“Save him from his sins!” thought the peasant boy, who, with his full earnest eyes fixed upon Mr. Ewart, had been drinking in every word that he uttered; “save him from his sins! I should not have thought it strange had he crawled the whole way on his knees!” “Are there any pilgrims now?” inquired Fontonore. “In Romanist countries there are still many pilgrimages made by those who know not, as we do, the one only way by which sinners can be accounted righteous before a pure God. But in one sense, Charles, we all should be pilgrims, travellers in the narrow path that leads to salvation, passing on in our journey from earth to heaven, with the cross not in our hands but in our hearts; pilgrims, not to the tomb of a crucified Saviour, but to the throne of that Saviour in glory!” Charles listened with reverence, as he always did when his tutor spoke of religion, but his attention was nothing compared to that of the peasant, who for the first time listened to conversation on a subject which had lately been filling all his thoughts. He longed to speak, to ask questions of the clergyman, but a feeling of awe kept him back; he only hoped that the gentleman would continue to talk, and felt vexed when he was interrupted by three children who ran up to the stranger to ask for alms. “Begging is a bad trade, my friends,” said Mr. Ewart gravely, “I never like to encourage it in the young.” “We’re so hungry,” said the youngest of the party. “Mother’s dead, and father’s broke his leg!” cried another. “We want to get him a little food,” whined the third. “Do you live near?” asked Mr. Ewart. “Yes sir, very near.” “I will go and see your father,” said the clergyman. The little rogues, who were accustomed to idle about the ruin to gain pence from visitors by a tale of pretended woe, looked at each other in some perplexity at the offer, for though they liked money well enough, they were by no means prepared for a visit. At last Jack, the eldest, said with impudent assurance, “Father’s not there, he’s taken to the hospital, there’s only mother at home.” “Mother! you said just now that your mother was dead.” “I meant—” stammered the boy, quite taken by surprise; but the clergyman would not suffer him to proceed. “Do not add another untruth, poor child, to those which you have just uttered. Do you not know that there is One above the heavens who hears the words of your lips, reads the thoughts of your hearts—One who will judge, and can punish?” Ashamed and abashed, the three children made a hasty retreat. As soon as they were beyond sight and hearing of the strangers, Jack turned round and made a mocking face in their direction, and Madge exclaimed in an insolent tone, “We weren’t going to stop for his sermon.” “There’s Mark there that would take it in every word, and thank him for it at the end,” said Jack. “Oh, Mark’s so odd!” cried Ben; “he’s never like anybody else. No one would guess him for our brother!”