“Howsever, I follered his advice: I thought he meant it all for th’ best, though he _had_ a queer way with him. But you know, Miss, he’s rich an’ young, and such like cannot right understand the thoughts of a poor old woman such as me. But, howsever, I did my best to do all as he bade me—but maybe I’m plaguing you, Miss, wi’ my chatter.” “Oh, no, Nancy! Go on, and tell me all.” “Well, my rheumatiz got better—I know not whether wi’ going to church or not, but one frosty Sunday I got this cold i’ my eyes. Th’ inflammation didn’t come on all at once like, but bit by bit—but I wasn’t going to tell you about my eyes, I was talking about my trouble o’ mind;—and to tell the truth, Miss Grey, I don’t think it was anyways eased by coming to church—nought to speak on, at least: I like got my health better; but that didn’t mend my soul. I hearkened and hearkened the ministers, and read an’ read at my prayer-book; but it was all like sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal: the sermons I couldn’t understand, an’ th’ prayer-book only served to show me how wicked I was, that I could read such good words an’ never be no better for it, and oftens feel it a sore labour an’ a heavy task beside, instead of a blessing and a privilege as all good Christians does. It seemed like as all were barren an’ dark to me. And then, them dreadful words, ‘Many shall seek to enter in, and shall not be able.’ They like as they fair dried up my sperrit. “But one Sunday, when Maister Hatfield gave out about the sacrament, I noticed where he said, ‘If there be any of you that cannot quiet his own conscience, but requireth further comfort or counsel, let him come to me, or some other discreet and learned minister of God’s word, and open his grief!’ So next Sunday morning, afore service, I just looked into the vestry, an’ began a-talking to th’ Rector again. I hardly could fashion to take such a liberty, but I thought when my soul was at stake I shouldn’t stick at a trifle. But he said he hadn’t time to attend to me then. “‘And, indeed,’ says he, ‘I’ve nothing to say to you but what I’ve said before. Take the sacrament, of course, and go on doing your duty; and if that won’t serve you, nothing will. So don’t bother me any more.’ “So then, I went away. But I heard Maister Weston—Maister Weston was there, Miss—this was his first Sunday at Horton, you know, an’ he was i’ th’ vestry in his surplice, helping th’ Rector on with his gown—” “Yes, Nancy.” “And I heard him ask Maister Hatfield who I was, an’ he says, ‘Oh, she’s a canting old fool.’ “And I was very ill grieved, Miss Grey; but I went to my seat, and I tried to do my duty as aforetime: but I like got no peace. An’ I even took the sacrament; but I felt as though I were eating and drinking to my own damnation all th’ time. So I went home, sorely troubled.