When Mrs Berry had left her, the poor girl wept long and bitterly, as she tried to decide whether it might not be her duty to bear the shame and contempt which would be her share if she took her child amongst her mother’s relations. It was hard to contemplate. She had hoped the worst was over--that, the inhabitants of Luton having agreed to overlook her misfortune, there would be no more unpleasantness to encounter, but if it was to be for her mother’s sake--her dear mother, who had clung to her through everything--she would pass through the fire a second time. It was less than she deserved, she knew that, and, if needful, she would be brave and bear it. She dried her eyes again, and turned to recommence her work. But the baby had got hold of her plait of straw, which had fallen to the ground, and taken advantage of his mother’s abstraction to undo half of it, and spoil the rest. ‘Oh, baby, baby!’ she cried. ‘How naughty you are. You have spoiled poor mother’s work.’ As she spoke, and lifted the child in her arms, a shadow darkened the threshold of the open door, and, glancing up, she encountered the eyes of Frederick Walcheren fixed upon her. Rhoda rose in the utmost confusion. She did not know what to say to him. She was as timid of being caught with the child in her arms as if Frederick had never heard of its existence. The first words she stammered were,-- ‘_You!_ Oh, why have you come down here?’ ‘Expressly to see you, Rhoda,’ he replied, ‘seeing that I know no one else in Luton. And so this is the little chap, is it? He is a sturdy fellow. And his eyes and hair are very dark, Rhoda.’ ‘Yes,’ she answered in a low voice. She could not understand why, under their present circumstances, Frederick should care to allude to the likeness between her child and himself. It jarred upon her. She put the baby down on the ground and began plaiting the straw again. ‘Mayn’t I come in? Are you not going to ask me to sit down? I am rather tired,’ said Frederick Walcheren, ‘and I have a good many things to talk to you about.’ ‘Oh! yes, forgive me,’ she replied, as she rose and set a chair for her visitor at the opposite side of the little room. ‘Are you very much surprised to see me here, Rhoda?’ he commenced. ‘Yes! very! It is so unexpected. I don’t know what mother will say,’ replied the girl, in an uncertain tone. ‘I hope I may be able to relieve her mind. But you haven’t looked at me, Rhoda.’ She raised her eyes then, and gave a little exclamation of surprise. ‘Oh! what is changed in you? What have you done to yourself? You look so different!’ ‘Cannot you see? I am in plain clothes.’ She recognised the alteration then. He wore a rough suit of grey tweed, such as gentlemen sport in the country, with a coloured tie, and a round hat. ‘You have discarded your cassock! What does this mean? Have you--can you really have left the Church?’