Mark dropped from his height much faster than he had mounted, and stood before his employer with his face flushed to crimson, and too much ashamed to lift up his eyes. “Get you gone,” continued the farmer, “for a hypocrite and a rogue; you need try none of your canting on me. Not one hour longer shall you remain in my employ; you’re on the high road to the gallows.” Mark turned away in silence, with an almost bursting heart, and feelings that bordered on despair. With what an account of himself was he to return to his home, to meet the scoffs and jests which he had too well deserved? What discredit would his conduct bring on his religion! How his profane companions would triumph in his fall! The kind and pitying clergyman would regard him as a hypocrite—would feel disappointed in him. Bitter was the thought. All his firm resolves had snapped like thread in the flame, and his hopes of winning heaven had vanished. CHAPTER IV. GOD’S GIFT OF GRACE. “Ye cannot be justified by the works of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his burden.”—_Pilgrim’s Progress._ “What ails you my young friend?—has anything painful happened?” said a kindly voice, and a hand was gently laid upon the shoulder of Mark, who was lying on the grass amidst the ruins of the old Abbey, his face leaning on his arms, and turned towards the earth, while short convulsive sobs shook his frame. “Oh, sir!” exclaimed Mark, as a momentary glance enabled him to recognize Mr. Ewart. “Let me know the cause of your sorrow,” said the clergyman, seating himself on a large stone beside him. “Rise, and speak to me with freedom.” Mark rose, but turned his glowing face aside; he was ashamed to look at his companion. “Sit down there,” said Mr. Ewart, feeling for the boy’s evident confusion and distress; “perhaps you are not yet aware that I have endeavoured to serve you—to procure you a situation with Farmer Joyce?” “I have had it, and lost it,” replied Mark abruptly. “Indeed, I am sorry to hear that. I trust that no fault has occasioned your removal.” “I stole his fruit,” said Mark, determined at least to hide nothing from his benefactor; “he turned me off, and he called me a hypocrite. I am bad enough,” continued the boy, in an agitated tone; “no one but myself knows how bad; but I am _not_ a hypocrite—I am _not_!” “God forbid!” said Mr. Ewart; “but how did all this happen?” “I was thirsty, it tempted me, and I took it. I broke all my resolutions, and now he cast me off, and you will cast me off, and the pure holy God, He will cast me off too! I shall never be worthy of heaven!” “Did you think that you could ever be worthy of heaven?” said the clergyman, and paused for a reply. Then receiving none from Mark, he continued—“Not you, nor I, nor the holiest man that ever lived, One excepted, who was not only man, but God, was ever _worthy_ of the kingdom of heaven.” Mark looked at him in silent surprise.