sea-wave against me, as I sat on his arm; "--I hope so. I live but for
that--and for one thing more."

There are some, I fancy, who would blame him for not being sure, and
bring text after text to prove that he ought to have been sure. But oh
those text-people! They look to me, not like the clay-sparrows that Jesus
made fly, but like bird-skins in a glass-case, stuffed with texts. The
doubt of a man like my uncle must be a far better thing than their
assurance!

"Would you have been frightened if you had met him on the moor last
night, little one?" he asked, after a pause.

"Oh, no, uncle!" I returned. "I should have thought it was you till I
came nearer, and then I should have known who it was! He wouldn't like a
big girl like me to be frightened at him--would he?"

"Indeed not!'" answered my uncle fervently; but again his words brought
with them a great sigh, and he said no more.

When we reached home, he gave me up to Martha, and went out again--nor
returned before I was in bed. But he came to my room, and waked me with a
kiss, which sent me faster asleep than before.




CHAPTER VIII.