Caleb drove on, and she went back into the house, shrinking under the
brightness of the air which seemed to quiver so before her eyes. She
went into her father's room, where he was awake and wondering.

"Seems to me I heard the bells," he said, in his gentle fashion. "Or
have we had the 'hymns, an' got to the sermon?"

Dorcas fell on her knees by the bedside.

"Father," she began, with difficulty, her cheek laid on the bedclothes
beside his hand, "there was a sermon about women that are lost. What
was that?"

"Why, yes," answered the parson, rousing to an active joy in his work.
"'Neither do I condemn thee!' That was it. You git it, Dorcas! We must
remember such poor creatur's; though, Lord be praised! there ain't many
round here. We must remember an' pray for 'em."

But Dorcas did not rise.

"Is there any hope for them, father?" she asked, her voice muffled.
"Can they be saved?"

"Why, don't you remember the poor creatur' that come here an' asked
that very question because she heard I said the Lord was pitiful? Her
baby was born out in the medder, an' died the next day; an' she got up
out of her sickbed at the Poorhouse, an' come totterin' up here, to ask
if there was any use in her sayin', 'Lord, be merciful to me, a
sinner!' An' your mother took her in, an' laid her down on this very
bed, an' she died here. An' your mother hil' her in her arms when she