“May the better reward be yours,” said Mr. Markland, fervently.  His heart was touched by this real but unobtrusive kindness.

“When do you purpose leaving here?” next inquired Mr. Willet.

“As early as I can make arrangements for removing my family,” was answered.

“Where do you think of going?”

“Into the city.”

“Would you not prefer remaining in this pleasant neighbourhood?  I do not see how my mother and sisters are going to give you all up.  Mrs. Markland has already won her way into all their affections, and they have mourned over your misfortunes as deeply, I believe, as if they had been our own.  Pardon the freedom of speech which is only a warm heart-utterance, when I say that there is a beauty in the character of Mrs. Markland that has charmed us all; and we cannot think of losing her society.  Walker told me to-day that his wife was dissatisfied with a country life, and that he was going to sell his pleasant cottage.  I offered him his price, and the title-deeds will be executed to-morrow.  Will you do me the favour to become my tenant?  The rent is two hundred and fifty dollars.”

Mr. Willet spoke very earnestly.  It was some moments before there was any reply.  Then Mr. Markland raised his eyes from the floor, and said, in a low voice, that slightly trembled—­

“I saw a house advertised for rent in the city, to-day, which I thought would suit us.  It was small, and the rent three hundred dollars.  On learning the owner’s name, I found that he was an old business friend, with whom I had been quite intimate, and so called upon him.  His reception of me was not over cordial.  When I mentioned my errand, he hesitated in his replies, and finally hinted something about security for the rent.  I left him without a word.  To have replied without an exposure of unmanly weakness would have been impossible.  Keenly, since my misfortunes, have I felt the change in my relations to the world; but nothing has wounded me so sharply as this!  Mr. Willet, your generous interest in my welfare touches my heart!  Let me talk with my family on the subject.  I doubt not that we will accept your offer thankfully.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

“OUR Father in heaven never leaves us in a pathless desert,” said Mrs. Markland, light breaking through her tear-filled eye.  Her husband had just related the conversation held with Mr. Willet.  “When the sun goes down, stars appear.”

“A little while ago, the desert seemed pathless, and no star glittered in the sky,” was answered.

“Yet the path was there, Edward; you had not looked close enough to your feet,” replied his wife.

“It was so narrow that it would have escaped my vision,” he said, faintly sighing.

“If it were not the safest way for you and for all of us, it would not be the only one now permitted our feet to tread.”

“Safest it may be for me; but your feet could walk, securely, a pathway strewn with flowers.  Ah me! the thought that my folly—­”