"That will come in time," said the minister's mother, graciously; "and I am glad, for my part, that he has been away, for it shows me how his dear people feel towards him; and though he would have been, of course, better off in Liverpool, I would never consider that in comparison. They still want to have him, you know, and keep writing me letters, and him too, I don't doubt; but after what I have seen, I could never advise him to break the link that has been formed here. The connection between pastor and people is a sacred tie; it should never be broken," said Mrs. Vincent, with mild grandeur, "for anything so poor as a money object; but my dear boy is far above any such consideration as that." "Ah!" said Mrs. Pigeon, drawing a long breath of involuntary awe and admiration; "and I don't doubt as the pastor would have been a deal better off in Liverpool," she added, after a pause, quite overpowered by that master-stroke. "It's a deal bigger a place," suggested Mrs. Tozer; "and grander folks, I don't have a doubt," she too added, after an interval. This new idea took away their breath. "But, ah! what is that to affection," said Arthur's artful mother, "when a minister has the love of his flock! My dear Mrs. Pigeon, though a mother is naturally anxious for her son, nothing on earth would induce me to advise him to break such a tie as that!" "And indeed, ma'am, it's as a Christian mother should act," gasped the poulterer's subdued wife. Mrs. Brown made a little movement of admiring assent, much impressed with the fine sentiments of the minister's mother. Phoebe put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Mr. Beecher found it was time for his train. "Tell Vincent I am very glad to have been of use to him. We were all delighted in 'Omerton to hear of him making such an 'it," said Mr. Beecher, friendly but discomfited. He made his leave-taking all round, before Mrs. Vincent, at the height of victory, rose and went her way. Then she, too, shook hands, and blandly parted with the astonished women. They remained behind, and laid their heads together, much subdued, over this totally new light. She departed, gently victorious. This little demonstration had done her good. When she got out into the street, however, she fell down again into those depths of despair out of which she had risen so bravely for Arthur's sake. She began to plan how she and Susan could go away--not to Lonsdale--never again to Lonsdale--but to some unknown place, and hide their shame-stricken heads. She was so weary and sick in her heart, it was almost a comfort to think of creeping into some corner, taking her poor darling into her arms, healing those dreadful wounds of hers, hiding her from the sight of men. This was what they must do as soon as her dearest child came back--go to Scotland, perhaps, or into the primitive south country, where nobody knew them, or---- but softly, who was this?