Bride had Eustace very much on her mind and heart just now. She had promised to pray for him, and she did this with increasing earnestness as the days went by. She prayed too for the unhappy Saul, wearing out his weary term of imprisonment, visited from time to time by Abner, who looked years older ever since the trouble of that August night. He brought back disquieting accounts of the prisoner to his young mistress, who never failed to ask after him. Saul was utterly impenitent and hardened. He had thrown off all semblance of outward faith, and was an open advocate of the very darkest and baldest forms of atheism. He had learnt this fearful creed from the cobbler, by this time lying under sentence of death; but Bride recognised with a shudder now and again, as she talked with Abner and heard his sorrowful accounts of Saul’s words, the influence upon him of Eustace’s more subtle scepticism. Here and there a word or phrase came in where she recognised her cousin’s mind. Doubtless Saul had opened his heart on this point too with his master, and Eustace had probably only confirmed him in his unbelief by his assertions of the impossibility of knowing the truth where all thinking men were at variance. The thought of these two men haunted her with a persistence that was wearying. She was haunted too by thoughts of that condemned criminal in his lonely cell, dying perhaps in utter blackness and infidelity, and passing out into the presence of his Maker without one thought of repentance or submission. Suppose Saul had been called upon to die, would he too have gone forth in that frame of mind? If illness or accident were to smite down Eustace, what would be his method of meeting death? Would they all reject the love of the Saviour? Would they all remain impenitent to the last? And what, ah! what was the fate of those who passed away without one cry for mercy, without one glance towards that Cross whereon the sins of the whole world had been expiated? This thought became such a terror to her, that she took it at last to her one friend and confidante, Mrs. St. Aubyn, and she had hardly got out her trouble before the Rector himself, unknowing of her visit, entered his wife’s room; and Bride hardly knew whether she were glad or sorry that the question should be referred to him. It was Mrs. St. Aubyn who told her husband the nature of their talk, and added, as she did so--