“My only desire is to shield my pretty Gertrude’s head from the wrath that may be bottled up for her.”

Edna looked up fixedly into the deep, glittering eyes that watched hers, and answered quietly: 

“Mr. Murray, if you love her half as well as I do, you will be more careful in the future not to subject her to the opening of the vials of wrath.”

He laughed contemptuously, and exclaimed: 

“You are doubtless experienced in such matters, and fully competent to advise me.”

“No, sir; it does not concern me, and I presume neither to criticise nor to advise.  Please be so good as to detain me no longer, and believe me when I repeat that I have no intention whatever of meddling with any of your affairs, or reporting your actions.”

Putting his hands suddenly on her shoulders, he stooped, looked keenly at her, and she heard him mutter an oath.  When he spoke again it was through set teeth: 

“You will be wise if you adhere to that decision.  Tell them at home not to wait supper for me.”

He sprang into his saddle and rode toward the village; and Edna hurried homeward, asking herself: 

“What first took Mr. Murray to the blacksmith’s hovel?  Why is he so anxious that his visits should remain undiscovered?  After all, is there some latent nobility in his character?  Is he so much better or worse than I have thought him?  Perhaps his love for Gertrude has softened his heart, perhaps that love may be his salvation.  God grant it!  God grant it!”

The evening breeze rose and sang solemnly through the pine trees, but to her it seemed only to chant the melancholy refrain, “My pretty Gertrude, my pretty Gertrude.”

The chill light of stars fell on the orphan’s pathway, and over her pale features, where dwelt the reflection of a loneliness—­a silent desolation, such as she had never realized, even when her grandfather was snatched from her clinging arms.  She passed through the orchard, startling a covey of partridges that nestled in the long grass, and a rabbit that had stolen out under cover of dusk; and when she came to the fountain, she paused and looked out over the dark, quiet grounds.

Hitherto duty had worn a smiling, loving countenance, and walked gently by her side as she crossed the flowery vales of girlhood; now, the guide was transformed into an angel of wrath, pointing with drawn sword to the gate of Eden.

As the girl’s light fingers locked themselves tightly, her beautiful lips uttered mournfully: 

  “What hast thou done, O soul of mine
   That thou tremblest so? 
   Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line
   He bade thee go? 
   Ah! the cloud is dark, and day by day
   I am moving thither: 
   I must pass beneath it on my way—­
   God pity me!  Whither?”

When Mrs. Murray went to her own room later than usual that night, she found Edna sitting by the table, with her Bible lying open on her lap, and her eyes fixed on the floor.