“Gaze forth from the height, beside the mill at Cross-in-Hand, upon God’s beauteous world. See the graceful downs beyond the forest, stretching away as far as eye can reach, like a fairy scene. How lovely it all is; but let us penetrate beneath the canopy of leaves and the cottage roof. Ah, what suffering of man or beast they hide, where on the one hand the wolf, the fox, the wild cat, the hawk, the stoat, and all the birds and beasts of prey tear their victims, and nature’s hand is like a claw, red with blood—and on the other, beneath the cottage roofs, many a bed-ridden sufferer lies groaning with painful disease, many children mourn their sires, many widows and orphans feel that the light is withdrawn from the world, so far as they are concerned. “And yet is not God good? Doth He not love man and beast? Ah, yes; but sin hath brought death and pain into the world, and the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in bondage until now. “But meanwhile He hath made suffering the path to glory, and our light affliction, which is but for a moment, shall be rewarded with an eternity of joy, if we but put our whole trust in Him who was made perfect by sufferings, and but calls His weary servants to tread the road He trod before them.” And so, with an eloquence unsurpassed in the experience of his hearers, he drew all hearts to the Incarnate Love who wept, bled, died for them, and bade them see that Passion pictured in the Holy Mysteries, which were about to be celebrated before them, and to give Him their hearts’ oblation in union with the sacrifice. After the service the noon meat was spread in the castle hall, and afterwards Martin was invited to a private conference with the Lady Sybil. She received her nephew, as she already suspected him to be, in a little chamber of the tower long since pulled down. The scent of honeysuckle was borne in on the summer night air, and the rays of a full moon shone brightly through an open casement. At first the conversation was confined to the topic of Martin’s discourse, which we here omit, but afterwards the dame said: “My child, for thou art but a child in years to me, tell me why it is thy voice seems so familiar, and even the lineaments of thy countenance?” Martin was embarrassed and silent. He did not wish just now to reveal the secret of his relationship. “Tell me,” said she, “doth thy mother yet live?” “She doth.” “And proud must she be of her son.” He was still silent. “Brother Martin,” said she, “I had a sister once, a wilful capricious girl, but of a loving heart. We lost her early. She did not die, but yet died to her family. She ran away and married an outlaw chieftain. Our father said, leave her to the life she has chosen, and forbade all communication: but often has my heart yearned for my only sister.” She continued after a long pause: