The years had brought the two women no nearer, rather the reverse indeed. Mrs. Trupp was soaring always into heaven: Mrs. Caspar chained to her prison-cell on earth. "She's a good woman," said Mrs. Trupp of Ruth, with stubborn gentleness. "I don't know a better." "But she's had a illegitimate child. It's sin! It's wickedness!" "I know she's made a mistake," replied the other in her even voice. "But it's not for you and me to judge her. You and I were able to marry the men we loved. If we hadn't been...." "I should have stood up!" harshly. "You can't say," said Mrs. Trupp, calm as the other was ferocious. "You don't know. We've never been tested." Then the devil entered into her as it does sometimes into the holiest of women, a naughty devil, very mischievous, who loathed Pharisaism and loved to persecute it.... "_Besides, should we have been right to stand up?_" Anne Caspar gasped. The lady wetted her cotton delicately, and threaded her needle against the dying light. "It's a nice point," she added in her charming voice. Anne tramped home, meeting Mr. Pigott on the hill. He stopped to speak to her, but she trudged on surlily. "The world's gone mad," she said. "It's time it come to an end. It's a bad un." Mr. Pigott went on to the Manor-house to put his question. "Is she all right?" he asked--"This girl of Ernie's." "Right as rain," answered Mrs. Trupp. "But she's had a _rotten_ time." There was no doubt that Alf was deeply stirred by this new happening in his brother's life. The whole of him resented it with the fury of a baffled sea. Ern was about to possess a beautiful woman Alf had desired, and Ern was Alf's brother. That deep-seated sense of competition and ineradicable jealousy that exists between members of a family--as profound and disruptive a force as any to be found in human consciousness, dating back as it does to the fierce struggles of nursery days--was at work within him. As always in moments of conflict, he had recourse to his spiritual director. The Reverend Spink was a sleek little man, solid in body if not in mind, and full of rather shoddy enthusiasms. "Poor old Ernie!" said Alf. "He's been a bad brother to me. I will say that for him. But I wouldn't wish my worst friend to come to _that_." "But you must save him from himself!" cried the curate. "Go out into the highways and hedges and _drag them in!_--that's the command. Fling out the life-line!" and he flung out a plump little arm clothed in best broadcloth to show how it was done. Alf nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said. "I'll save him--if he is to be saved." He rose up grandly, loving himself. "Cover me with hinsults; crucify me 'ands and feet; strike me in the face like as not. But I'll face it all. No cross, no crown, as the s'yin is." He went out on his errand of mercy. In a few moments he was round at the rooms of the lost sheep. Ernie was at home. "You know I wish you well, Ernest, don't you?" he began painfully.