When the short afternoon was over, and Nathan's work was done, he came upstairs to visit Rhoda. She had been as dear to him as his own child; and as he took her small, withered hand in his, his dim old eyes grew dark with tears. "I saw you every day twice," she said, pausing often for breath; "I was hiding in the barn. I hid myself on Christmas Eve among the straw--like Joan and me used to do for fun--and I laid the baby asleep in the manger--for Joan to find; and I saw her come, and heard her sing--I was watching her and you. And after that I couldn't go away; there was nowhere and nobody to go to; and I stayed hiding in the barn. But I was very cold and miserable; I was frightened of dying there in the barn. And in the night I came close to the house--to look for food--and hearken if I could hear the baby. I'm not frightened or miserable now." "Never mind the trouble now, Rhoda," said old Nathan. "Your aunt's forgiven you, and taken you home again; and God, He'll forgive us all, and take us home again some day. Think o' getting well and strong again, my poor lass." "Not me," murmured Rhoda, faintly; "it's best for me to die, I know. Baby 'll be happier without me. I couldn't play with him and make him merry. Joan 'ill be as a little mother to him, won't you, Joan? I'm going to give him to you for your very own." "For my very own!" repeated Joan, with wondering, wide-open eyes. [Illustration: NATHAN CAME UPSTAIRS TO VISIT RHODA] "Ay! if aunty will let me," answered Rhoda, smiling; "she 'll love the baby, I know, now she's reconciled to me. Nathan, she forgives me, and God forgives me. I'm not unhappy any more." "Rhoda, my lass," said old Nathan, "thy aunt 'ill never be happy no more, if thou dies. She's pardoned thee with all her heart; and thou must try to live, and pay her back. Tell me where thou 's been all this long while." For a few minutes Rhoda lay silent, with a look of pain on her young, pale face. "I dare n't ever have spoke to aunty," she murmured at last, "she's so bitter against marrying. And so I ran away, and we were married at Bristol; and then we went to London; and Evan deserted me before baby was born. I couldn't find him again anywhere in London; and it was a dreadful place to stay in without money, and no home. He hadn't been good to me for a long while before he left me. I've been a very wicked girl, but I've been sorely punished for it, Nathan; and I'd rather die now, I think, than get well again." "My poor lass!" answered old Nathan, pitifully, "say, 'Let it be as God pleases.'" "Let it be as God pleases!" repeated Rhoda, in her faint, hollow voice.