But now, when the paroxysm of temptation was past, dread and despondency began to thrust themselves, like cold heavy mists, between her and the heaven to which she wanted to look for light and guidance.  The temptation would come again—­that rush of desire might overmaster her the next time—­she would slip back again into that deep slimy pit from which she had been once rescued, and there might be no deliverance for her more.  Her prayers did not help her, for fear predominated over trust; she had no confidence that the aid she sought would be given; the idea of her future fall had grasped her mind too strongly.  Alone, in this way, she was powerless.  If she could see Mr. Tryan, if she could confess all to him, she might gather hope again.  She must see him; she must go to him.

Janet rose from the ground, and walked away with a quick resolved step.  She had been seated there a long while, and the sun had already sunk.  It was late for her to walk to Paddiford and go to Mr. Tryan’s, where she had never called before; but there was no other way of seeing him that evening, and she could not hesitate about it.  She walked towards a footpath through the fields, which would take her to Paddiford without obliging her to go through the town.  The way was rather long, but she preferred it, because it left less probability of her meeting acquaintances, and she shrank from having to speak to any one.

The evening red had nearly faded by the time Janet knocked at Mrs. Wagstaff’s door.  The good woman looked surprised to see her at that hour; but Janet’s mourning weeds and the painful agitation of her face quickly brought the second thought, that some urgent trouble had sent her there.

‘Mr. Tryan’s just come in,’ she said.  ’If you’ll step into the parlour, I’ll go up and tell him you’re here.  He seemed very tired and poorly.’

At another time Janet would have felt distress at the idea that she was disturbing Mr. Tryan when he required rest; but now her need was too great for that:  she could feel nothing but a sense of coming relief, when she heard his step on the stair and saw him enter the room.

He went towards her with a look of anxiety, and said, ’I fear something is the matter.  I fear you are in trouble.’

Then poor Janet poured forth her sad tale of temptation and despondency; and even while she was confessing she felt half her burden removed.  The act of confiding in human sympathy, the consciousness that a fellow-being was listening to her with patient pity, prepared her soul for that stronger leap by which faith grasps the idea of the Divine sympathy.  When Mr. Tryan spoke words of consolation and encouragement, she could now believe the message of mercy; the water-floods that had threatened to overwhelm her rolled back again, and life once more spread its heaven-covered space before her.  She had been unable to pray alone; but now his prayer bore her own soul along with it, as the broad tongue of flame carries upwards in its vigorous leap the little flickering fire that could hardly keep alight by itself.