True to his Colours | Page 6

half-open doors and windows, to the
manifest detriment of the health of both mother and child. And what
was she to do, poor thing, in her hour of special trial and need?
Looking earnestly at her baby through her tears, she leaned eagerly and
breathlessly forward into the cradle. Was it gone? Was it really taken
from her? No; she could hear its disturbed breathing still. And then as
she knelt on, with clasped hands and throbbing heart, something
brought to her lips words of prayer: "O Lord! O Lord, have pity on me!
Oh, baby, baby!--don't take baby from me!"
Even that poor prayer gave her some relief, followed as it was by an
agony of weeping. Never had she uttered a word of prayer before since
the day she was married, and her own words startled her. Yet again and
again she felt constrained to make her simple supplication, pleading
earnestly for her baby's life with the God the reality of whose being and
power she now felt, spite of herself.
But what was that sound that made her spring up from her knees, and

listen with colourless cheeks and panting breath? She thought she heard
footsteps pass under the half-open window. There was no regular road
at the back of the house, but the premises could be approached in that
direction by a narrow path along the side of the hill which shut in the
buildings in the rear. Between the hill and the house was a back-yard
into which the parlour looked, and through this yard William would
sometimes come from his work; but ordinary visitors came to the front,
and trades-people to a side door on the left.
Could the footsteps have been those of her husband? And had he
paused to listen to her words of earnest and passionate prayer? If so,
she well knew what a torrent of ridicule and sarcastic reproach she
must prepare herself for. And yet the step did not sound like his. Alas!
she had learned to know it now too well! She dreaded it. There was no
music in it now for her. Perhaps she was mistaken. She listened eagerly;
all was still, and once more her eyes and heart turned towards the little
cradle, as the restless babe woke up with a start and a cry. So again she
knelt beside it, and, rocking it, gave free vent to her tears, and to words
of prayer, though uttered now more softly.
But there--there was that footstep again! There could be no mistake
about it now; and as certainly it was not her husband's tread. Annoyed
now that some intruder should be lurking about and listening to her
words, she was just going to ask angrily who was there, when the
casement was pushed cautiously a little more open, and a hand holding
a small book was thrust into the room.
Amazed, terrified, Kate stood up erect, and stared with parted lips at the
strange intrusion. What could it mean? The hand was that of a woman,
and there were rings on the fingers. It was but a moment that she had
time to mark these things; for before she could recover from her
surprise, the mysterious hand had dropped the book into the room, and
with it one of its rings, which rolled towards the hearth, sparkling as it
went. Then there was a rapid retreat of quiet footsteps outside, and all
was still again.
Taking up the ring, which had a red stone in the centre like a ruby, and
was seemingly of considerable value, after examining it for a moment,

she put it into her pocket, and then picked up the little book, which lay
on the floor where it had fallen, just underneath the window. She knew
what it was in a moment,--a small Bible. It was very old, and very
much worn, and had clearly done good service to its owner, or owners,
for many a long year. Sitting by the cradle, and rocking it with one
hand, she held the little volume in the other, and closely examined it.
The paper of which it was made was coarse, and the printing old-
fashioned. On the inside of the stiff cover was written in faded ink:--
Steal not this book for fear of shame, For here you see the owner's
name. June 10, 1798. Mary Williams.
Kate's perplexities only increased. But now her attention was drawn to
the words themselves of the book. As she turned over page after page,
she noticed that all the most striking texts were underlined with red- ink,
especially those which spoke of help in trouble, and of the mercy and
love of God. Her attention was now thoroughly aroused. Verse after
verse was read by her, with tearful eyes