"Oh yes," said Ellen, "that's it; I remember; that's like what he said, 'I am the good shepherd,' and 'the Lord is my shepherd;' I know now. Go on, please." He finished the hymn without more interruption. Looking again towards Ellen, he was surprised to see several large tears finding their way down her cheeks from under the wet eyelashes. But she quickly wiped them away. "What do you read them things for," said he, "if they make you feel bad?" "Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, they don't; they make me happy; I love them dearly. I never read that one before. You can't think how much I am obliged to you for reading it to me. Will you let me see where it is?" He gave it her. "Yes, there's his mark!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes. "Now, Mr. Van Brunt, would you be so very good as to read it once more?" He obeyed. It was easier this time. She listened as before with closed eyes, but the colour came and went once or twice. "Thank you very much," she said, when he had done. "Are you going?" "I must; I have some things to look after." She held his hand still. "Mr. Van Brunt, don't _you_ love hymns?" "I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen." "Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold?" "What fold?" "The fold of Christ's people." "I'm afeard not, Miss Ellen," said he soberly, after a minute's pause. "Because," said Ellen, bursting into tears, "I wish you were, very much." She carried the great brown hand to her lips before she let it go. He went without saying a word. But when he got out, he stopped and looked at a little tear she had left on the back of it. And he looked till one of his own fell there to keep it company. CHAPTER XXI Oh, that _had_, how sad a passage 'tis! --SHAKESPEARE. The next day, about the middle of the afternoon, a light step crossed the shed, and the great door opening gently, in walked Miss Alice Humphreys. The room was all "redd up," and Miss Fortune and her mother sat there at work, one picking over white beans at the table, the other in her usual seat by the fire, and at her usual employment, which was knitting. Alice came forward, and asked the old lady how she did. "Pretty well. Oh, pretty well!" she answered, with the look of bland good-humour her face almost always wore; "and glad to see you, dear. Take a chair." Alice did so, quite aware that the other person in the room was _not_ glad to see her. "And how goes the world with you, Miss Fortune?" "Humph! It's a queer kind of world, I think," answered that lady dryly, sweeping some of the picked beans into her pan. "I get a'most sick of it sometimes." "Why, what's the matter?" said Alice pleasantly. "May I ask, has anything happened to trouble you?" "Oh no," said the other somewhat impatiently. "Nothing that's any matter to any one but myself. It's no use speaking about it."