closed it without hurry, and then passed on the other side.

"Father! O, father! speak one word to me."

Then he turned and looked at her, sternly and awfully.

"Thou art nane o' my bairn. I ken naught o' thee."

Without another glance at the white, despairing face, he walked rapidly
on; for the spring nights were chilly, and he must gather his lambs into
the fold, though this poor sheep of his own household was left to
perish.

But, if her father knew her no more, the large sheep-dog at his side was
not so cruel. No theological dogmas measured Rover's love; the stain on
the spotless name of his master's house, which hurt the old man like a
wound, had not shadowed his memory. He licked her hands and face, and
tried with a hospitality and pity which made him so much nearer the
angels than his master to pull her toward her home. But she shook her
head and moaned pitifully; then throwing her arms round the poor brute
she kissed him with those passionate kisses of repentance and love which
should have fallen on her father's neck. The dog (dumb to all but God)
pleaded with sorrowful eyes and half-frantic gestures; but she turned
wearily away toward a great circle of immense rocks--relics of a
religion scarcely more cruel than that which had neither pity nor
forgiveness at the mouth of the grave. Within their shadow she could die
unseen; and there next morning a wagoner, attracted by the plaintive
howling of a dog, found her on the ground, dead.

There are set awful hours between every soul and heaven. Who knows what