A smile of relief and joy irradiated the face of Miss Arnott. The burden of years seemed to fall from her shoulders, and her eyes brightened like those of a young girl. With a swift motion she gathered her shawl round her graceful figure, and stepped lightly towards the door. "Go on your errand of mercy," she said in low tones, "and when you return come to me." "Miss Arnott! Miss Arnott!" called the minister, nervously; but she was gone, and he could not summon up courage to follow her. When Johnson was on his road to Bethdagon he thought less of his errand than was consistent with the interest it had for him. The last words of Miss Arnott rang in his ears; the look on her face was constantly before his eyes. He knew well that his confession had inspired her with a new hope, and he did not know exactly what to think of it. His love for Tera had not been transferred to Miss Arnott. Yet the woman had done him a great kindness in the most delicate manner. He was her debtor to a large amount in money, and in gratitude, yet he could see no way save one of repaying her. That way he hesitated to take. He respected her, but he had no love to bestow; and he pursued his journey agitated in his mind as to what he had best do under such untoward circumstances. If Johnson had been a strong man with a well-defined character he would have decided at once and held by his decision; but he was weak-willed, gentle, and loth to give pain. It was a knowledge of this instability that made Miss Arnott so persistent in her determination. The woman knew that in the end she would gain her heart's desire. The man had an inkling of it too, yet fought and argued and held back in the vain effort to avoid the inevitable. Poor Mr. Johnson! He was good, and lovable, and tender-hearted, but he lacked the strength to be a hero. Yet in his weakness was he not more heroic than many in their strength? Farmer Carwell was waiting for the minister. He looked much older, for the terrible experiences of the previous night had proved a severe shock to his nerves. Jack, he informed Johnson, had gone to the schooner in answer to a message from Shackel. Tera was looking after the house, so far as she was able in her untrained way, and Rachel was nursing Herbert. "Nursing Herbert?" repeated Johnson, for this was the last news he expected to hear; "has she forgiven him?" Carwell did not reply at once. He brought out two chairs, and planted them in a shady corner where the sun was strong. "I don't know if she has forgiven him," he said when they were seated; "women are strange in their affections, and Rachel is no exception. Mayne has done her a cruel wrong, and if he were in his usual health and strength I do not think she would let him come near her. But now he is laid low, she will hardly leave his bedside. She would not even let him be removed to his own house. I was unwilling that the scoundrel should stay here, but Rachel insisted, and so I gave way." "Is he dying?"