"For the roads are awful; and you may be thankful, little Sophy, that you hadn't to go to Littleton to-night. I started to bring the things on a hand-sled, but would never have got through the drifts if it hadn't a' been for Farmer Jackson and his oxen. Don't you try it yet a while. I'll be along again with Dolly one of these days." Stephen Grattan's face might have been brighter, as he turned to nod to the group of happy children watching his departure at the door of the log cottage. The "good-byes" and the "come agains" sent after him did make him smile a little, but only for a moment. The shadow fell darker and darker on his face, as he made his way through the scarcely-open road in the direction of the village. For Stephen's heart was very heavy, and with good cause. Sad as had been his first sight of the sorrowful mother and her children, he had seen a sadder sight that day. In the dim grey of the bitter morning he had caught a glimpse of a crouching, squalid figure hurrying with uncertain yet eager steps-- whither? His heart stood still as he asked himself the question, "To the foot-bridge over Deering Brook? To the gaping hole beyond?" Stephen Grattan had not what is called "a rapid mind." He was not bold to dare, nor strong to do. But in the single minute that passed before he found himself on Deering Bridge he realised all the miserable circumstances of Morely's fall, balanced the chances of life and death for the poor wretch, and took his own life in his hand for his sake. He knew that one more wicked deed had been added to the tavern-keeper's catalogue of sins,--that the children's bread had been stolen, and the father brutalised and then cast forth in the bitter cold, to live or die, it mattered little which. "To live, it must be," said Stephen; "at least for repentance--perhaps for a better life. He must be saved. But how?" Stephen could have touched him with his hand as he asked the question. Could he win him by persuasion and gentle words, or must he master him by force, and save him from the death on which he was rushing? Must he wrestle with the madman's temporary strength?--perhaps yield to it, and share his fate? If these two men knew just what happened, when, by a sudden movement of Stephen, they were brought face to face, they never spoke of it, even to each other. Dolly's brief "Thank God!" as she opened the door to let them in, was like heavenly music to Stephen's ear, he told her afterwards; but never, even to Dolly, would he go beyond the opening of the door in speaking of that day.