had still the right to look her father in the face--or if she were
the most miserable of all sinners.

Her father often asked her if she could not confide to him what was
weighing on her mind; for he felt that she was keeping something
from him. But when she looked into his clear eyes, into his pure
open face, it seemed impossible, literally impossible, to approach
that terrible impure point and she only wept. She thought sometimes
of that good Mrs. Hartvig's soft hand; but she was a stranger, and
far away. So she must e'en fight out her fight in utter solitude,
and so quietly that no one should be aware of it.

And he, who was pursuing his path through life with so bright a
countenance and so heavy a heart! Should she ever see him again?
And if she were ever to meet him, where should she hide herself? He
was an inseparable part of all her doubt and pain; but she felt no
bitterness, no resentment towards him. All that she suffered bound
her closer to him, and he was never out of her thoughts.

In the daily duties of the household Rebecca was as punctual and
careful as ever. But in everything she did he was present to her
memory. Innunmerable spots in the house and garden recalled him to
her thoughts; she met him in the door-ways; she remembered where he
stood when first he spoke to her. She had never been at the King's
Knoll since that day; it was there that he had clasped her round
the waist, and--kissed her.

The Pastor was full of solicitude about his daughter; but whenever
the Doctor's hint occurred to him he shook his head, half angrily.
How could he dream that a practised hand, with a well-worn trick of