with outstretched hand Walter arrested an old man. But he only
wrapped his furs still closer and passed on, saying sternly,--

"I have nothing for vagrants. Go to work, young man."

A woman poorly clad in widow's weeds passed at that moment, and, as
the beggar fell back from the rich man's path, she dropped a bit of
silver in his hand, saying with true womanly compassion,--

"Heaven help you! it is all I have to give."

"I'll beg no more," muttered Walter, as he turned away burning with
shame and indignation; "I'll _take_ from the rich what the poor so
freely _give._ God pardon me; I see no other way, and they must not
starve."

With a vague sense of guilt already upon him, he stole into a more
unfrequented street and slunk into the shadow of a doorway to wait
for coming steps and nerve himself for his first evil deed.

Glancing up to chide the moonlight for betraying him, he started;
for there, above the snow-clad roofs, rose the cross upon the tower.
Hastily he averted his eyes, as if they had rested on the mild,
reproachful countenance of a friend.

Far up in the wintry sky the bright symbol shone, and from it seemed
to fall a radiance, warmer than the moonlight, clearer than the
starlight, showing to that tempted heart the darkness of the yet
uncommitted wrong.