and I'd be wiping off some of the score. If I was in
thy place, I should have little Nan's voice calling me day and night
from the pit, to ask when I was going to revenge her.'

Black Thompson felt that Stephen trembled under his grasp, and he went
on with greater earnestness.

'Thee could revenge thyself this very night. Thee could get the worth of
Fern's Hollow without a risk, if thee'd listen to me. It's thy own, lad,
and thy wrongs are heavy--Fern's Hollow stolen from thee, and the little
lass murdered! How canst thee rest, Stephen?'

'God will repay,' said Stephen in a tremulous tone.

'Dost think that God sees?' asked Black Thompson scoffingly; 'if He
sees, He doesn't care. What does it matter to Him that poor folks like
us are trodden down and robbed? If He cared, He could strike the master
dead in a moment, and He doesn't. He lets him prosper and prosper, till
nobody can