"Sir?" exclaimed Barbara, looking up surprisedly into the grave, though kindly face of a tall, dark-haired man in clerical garb. "I was but-- eh, but yon eyes! 'Tis never Master Robin?" Mr Tremayne's smile replied sufficiently that it was. "And is yonder little Clare Avery?" he asked, with a tender inflection in his voice. "Walter's child,--my brother Walter!" "Ay, Master Robin, yon is Mistress Clare; and you being shepherd of this flock hereaway, I do adjure you, look well to this little lamb, for I am sore afeard she is here fallen amongst wolves." "I am not the Shepherd, good friend,--only one of the Shepherd's herd-lads. But I will look to the lamb as He shall speed me. And which of the Lord's ways is so strange unto thee, Barbara?" "Why, to think that our dear, good Master should die but now, and leave the little lamb to be cast in all this peril." "Then--`Some of the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth'--doth the verse run thus in thy Bible, Barbara?" "Nay, not so: but can you understand the same Master Robin?" "By no means. Wherefore should I?" Barbara made no answer beyond an appealing look. "`He knoweth the way that I take.' If I know not so much as one step thereof, what matter? I shall have light to see the next step ere I must set down my foot. That is enough, Barbara, for `such as keep His covenant,' and I have ever counted thee amongst them." "Eh, Master Robin, but 'twere easier done to walk in darkness one's self, than to see yon little pet lamb--" And Barbara's voice faltered. "Hath somewhat troubled thee specially at this time?" In answer, she told him what she had just seen. "And I do trust, Master Robin, I have not ill done to say this unto you, but of a truth I am diseased [uneasy, anxious] touching my jewel, lest she fall into the like evil courses, being to dwell here." "Thou hast not ill done, friend; nor will I neglect the warning, trust me." "I thank you much, Master. And how doth good Mistress Thekla? Verily I am but evil-mannered to be thus long ere I ask it." "She is well, and desiring much to see thee." "And your childre, Master Robin,--have you not?" "I have five childre, Barbara, two sons and three daughters; but of them Christ hath housen four in His garner, and hath left but one in my sight. And that seemed unto us a very strange way; yet was it mercy and truth." "Eh, but I could ne'er repine at a babe's dying!" said Barbara, shaking her head. "Do but think what they 'scape of this weary world's troubles, Master Robin." "Ah, Barbara, 'tis plain thou never hadst a child," said Mr Tremayne, sighing. "I grant all thou hast said. And yet, when it cometh to the pass, the most I can do is to lift mine head and hold my peace, `because God did it.' God witteth best how to try us all." "Nay, if He would but not try yon little lambkin!"