the clergyman, "but the fact that the watchman set upon the walls has been so blind or negligent as to let the enemy creep up without seeing him, does not prevent his being there. The very subtlety he has shown, under the aid of his friend, the devil, makes him more, not less, dangerous."

"Wall; I hain't got not objection to yer preachin' agin the Papists, an' Babylon an' mass-mongerin' an' all them kinder heathen things, 'cause thet 's yer business an' we pay ye fur it; but I du say that 'cause a feller b'lieves so'thin' thet I don't, or don't b'lieve so'thin' thet I du, hain't no reason why a gang o' loafers sh'd drive him out o' town, an' mebbe get into a row with him an' maul him round."

"Their zeal may take a wrong method, but as a clergyman, I can forgive much to those who are zealous for the faith delivered to us by the fathers, who are anxious for the sake of religion pure and undefiled. That is the spirit of their fathers, who stood against king and bishop for the right to worship God in their own way, in humbleness and fear."

"An' tu make ev'rybody else du it tu," said Blanket. The fear of the clergyman had vanished and the spirit of defiance was blazing up. Craig saw it and was wise enough to seek a retreat before he was compelled to notice his parishioner's defection, and rebuke him for it.

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"It kinder seemed tu me, sense your sarmont hed started the mischief, it would n't be outer place fur ye to go over to the farm, an' ef wuss come to wuss, jest quiet the fellers down an' see thet no harm 's done."

"My sermon did not start what you are pleased to call 'the mischief.' That was done by Ashgrave in

bringing that Papist into town. I resent ycur implication that I'm responsible, and if I went there, I'd go to encourage the spirit that aims to rid this community of a son of the Harlot of Rome, an idolater

There came a quick rapping at the door and the voice of Mrs. Marlow calling in frightened excitement:

"Oh, Mr. Craig, Mr. Craig, come quick! The hull world's on fire: Jest see how it's a blazin' up beyond the hills back o' Joe Ashgrave's! If 't ain't the Day o' Jedgment, then it 's mighty close kin to it!"

CHAPTER XLI

BARNABY TO THE RESCUE

A

MANDA expected, on reaching the barn, to find the Canadian at work loosing the stock. Instead, she found only the beasts, already becoming excited under terror of the increasing blaze. Accustomed all her life to horses and cattle, she went among them with the confidence of a man, and her very fearlessness soothed and quieted them. When she had set open the rear door, she began unfastening the halters and stall-chains. Behind her, from the direction of the house, came the shouts of the mob and the crackling of flames. She could not distinguish Ashgrave's voice, even if he was speaking.

As she approached the cow-shed, she heard the opening of the door, followed by some one's entrance. Assured that it was the Canadian, she called that they were to get the cattle into the second pasture, as Ashgrave had directed. A chain rattled, as if it had been dropped, and a voice called through the gloom.

66 Amanda! You here?"

She recognised Barnaby, and under the shock for a moment leaned against the door-frame.

"Yes. I am trying to save the stock."

"Why did n't some of those fools out there come and do it?" He was at work loosing the cattle again.

She was bewildered by the question, and Barnaby, getting no answer, went on:

"They can't save the house, even if they 'd work instead of just shouting."

"They aren't trying to save it," she said, perceiving his mistake. "They set it on fire."

"What!" he exclaimed, walking beside her and making almost as if he would touch her as they drove the cattle into the pasture. "I saw the fire and came to help. I supposed they were trying to save the house, and as I came by the barn and heard the cattle, thought they had been forgotten."

She was too intent on the task to do much talking, but when they had got the herd into the second pasture and had replaced the bars, she suddenly said:

"You were to go away."

"I did n't promise."

The flames shot higher, and now and then a great spark of living coal fell on the roof of the barn or at their feet. She made no answer, and he came back to his first surprise.

"How came you here?" he asked.

"My husband wanted me to come to him and I came." She said it defiantly, under the feeling that he was placing more on her than he had a right, in thus remaining when she had commanded him to leave, and in tempting her to divided allegiance when by her act she was closing the door of retreat.

"You are going to live with that brute?" he demanded sharply.

"That brute," she repeated, a spirit of revolt against injustice becoming sharply dominant, "is fighting for his life against that mob. I may not get a chance to live or die with him."

She had not failed to understand something of Ashgrave's purpose in sending her from the house, and she

knew, as well as if she had seen it, that the door to the cellar was locked against her possible return. There had been something too in his speaking that word "we," when he said "we 'll have nothing but the land and stock," that stirred within her a new sense of the helplessness of this strong man, who before had carried everything by the force of his personality. It smote her woman's heart and made it tender for him, as it had not been since the day of the great transgression. It was this that stung her to ask for one kiss, and that had kindled that within her which warmed as she waited desolate the issue of the conflict waged within that fast widening circle of light.

"What has he done now?" Barnaby asked, the "now" slipping out against his will and making him curse himself for a blunderer.

"He hired a Catholic to work for him."

"But that can't explain all this," he said.

"It does, though. They tried to drive the boy away and attacked the house. Joe tried to keep 'em out and they set fire to it."

"My God!" exclaimed Barnaby; "and all because of a Catholic! But why does n't he come? It's a furnace in there by this time."

She suddenly bethought herself of blame.

"He's waiting to give time to save the stock. I must go and tell him."

"You'll stay here," declared Barnaby. "It's a man's job, if he needs help.”

She saw his face in a sharp flare of the flames, and knew that she could trust him. Then too she remembered her father's words, when she and Ashgrave left the farm, and formed a quick purpose to hasten home and appeal to him for the help that was so sorely needed.