How many thoughts were awakened in the Pilgrim’s mind, as again he approached his home! There was the stile where the Bible had been found; there the stone upon which he had sat to read it, and felt such terror flash upon his mind at the words, “_The soul that sinneth, it shall die_;” there was the piece of ground which the children had been weeding, when he warned them, but vainly, to flee from the wrath to come. There was not a thistle now left on the spot; and as he looked at the earth, all cleared and prepared for seed, Mark silently prayed that the grace of God might likewise so prepare and make ready the hearts of his own little sister and brothers. He could see over the fields, at a little distance, the old ruin where he had first met Mr. Ewart; not a day had passed, since that meeting, in which Mark had not prayed with grateful affection for him whose words had been such a blessing to his soul. And now Mark stood at the door of the cottage; a loud, coarse voice which he heard from within announced to him, before he reached it, that John Dowley had returned. There were other things to show that a change had taken place, of which Mark became aware as he entered the cottage. A large pewter pot stood at the door, a black bottle and dirty pack of cards appeared on the table, a joint of meat was roasting before the fire, and Ann, who started with surprise on seeing him, wore a silk shawl and golden ear-rings. John must have returned with his pockets full of money. He was sitting at the table, a short, stout-built man, with a louring expression in his bleared eye, and a face flushed by intemperance; no one who beheld them together would have imagined him to be the father of the pale, thoughtful, intellectual boy, to whose greeting he returned no answer but something resembling a growl. Mark fancied that Ann looked sorry to see him; but that, perhaps, was no sign of unkindness. Jack, Madge, and Ben, sprang eagerly forward, full of news, and of things to show him. “See, Mark, what father has brought me!” “We’re getting so rich now!” “Look at my brooch and my bracelets!” Such were the sort of exclamations which, uttered all together, took the place of any words of welcome. Mark, in his secret heart, thanked Heaven that it was not his lot to remain in this place. “Sit down, Mark,” said Ann, looking joyless, notwithstanding her finery; “and be silent, you children, will you? One can’t hear one’s own voice, in the midst of so much noise.” The children might not have obeyed their mother very readily, had not a savage look from John seconded her words. “I thought that you had a good situation, Mark,” continued the woman; “you’ve not been so foolish as to leave it?” “You have not heard, then, of the fire which took place yesterday: poor Mr. Lowe has been burned out of house and home. But a far better situation has been offered to me. If you consent, and if father approve, I shall go to Yorkshire next week, with—”