it soothed his agitation. After all, this was not the Mary Whittaker
that he had seen in his dreams, and the soft grey eyes that looked
steadily into his face were different from those downcast eyes in the
figure of the haltered girl that haunted him.

For some minutes Mary and her stepfather remained in this position, and
then the former, after imprinting a kiss on Learoyd's forehead, rose
softly to her feet and set to work to prepare the dinner. They partook
of their meal almost in silence, and then Mary, fetching his hat and
stick, led him out of doors into the spring sunshine, encouraged him to
pay a visit to the stables, and talked to him about the labours of the
farm. His voice was now more natural when he answered her questions, and
the frightened look disappeared from his eyes. That night, when she came
into his bedroom, in order to smooth his pillow after he had gone to
bed, he held her hand for a moment and said: "Thou's a gooid lass, Mary;
if I'd wed a lass like thee I'd hae been a different man."

Mary made no answer, but there were tears in her voice when she wished
him good-night.

In the days which followed, Mary Whittaker made new advances in the task
of winning Learoyd's confidence and stifling the furies of remorse that
had gripped his heart. All her quiet patience was needed, for although
her progress was sure, there were times when he lapsed, apparently
without reason, into his old mood of suspicion and hostility towards
her. The doctor, when he came to the farm, was full of hope. He found
the farmer's pulse steadier, and saw in him a greater composure of mind.
Learoyd spent long hours over his Bible, and it seemed at last as though
his religious conversion was to be fully accomplished. Conviction of sin
had been followed by contrite repentance, and soon, Mary hoped, he would