"Do you ever read the thirty-second Psalm, mother?" "Which? Why not, child?" "Let us read it together then, now." And Grace, taking up her own Bible, sat quietly down and read, as none in that parish save she could read: "Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, and whose sin is covered. "Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile. "When I kept silence, my bones waxed old, through my groaning all the day long. "For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me; my moisture is turned to the drought of summer. "I acknowledge my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. "I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin." Grace stopped, choked with tears which the pathos of her own voice had called up. She looked at her mother. There were no tears in her eyes: only a dull thwart look of terror and suspicion. The shaft, however bravely and cunningly sped, had missed its mark. Poor Grace! Her usual eloquence utterly failed her, as most things do in which one is wont to trust, before the pressure of a real and horrible evil. She had no heart to make fine sentences, to preach a brilliant sermon of commonplaces. What could she say that her mother had not known long before she was born? And throwing herself on her knees at her mother's feet, she grasped both her hands and looked into her face imploringly,--"Mother! mother! mother!" was all that she could say: but their tone meant more than all words.--Reproof, counsel, comfort, utter tenderness, and under-current of clear deep trust, bubbling up from beneath all passing suspicions, however dark and foul, were in it: but they were vain. Baser terror, the parent of baser suspicion, had hardened that woman's heart for the while; and all she answered was,-- "Get up! what is this foolery?" "I will not! I will not rise till you have told me." "What?" "Whether"--and she forced the words slowly out in a low whisper, "whether you know--anything of--of--Mr. Thurnall's money--his belt?" "Is the girl mad! Belt! Money? Do you take me for a thief, wench!" "No! no! no! Only say you--you know nothing of it!" "Psha! girl! Go to your school:" and the old woman tried to rise. "Only say that! only let me know that it is a dream--a hideous dream which the devil put into my wicked, wicked heart--and let me know that I am the basest, meanest of daughters for harbouring such a thought a moment! It will be comfort, bliss, to what I endure! Only say that, and I will crawl to your feet, and beg for your forgiveness,--ask you to beat me, like a child, as I shall deserve! Drive me out, if you will, and let me die, as I shall deserve! Only say the word, and take this fire from before my eyes, which burns day and night,--till my brain is dried up with misery and shame! Mother, mother, speak!"