Elithe thought of Mignon, and would like to ask him if she were the sister, but did not wish to remind him of that Sunday in camp when he had been so debased before her. He had never referred to it but once since he came to Samona, and then he had said, “It shall never happen again, so help me Heaven.” He was not very enthusiastic on the subject of Elithe’s visit to Oak City, and at an earlier hour than usual said good-night and went slowly back to the hotel. In the barroom he heard the click of glasses. A few of the miners were there slaking their thirst, after a day’s abstinence. They had kept sober during the consecration of the church and the Bishop’s visit. It was night now and they were making amends with a good deal of hilarity. Pausing, with his foot on the stairs, Mr. Pennington felt for a moment tempted to join them and break his pledge. It was in his pocket where he always carried it, and he mechanically took it out and looked at it. While it was whole it was a safeguard, and he held it to the light, thinking how easily he could tear it into shreds and be rid of the restraint. And why not? Why try to be anybody? Elithe was going away, and if she were not it could do him no good, so why continue the struggle? A thousand demons were urging him to take the vile stuff the miners were drinking with so much zest. He knew just how vile it was, for he had tasted it at the mines, but he had been so long without it, and he was so thirsty. “I’ll do it,” he thought, just as one of the revellers in the barroom called out, “Here’s health and happiness to the parson and Miss Elithe. May God bless her and keep New York straight on her account.” “Amen!” came heartily from half a dozen throats, and the pledge slipped back into Mr. Pennington’s pocket. “I’ll try it a while longer,” he said, going cautiously up the stairs to his room and shutting the door so that the sounds of dissipation could not reach him. CHAPTER XI. GETTING READY FOR OAK CITY. It was soon known in Samona that the Rector’s aunt had invited Elithe to spend the summer with her and that she was going. One of the miners’ daughters, a strong, capable girl, was to take her place so far as the work was concerned, but no one save the mother herself knew of the pain in her heart when she thought of the days when the busy feet and hands which ministered so lovingly and willingly to them all would be gone. “It is for her good and I’ll bear it,” she said to herself, and, putting on a brave and cheerful front, she entered heartily into the necessary preparations for the journey.