“Why, Karen?”

“Because I aint much better than a fool,” she said, putting her other hand to her eyes.  “But ye’re one of the Lord’s precious ones, Governor; he will have service of ye, wherever ye be.”

Winthrop wrung her hand.  Quitting her, he saw his sister waiting for him at the kitchen door.  She let him come within it, and then holding up her Bible which had hung in one hand, she pointed with her finger to these words where she had it open; —­

“God now commandeth all men everywhere to repent.”

Her finger was under the word ‘now.’  She added nothing, except with her eyes, which went wistfully, searchingly, beggingly, into his; till a film of tears gathered, and the book fell, and her arms went round him again and her face was hid.

“I know, dear Winnie,” he said softly, stooping to her after the silent embrace had lasted a minute. —­ “I must go —­ kiss me.”

There was a great deal in her kiss, of hope and despair; and then he was gone; and she stood at the window looking after him as long as a bit of him could be seen; clearing away the tears from her eyes that she might watch the little black speck of the boat, as it grew less and less, further and further off down the river.  Little speck as it was, he was in it.

The world seemed to grow dark as she looked, —­ in two ways.  The heavy rain clouds that covered the sky stooped lower down and hung their grey drapery on the mountains more thick and dark.  But it did not rain yet, nor till Winifred turned wearily away from the window, saying that “they had got there;” —­ meaning that the little black speck on the water had reached the little white and brown spot on the shore which marked the place of Cowslip’s Mill.  Then the clouds began to fringe themselves off into rain, and Cowslip’s Mill was soon hid, and river and hills were all grey under their thick watery veil.  “But Governor will be in the stage, mamma,” said Winifred.  “He won’t mind it.”

Poor Winifred!  Poor Governor! —­ He was not in the stage.  There was no room for him.  His only choice was to take a seat beside the driver, unless he would wait another day; and he never thought of waiting.  He mounted up to the box, and the stage-coach went away with him; while more slowly and soberly the little boat set its head homewards and pulled up through the driving rain.

It rained steadily, and all things soon owned the domination of the watery clouds.  The horses, the roads, the rocks, the stage-coach, and the two outsiders, who submitted for a long distance in like silence and quiet; though with the one it was the quiet of habit and with the other the quiet of necessity.  Or it might be of abstraction; for Winthrop’s mind took little heed to the condition of his body.