"That will do thee good, child," saith she. "'Tis what thy body and mind alike were needing. (And truly, mine heart, as methought, hath never felt quite so sore and bound from that day.) I know all about it, _Edith_. I saw it these two years gone, when I was with you at _Selwick_. And I began to fear, even then, that there was a dark valley on the road afore thee, though not so dark as mine. Ah, dear heart, it is sore matter to find thy shrine deserted of the idol: yet not half so sore as to see the idol lie broken at thy feet, and to know thenceforward that it was nought but a lump of common clay. No god-- only a lump of clay, that thy foolish heart had thought to be one! Well! all that lieth behind, and the sooner thou canst turn away and go on thy journey, the better. But for what lieth afore, _Edith_, look onward and look upward. Heaven will be the brighter because earth was darker than thou hadst looked for. _Christ_ will be the dearer Friend, because the dearest human friend hath failed thine hope. It is not the traveller that hath been borne through flowers and sunshine on the soft cushions of a litter, that is the gladdest to see the lights of home." "It is nobody's fault," I could not help whispering. "I know, dear heart!" she saith. "Thine idol is not broken. Thank God for it. Thou mayest think of him yet as a true man, able to hold up his head in the sunlight, with no cause to be 'shamed of the love which stole into thine heart ere thou hadst wist it. Alas for them to whom the fairest thought which even hope can compass, is the thought of the prodigal in the far country, weary at long last of the husks which the swine do eat, and turning with yearning in his eyes toward the hills which lie betwixt him and the Father. O _Edith_, thank God that He hath spared thee such a sorrow as that!" It was about six weeks after that even, when one wet morrow, as I was aiding Aunt _Joyce_ to turn the apples in her store-chamber, and gather into a basket such as lacked use, that _Barbara_, the cook-maid, come in with her hands o'er flour, to say-- "Mistress, here at the base door is a poor blind man, begging for broken victuals. Would you have me give him that beef-bone you set aside for broth?" "A blind man?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Then shall he not go empty. I am coming down, _Bab_, and will look to him myself. Bring him out of the rain to the kitchen fire, and if he have a dog that leadeth him, find the poor animal some scraps.--Now, _Edith_, bring thy basket, and I will take mine." "He hath no dog, Mistress," saith _Bab_; "'twas a lad that brought him." "Then the lad may have an apple," saith Aunt _Joyce_, "which the dog should scantly shake his tail for. Go and bring them in, _Bab_; I shall be after thee presently."