tell her. That was quite plain. But it was nobody's business. She shook
hands with the fortunate girl and her delicate sister, and, accompanied
by the mother, made her way through the yard to the gate, where the pony
had been eating as much of the hedge as he could manage with the bit in
his mouth. Before she had taken her seat Anne was aware of the weight on
her mind, which told her that she was "appointed" to go and reason with
Jane Evans, and, if possible, to persuade her to leave the man.

She was discouraged by the unstinting condemnation of the mother and
girls, and began to be sore that she had not received a word of sympathy
for the girl.

"There'll be a good many to throw stones," she said, as she drove into
her own yard and set about feeding the pony. When she had finished, her
mind was so overcharged that she had recourse to her usual outlet. She
began to pray aloud, not removing her bonnet or necktie, and seated as
always on the stool at the fireplace.

"O God, my heavenly Father, I thank Thee that I may come to Thee however
full of sin, and find Thee always ready. And I come to Thee again
to-night, repenting of my sin of omission in Thy sight. For, O God my
Father, I have not prayed for souls as I ought, and one soul who had
little earthly guidance has gone astray from the flock. If Thou hadst
left _me_, O my Saviour, in what a state of misery I should be found
to-night. Yet I have been over-anxious about my own salvation, and
forgotten those who are in temptation. Have mercy upon me, and save
them. Give me, O loving Father, a mouth and wisdom. Help me to point out
to this soul the error of her ways. Help me, more than all, to 'hate the
sin with all my heart, but still the sinner love,' and grant that there
may be joy in the presence of the angels of God over a returning and