their countenances while you were going on. Did you think of that
poor boy up at Willoughby Pastures when you were writing that
sermon?"

"Yes, my dear," replied Sewell gravely; "he was in my mind the whole
time."

"Well, you were rather hard upon yourself; and I think I was rather
too hard upon you, that time, though I was so vexed with you. But
nothing has come of it, and I suppose there are cases where people
are so lost to common sense that you can't do anything for them by
telling them the truth."

"But you'd better tell it, all the same," said Sewell, still in a
glow of righteous warmth from his atonement; and now a sudden
temptation to play with fire seized him. "You wouldn't have excused
me if any trouble had come of it."

"No, I certainly shouldn't," said his wife. "But I don't regret it
altogether if it's made you see what danger you run from that
tendency of yours. What in the world made you think of it?"

"Oh, it came into my mind." said Sewell.

He did not find time to write to Barker the next day, and on
recurring to his letter he saw that there was no danger of his
taking another step without his advice, and he began to postpone it;
when he had time he was not in the mood; he waited for the time and
the mood to come together, and he also waited for the most
favourable moment to tell his wife that he had got that letter from