"I am not a child, Jenny," she went on. "I know as well as you do what the world would say, but we are away from the world just now, you and I; we are alone in the darkness with God. Let us try for a little to see things as He sees them. Don't you think He knows as well as we do that if Maggie is kindly and lovingly dealt with now, she may live to be a better woman and not a worse, because of this fall? He puts it into her mother's power to turn this evil into good. And you must not think that her life is spoilt. She is such a child. She must not stay here, of course, but if you will let me, I will find a home for her where she will be carefully trained; and you will live yet to see her with a husband of her own to take care of her, and little children, of whom you will be proud." Jenny sobbed aloud. "Na, na, Miss Maclean," she said; "ye may pit the pieces thegither, sae that naebody kens the pitcher was broke, but the crack's aye there!" "That's true, dear Jenny; but are we not all cracked pitchers in the sight of God? We may not have committed just that sin, but may not our pride and selfishness be even more wicked in His eyes? I am sure Jesus Christ would have said some burning words to the man whose selfishness has caused all this misery; but to poor little Maggie, who has suffered so much, He would surely say, 'Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.' It seems to me that the only peace we can get in this world is by trying to see things as God sees them." So they talked on till they reached the Wood. From time to time Jenny spoke softly, with infinite pathos, of her child; and then, again and again, her indignation broke forth uncontrollably--now against Maggie, now against the man who had betrayed her. Mona's influence was strong, but it was exerted against a mighty rock of opposition; and just when all seemed gained, the stone rolled heavily back into its place. She was almost exhausted with the long struggle when they reached the door, and she did not feel perfectly sure even then that Jenny would not end by fulfilling her original threat. Mrs Arnot had gone home half an hour before, and Maggie was lying alone, with pale face and large pathetic eyes. She recognised her mother's step, and turned towards the opening door with quivering lips. "Mither!" she sobbed, like a lost lamb. There was a moment of agonising uncertainty, and then a very bitter cry. "Eh, my dawtie, my dawtie! my bonnie bit bairn! I suld ha' keepit ye by me." Mona slipped into the kitchen. The blazing fire and the well-polished tins swam mistily before her eyes, as she took the tea-canister from the shelf, and her whole heart was singing a pæan of thanksgiving. "It was the 'Mither!' that did it," she thought. "Where was all my wordy talk compared to the pathos of that? But I am very glad I came all the same." She left the mother and daughter alone for ten minutes or so, and then carried in the tea-tray.