Spare me, Edith," said the minister; "I am vowed to render up all for His cause-all. My people, whom the Lord gave me to watch for their souls night and day, can I let them die, with no man caring for them, no man pointing them to heaven? Remember, Edith! thou hast prayed for them; they are those who shall be my joy and crown if they be brought to righteousness. It is thy grief blindeth thee; think of this."

"I think of it, father. Yea, I see them, stricken down, and no man caring for their souls; stricken down, and no hand to tend them in their sickness. Ah! father, so desolate it must be, that forsaken sick-bed; so forlorn, so miserable, with only pain living there, and the dark death drawing near in the silence, stealing among the shadows. Father, I have a petition to you; let me go to this labor also? I am here only to pine and brood, and forget our Lord, who will not be served in slothfulness, and yonder they are dying who have need of me—even of me. Father, I will go also; you will not deny me?"

"I feared this," said the Puritan; "it must not be, Edith; speak not of it again.”

Father, it is not your wont to be more merciful to yourself than to me. I, too-have not I somewhat to answer for in the sight of Him who judgeth righteously. You would have me dwell here in sloth, receiving all mercies and returning no thankful service. But look at me, father, I am strong; I do not fear. We will go together. If He wills it so, we shall return in peace; if He wills it not so, then shall we travel together to his own country in joy. Be it as He wills; I am ready, father. Let us go."

The Puritan was overcome; his voice trembled.

'Edith, I can not bear this; the Lord demands no martyrdom of thee, my poor child. Rememberest thou not how even He the Lord, our Holy One, refused in His wondrous pat ence to tempt God? And why thrust thy-self into this deadly peril, Edith? I am called to the labor, not thou; speak not any more of this, it must not be,"

"Yea, father," said Edith, hurriedly, "but it was to a vain temptation that he answered: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord.' It was not to a call to render service to the dying, to comfort the stricken, to minister to the sick. Hitherto I have never rebelled against thy kind will; now, father, I rebel! I also am one responsible to God. I also must go to help in thy ministry. Do not say me nay, but sanctify this my dedication with thine approvalwith thy blessing."

And so he did at last. The girl Edith was a woman now, taking her first step in the checkered life on whose threshold she stood: a strange beginning, yet made in modest boldness, and with a resolute youthful gravity, against which entreaties and expostulations could not stand.

Her humble guardian was less easily satisfied; it was mere madness, as she thought; and Dame Dutton clung to the youthful gentlewoman, who had brought into the shepherd's homely cottage a grace of high culture and tender nurturing, which threw its magic over even them, and wept and apostrophized the blessed mother of her sweet Mistress Edith to stay the rash steps of her child.

And Edith fought her battle over again, less effectively than before-for Dame Dutton would listen to no

representations; while the minister stood by in grave silence, repenting of his hasty consent. But it was arranged at last. Master Field agreed to remain behind. his companions; and on the next morning Edith and he were to set out alone on their momentous journey.

He had to leave the cottage immediately to meet with his brethren, and make the necessary arrangements. Early on the morrow the good dame herself was to conduct Edith to a hostel in Carlisle, from whence they would set out; a duty which the kindly shepherd's wife undertook with much reluctance, and had even laid some simple schemes to prevent, such as darkening the chamber of her gentle guest, and forbearing the usual cheery call with which she was wont to awaken her to a new day. But Edith, in the promptitude of excitement, was beforehand with her affectionate hostess, and left her apartment, dressed in her plain traveling hood and mantle, while Dame Dutton was still donning her homely gown in stealthy silence, fearful of disturbing her.

They had a walk of ten miles to Carlisle, and not a smooth one. Ralph had been out on the hill-side with his flocks since earliest dawn; and at six o'clock, when Dame Dutton had broken her fast after the substantial fashion of the time-for she was not overbrimming with high youthful resolve and subdued excitement-they set

out.

It was a very clear, bright, hopeful day; and the breath of the great mountains rose up to heaven, and the undulating breadths of the green country lay fair below the sunshine-peace, and health, and gentle security. Edith Field lifted up her eyes to the pure sky, and sighed-to

relieve her full heart not for sorrow; for what very different scenes was she about to exchange these!

"Ay, thou wilt go, wilt thou?" said good Dame Dutton, as they reached the level highway. "Well-a-day! young folk are willful; but I would fain ask thee, Mistress Edith, what Master Field will be the better o' the like o' thee? a gentle lady-thing, that's liker a down bed, and a silk mantle, and folk serving thee hand and foot, than aught else. If thou'dst been a handy lass, wi' an arm like our Raaf's, and cheeks like the miller's maiden o'er the fell, thou might'st have thought on't; but thou, that ever wast liker a lily in a garden than a stout heatherbloom on the hills, that thou should'st stir thee on such an. errand! Well-a-day! but I have telled thee; thou know'st my mind."

"But I am strong, dame," said Edith, tremulously. "Cicely Whitbread at the mill, can work better than I, but she could not bear so well. When we left Hampstead-you do not know what a hard journey it was, Dame Dutton-I was not a burden on my father; he will tell you, if you ask him. I rode behind him for whole days, traveling down to Cumberland, but I never wearied. I never felt myself weak until I was safe in the cottage, and my father away again laboring dangerously, when I could not go forth with him. So you must not speak so to me, Dame Dutton, because I am sure I go justly, and will be no hindrance to my father; and here we are at Thornleigh now, half-way to Carlisle, and you have never told me yet, dame, why this house is so desolate."

It is none so desolate this fine morning," said the dame; thou would'st have me believe, I reckon, that

B*

thou did'st not mark the brave gentleman and his train that rode out of the old gate as we came round the shoulder of the fell? Ah! Mistress Edith, thou's none so still, for all thy sad apparel, as to take no note of young Sir Philip, and his serving-men behind him."

"I thought no one lived here," said Edith; "and I never saw Sir Philip, dame, that I should know yonder horseman was he."

Nay, I say not thou knowest," said the shepherd's wife; "but prithee make thy pace slower, Mistress Edith, for my breath fails me. I had a light foot enow in my day; alack, but that bides not forever! But, as I say, it is e'en as well that we be behind yonder gallant, for an thou knowest him not, it is as well for thee; and thou might'st, if thou did'st see him near at hand; and there is a wrong done between his house and thine, Mistress Edith, that it would but grieve thee to hear of. Alas, thy blessed mother! Well, surely it is a dark world, for yonder proud lady hath all she lacks, and does naught in this earth, but waste and spend, and harden the heart of her; and the other gentle, face is in its grave many a year ago. Well-a-day!"

"What is that, Dame Dutton ?" asked Edith, eagerly.

"An thy father told thee not, Mistress Edith,” said the Dame, "it is none of my business to tell thee; and forsooth it is just and right that there should be little mentioning of old wrongs among folk that strive to fear God; for thou knowest the carnal mind is fain to have something against its neighbor, and it is not aye we do well to be angry. He was but an ill body, that prophet Jonah, that could set up his face to say the like."