'My boy, you do no wrong; this is no reproach, though I cannot but grieve and fear. But know you must now, that in you I present to God my great contrition; in you I dare look for His favourable grace made manifest; a human soul seeks in you to see on earth salvation.' Christian shrank before the passionate claim. His sense of raw, faulty youth was a painful shame, confronted by the bared remorse of this austere woman, whom his heart held as mother and saint. 'O God, help us,' he said, and his eyes were full of tears. 'Ay, Christian,' she said, 'so I prayed last night.' 'Mother,' he said, awed, 'what did you know? how did you know?' 'Nothing, nothing, only great fear for you, and that sprung of a dream. Often the wind and the waves have crept into my sleep and stolen you from me. Last night I dreamed you lay dead, and not alone; by you lay my little one, a small, white, naked shape crouched dead at your side. I woke in great fear for you; it would not pass, though the night was still; it grew rather, for it was a fear of worse than death for you. Yes, I prayed.' Through his brain swept a vision, moonlighted, of the fair witch's haunt, and her nude shape dominant as she condemned him. The omniscience of God had been faint sustenance then compared with this feeble finite shadow of the same that shot thrilling through the spirit of the boy. So are we made. Outside a heavy step sounded, and a voice hailed Christian. 'Here, boy, lend a hand.' He swung out into the clear world. There Giles, empty-handed, made for the rear linhay, and faced round with a puckered brow. 'What the devil have you been up to?' 'Trying her paces,' said Christian. 'Who's to blame then--you or she?' 'Oh, not she!' said Christian hastily, jealous for the credit of his new possession. 'Well, well, that ever such a duffer should be bred up by me,' grumbled Giles. 'Out with it all, boy. How came it?' Christian shut his mouth and shook his head. 'What's this? Don't play the fool. As it is, you've set the quay buzzing more than enough.' 'Who cares?' 'And you've broken Philip's head within two minutes of touching, I believe.' ''Twas done out of no ill-will,' protested Christian. 'A dozen swarmed over, for all the world as if she were just carrion for them to rummage like crabs. So I hitched one out again--the biggest by preference,--and he slipped as you called to speed me off here. If he took it ill, 'tis no great matter to square.' 'I would for this once he or any were big enough to break your head for you as well as you deserve,' said Giles savagely. 'We're of a mind there,' said Christian, meekly and soberly. Giles perversely took this as a scoff, and fumed.