Blind with old age, went Beda forth to preach The blessed Gospel to the world, and teach The listening crowd of village and of town. A peasant school-boy led him up and down, Proclaiming aye God's word with youthful fire. Rather in childish folly than in scorn, The lad the trusting graybeard led, one morn, Down to a vale where massive stones around Were strewed. "A congregation fills the ground," He said, "and, lo, they wait to hear thee, sire." Up rose the aged pilgrim, took the text, Turned it, explained it, and applied it next, Implored, exhorted, prayed, and, ending, bowed his head, And to the listening crowd the Pater Noster said. When he had ended, from the circling stones The cry went forth, as if in human tones, "Amen, most reverend father!" and again The circling stones in concert cried, "Amen!" The boy shrank back, remorseful, on his knees, Confessed his fault, and sought to make his peace. "Mock not God's word," the old man to him said. "Know that, though men were mute to it, and dead. The very stones will witness. 'Tis a living word, And cutteth sharply, like a two-edged sword. And if all human hearts to stones should turn, A human heart within these stones would burn." THE HOUSE OF YORKE. CHAPTER III. DIEU DISPOSE. The early morning of Mr. Rowan's burial had been heavy and dark; but as they left the island a shower of golden light broke through the clouds, the water sparkled on all sides, and the sighing air became a frolic breeze. Dick and the captain brightened, and exchanged a few words in seamen's phrase complimenting the weather. Mrs. Rowan also roused herself, brushed the sand from her clothes, arranged the folds of her veil, and even smoothed her hair. The poor creature's vanity was dead, but at the prospect of meeting strangers it gave a slight post-mortem flicker. Out it went, though, the next instant, on the breath of a sigh. What did it matter how she looked? But she glanced anxiously at Edith. The child had put on her mother's red cape and drawn it up over her head, and she still held it there, one slim hand pulling the folds close together under her chin. That she might appear outlandish did not trouble Edith. Indeed, she claimed the right to be so on account of her foreign blood. But when she noticed Mrs. Rowan's attention to her own toilet, and met her glance, she pushed the cape off her head, and, putting her arms up, began to smooth her hair and plait it into a long braid. It was rich, long hair, not given to wilful ringlets, but would curl when in the mood. Now the wind blew little curls out about her face, and the risen sun steeped the tresses in a pale flame.