him, and he began to plead their case with her as before an adverse judge.
Worn as she was with the arguments for and against them after the long day
of iteration, she could not refuse to let him plead. She scarcely answered
him, but he knew when they reached Gillespie's cabin that she had seen
them in the fierce light of her conscience, where there was no shadow of
turning.

David was alone; Jane, he said, had gone to the Reverdys, and was going
with the woman to the Temple.

Nancy did not seem to hear him. She took the sleeping baby from its
father's arms. "Laban has come with me to say good-by before you, David. I
hope you'll be satisfied."

"I hope your conscience will be satisfied, Nancy. It doesn't matter about
me. Laban, do you see this thing like I do?"

"I see it like Nancy does."

"God will bless your effort for righteousness. Your path is dark before
you now, but His light will shine upon it."

The old man paused helplessly, and Nancy asked "Does Jane know?"

"Not yet. And I will confess I'm not certain what to do, about her, and
about the neighbors. This is a cross to me, too, Nancy. I have lived a
proud life here; there has never been talk about me or mine. Now when you
and Laban are parted, there will be talk."

"There's no need to be," Laban said; "not at once. They want me back at