The rattle of wheels below announced the arrival of the promised coach, and Bride took her departure, after having made acknowledgment of all kinds to the friendly people who had given her shelter. She found her father looking fagged and worn, but quiet and tranquil, and the journey home was accomplished without any farther disturbance. Early next morning news reached the castle that Sir Roland had won the seat by a reduced though still substantial majority. The other piece of news was that Saul Tresithny had lived through the night, and, though very much injured, might still survive, only that he must lose his foot. It was so crushed and mangled and dislocated that nothing could be done for it. If his life were to be saved, the foot must go. Bride went down herself to see Abner and make personal inquiries. The old man looked very pale and grave, but was quiet and composed. “It may be, my Ladybird, that the Lord has sent this in mercy and not in wrath,” he said. “There’s many a one as has found the door of the fold in the time of weakness and sorrow and pain, that never could see it when things were otherwise with him. It is better to enter into life maimed than to lose the hope of salvation for this life and the next. Pray God he will turn to Him at last in this dark hour, when he could not make shift to see the way before.” “Ah! I hope so!--I trust so,” said Bride softly. “That is why I am so glad for him to be with you and not amongst strangers. You can point the way; you can tell him of the hope. When his life here looks so dark before him, perhaps he will turn at last to the hope of the glory and blessedness that will be revealed in the kingdom. I do not see how men can live without that hope, when the things of earth fail them, and show how hollow and empty they always are.” Abner smiled with a look on his face in which hope and sorrow were strangely blended. He knew better than this girl could do the hardness of the human heart and the stubborn toughness of a nature like Saul’s, and yet he would not despond. “The Great Gardener never takes the pruning-knife but for the good of the plant He is about to prune,” he said. “It’s hard sometimes to watch the living tree cut away from the stem, but in days to come one sees and knows why it was needful. We can but live in faith that it will be so with these poor frail bodies of ours.” “Does he know?” asked Bride, with a little shiver. “No, he has never come to his senses yet, and I am hoping he won’t until it is all over. The doctor will come this afternoon with another gentleman, and then ’twill be done quick and sharp. I’m hoping and praying it will all be over before the poor lad comes rightly to himself.” Bride spent that day mostly alone, and much of it in prayer. Her father, wearied out by the fatigues and excitements of yesterday, kept to his room, and Eustace had gone into Pentreath to see Sir Roland.