shelter, a home, where as a happy girl she had sung that very
strain--then a house of prayer, now a temple of judgment. And she
grew rebellious as she saw in her mind the hard faces of its
worshippers, and realized that nothing unholy or unclean must
enter there. The native instinct, however, was too strong; and
passing through the gate, and stealthily crossing the sea of
graves, she paused to peep through the window, and, unobserved,
took in the scene. The old faces--Enoch, and Abraham, and Moses
Fletcher, and Malachi o' th' Mount, and Simon o' Long John's. Yes,
the old faces as she knew them five years ago--the old faces, all
save one. Where was the saintly Mr. Morell? In his place sat a
young man whom she knew not.

Hastening on, she climbed Pinner Brow, on the summit of which
lay her home. As she scaled the height the beacon in her
mother's gable told she was not forgotten. Then it was she
trembled. A rebuke--a curse--a refusal; these she could face.
But forgiveness--welcome--love--_never_! She turned to fly.

* * * * *

'Amanda!'

'Mother!'

The great, good God had ordained that the despairing girl should
fly into the arms of the one who had not forgotten, and who felt
she had nothing to forgive. Amanda found herself in the stillest
and strongest of all havens--the haven of a mother's breast.