The fair old face on the other side of the gate grew grave in its perplexity. Quick to decide for herself in any matter of principle, Miss Judy was slow to decide for any one else. She did not consider herself wise, and it was hard, she thought, for the wisest to put herself in another's place, and no one--so she believed--could judge justly without so doing. She knew Anne's prejudice, that had been well known always to all the Oldfield people; but she had never ventured to form an opinion as to whether Anne had ever been justified in taking such a stand, which appeared strange to Miss Judy even in the beginning, and stranger now in Tom's extremity. She had merely wondered, as everybody had; but it was always harder for Miss Judy than for almost any one else to understand how there ever could be any actual conflict between love and faith, which were always and inseparably one and the same to her. "I am not sure," she faltered, with a flutter of timidity, and blushing again. "Anne is such a good woman--so much better and wiser than I am--and so very reserved. I should hardly dare approach her, even if I were sure of being in the right. And I am far from being sure. Suppose we consult sister Sophia?" she said suddenly and with her pretty face lighting at the happy thought. "You know, doctor, that her judgment is much sounder, much more practical, than mine. She sometimes has very valuable ideas--when I don't at all know what to do." Miss Judy turned to the young man with a soft little air and a touch of gentle pride that charmed him: "I am speaking, sir, of my sister, Miss Sophia Bramwell."