Helen did not show Rhoda the letter that had been received. She was paler and sadder after reading it, but she said nothing about its contents. Rhoda took the child in her arms, leaving its mother sitting in silence, and went out into the garden. The wild winds had sunk to rest. A light shower had fallen in the early morning, beating out the sweetness of the new-born roses, and the long, soft grass. The old walks glittered and twinkled in the sunshine. The sky was radiantly blue, and the clouds were fair. "After all," thought Rhoda, looking upward with a sudden lifting of the spirit, "heaven is full of forgiven sinners!" CHAPTER IV. AN INVITATION FROM SQUIRE DERRICK. As the summer advanced, Helen's spirits rose. She was not the pale, plaintive woman that Rhoda had found on her return from London. Her beauty brightened visibly, and more than one neighbour remarked that it was a sin and a shame for such a pretty creature to be tied up to a man who was nothing but a cross to her. Perhaps Helen herself was of the same opinion. The baby was given up more and more to Rhoda's care, while its mother went freely to the villagers' houses. She was one of those women to whom admiration is as necessary as their daily food. Her pleasure in her own loveliness amused while it saddened her cousin. There was something in it that seemed akin to the delight of a child in its fine clothes. Helen's mind had never grown with her body. But Rhoda and the others had got into the habit of viewing her weaknesses indulgently. And they gratified the little fancies that were, as a rule, harmless enough. They had their first disagreement at the end of August. There was an early harvest that year. In the southern counties most of the wheat was cut and stacked before September set in. The crops were plentiful, and there was rejoicing on all sides. But it was not always the right kind of rejoicing. "It's a strange way that some folks have got of thanking the Lord of the harvest," remarked Farmer Farren one day. "He gives them bread enough to satisfy all their wants, and they must needs show their gratitude by stupefying themselves with beer! I used to think, when I was a lad, that 'twas an odd thing for King David to go a-dancing before the Almighty with all his might. But there's more sense in dancing than in drinking for joy." Father and daughter stood side by side, leaning against the garden wall; for it was evening, and the farmer's work was done. Just before he spoke, some drunken shouts disturbed the quiet air. Labourers were roystering in the village tavern, and many a wife's temper was sorely tried that night.