’God forgive me for what I have said! You do nothing for me!—Joyce, dear Joyce, you have done for me this night more than you are aware of. You saved my life once before, you have saved my life again to-night, and something more than my life.’ She did not understand him. How could she? ’Maister,’ she said, ’put thicky gashly old gun away; it frightens me.’ He rose at once and obeyed, putting the gun back in its old place on the crooks. ’You be coming back to West Wyke?’ she asked. ’Yes, to-morrow.’ ’You’ll be better there. There the old Squire be fond of you, and you be so kind to me; and there be Miss Cicely, too, her’s a pining likewise, acause you be so long away; and there be I,’ she looked down at his feet, ’knitting stockings as fast as I can knit for you. If I can do nothing more, I can do that.’ ’Oh, Joyce! Joyce!’ He could say no more, his heart was full. Here at Welltown—wretchedness, coldness, repulsion; there at West Wyke—not happiness indeed, but rest, warmth, and love. ’And, maister dear, you’ll larn me the kinkum-kum. I wouldn’t let Miss Cicely larn me. Her began to laugh when I said kinkum-kum. But when I were bad wi’ my broken arms, and I asked you to say it, you didn’t laugh, but you tooked off your hat and said it as good as a Methody. And now, I’ll tell’y, that night when I drayed you out of the road into the wood, and thought you was going to die, and I didn’t know what ever to do, I got such a pain here,’ she put her hand to her heart, ’as I could scarce abear it. And then I went down on my knees, just the same as I be now, and I put up my hands over where you lay, and I cried that same kinkum-kum, and him as I knows nort about, he heard me, and he did what he could, I reckon. He made you better, and he set my pain and trouble at rest. There, maister darling, I can see you be in pain and trouble now. Just you do the same; go down on your knees, and say the same right on end, and the rest from pain and trouble will come sure-ly.’ ’Joyce!’ She was still looking in his face, desiring something, with a great distress in her eyes. Now, a smile broke in her eyes. ’O rallaluley!’ she exclaimed. ’Your face were at first like Cosdon when hard frozen, but now the springs be breaking.’ The lines in his face had softened, his lips quivered, and his eyes filled. Then, all at once, he fell on his knees beside Joyce, and held up his hands as she had taught him, and said in broken tones and slowly, ’Our Father.’ Joyce repeated the words. ’Which art in heaven—hallowed be thy name.’ Joyce still followed. ’Thy kingdom come.’ The storm had passed away, almost suddenly. The clouds had broken; in the west the moon hung unveiled, and cast a ray of purest silver into the little room, and bathed in her stainless light the poor savage and the young soldier, kneeling and praying together. *CHAPTER XLVI.* *A BAR OF ICE.*