“No—­but no one ever was good to me before.”

“Yes; all about you lived under a cruel error, and you helped them in it.  But if you had not a better nature in you, my poor child, you would not be happy here and thankful for what we can do for you.”

“I was like some one else here,” said Peregrine, picking a daisy to pieces, “but they stirred it all up.  And at home I shall be just the same as ever I was.”

She longed to tell him that there was hope of a change in his life, but she durst not till it was more certain, so she said—­

“There was One who came to conquer the evil spirit and the evil nature, and to give each one of us the power to get the victory.  The harder the victory, the more glorious!” and her eyes sparkled at the thought.

He caught a moment’s glow, then fell back.  “For those that are chosen,” he said.

“You are chosen—­you were chosen by your baptism.  You have the stirrings of good within you.  You can win and beat back the evil side of you in Christ’s strength, if you will ask for it, and go on in His might.”

The boy groaned.  Mrs. Woodford knew that the great point with him would be to teach him to hope and to pray, but the very name of prayer had been rendered so distasteful to him that she scarce durst press the subject by name, and her heart sank at the thought of sending him home again, but she was glad to be interrupted, and said no more.

At night, however, she heard sounds of moaning and stifled babbling that reminded her of his times of delirium, and going into his room she found him tossing and groaning so that it was manifestly a kindness to wake him; but her gentle touch occasioned a scream of terror, and he started aside with open glassy eyes, crying, “Oh take me not!”

“My dear boy!  It is I. Perry, do you not know me?”

“Oh, madam!” in infinite relief, “it is you.  I thought—­I thought I was in elfland and that they were paying me for the tithe to hell;” and he still shuddered all over.

“No elf—­no elf, dear boy; a christened boy—­God’s child, and under His care;” and she began the 121st Psalm.

“Oh, but I am not under His shadow!  The Evil One has had me again!  He will have me.  Aren’t those his claws?  He will have me!”

“Never, my child, if you will cry to God for help.  Say this with me, ‘Lord, be Thou my keeper.’”

He did so, and grew more quiet, and she began to repeat Dr. Ken’s evening hymn, which had become known in manuscript in Winchester.  It soothed him, and she thought he was dropping off to sleep, but no sooner did she move than he started with “There it is again—­the black wings—­the claws—­” then while awake, “Say it again!  Oh, say it again.  Fold me in your prayers—­you can pray.”  She went back to the verse, and he became quiet, but her next attempt to leave him caused an entreaty that she would remain, nor could she quit him till the dawn, happily very early, was dispelling the terrors of the night, and then, when he had himself murmured once—­