like a bride's, and the other was black and
red, which is being interpreted a violent death.
And when thou didst choose the latter the
spirit said unto me, 'Come!' and I came, and
did as I was bidden. I put it on thee with
mine own hands, as it is preordained if thou
wilt not hearken unto the voice and be my
wife. And when the black and red dress fell
to the ground, thou wert even as a corpse three
days old. Now, be advised, Lois, in time. Lois,
my cousin, I have seen it in a vision, and my
soul cleaveth unto thee —I would fain spare
thee."

He was really in earnest—in passionate
earnest; whatever his visions, as he called them,
might be, he believed in them, and this belief
gave something of unselfishness to his love for
Lois. This she felt at this moment, if she had
never done so before, and it seemed like a
contrast to the repulse she had just met with from
his sister. He had drawn, near her, and now he
took hold of her hand, repeating in his wild,
pathetic, dreamy way,

"And the voice said unto me, ' Marry Lois!'"
And Lois was more inclined to soothe and reason
with him than she had ever been before since
the first time of his speaking to her on the
subject, when Grace Hickson and Prudence entered
the room from the passage. They had returned
from the prayer meeting by the back way, which
had prevented the sound of their approach from
being heard.

But Manasseh did not stir or look round; he
kept his eyes fixed on Lois, as if to note the
effect of his words. Grace came hastily
forwards, and, lifting up her strong right arm,
smote their joined hands in twain, in spite of
the fervour of Manasseh's grasp.

"What means this?" said she, addressing
herself more to Lois than to her son, anger flashing
out of her deep-set eyes.

Lois waited for Manasseh to speak. He
seemed but a few minutes before to be more
gentle and less threatening than he had been of
late on this subject, and she did not wish to
irritate him. But he did not speak, and her
aunt stood angrily waiting for an answer.

"At any rate," thought Lois, " it will put an
end to the thought in his mind when my aunt
speaks out about it."

"My cousin seeks me in marriage," said Lois.

"Thee!" and Grace struck out in the direction
of her niece with a gesture of supreme
contempt. But now Mauasseh spoke forth:

"Yea! it is preordained. The voice has said
it, and the spirit has brought her to me as my
bride."

"Spirit! an evil spirit then. A good spirit
would have chosen out for thee a godly maiden
of thine own people, and not a prelatist and a
stranger like this girl. A pretty return, Mistress
Lois, for all our kindness."

"Indeed, Aunt Hickson, I have done all I
could—Cousin Manasseh knows it—to show him
I can be none of his. I have told him," said she,
blushing, but determined to say all out at once,
"that I am all but troth-plight to a young man
of our own village at home; and, even putting
all that on one side, I wish not for marriage at
present."

"Wish rather for conversion and regeneration.
Marriage is an unseemly word in the
mouth of a maiden. As for Manasseh, I will
take reason with him in private; and, meanwhile,
if thou hast spoken truly, throw not thyself in
his path, as I have noticed thou hast done but
too often of late."

Lois's heart burnt within her at this unjust
accusation, for she knew how much she had
dreaded and avoided her cousin, and she almost
looked to him to give evidence that her aunt's
last words were not true. But, instead, he
recurred to his one fixed idea, and said:

"Mother, listen. If I wed not Lois, both
she and I die within the year. I care not for
life; before this, as you know, I have sought for
death" (Grace shuddered, and was for a moment
subdued by some recollection of past horror),
"but if Lois were my wife I should live, and she
would be spared from what is the other lot.
That whole vision grows clearer to me day by
day. Yet, when I try to know whether I am
one of the elect, all is dark. The mystery of
Free Will and Fore Knowledge is a mystery of
Satan's devising, not of God's."

"Alas, my son, Satan is abroad among the
brethren even now; but let the old vexed topics
rest. Sooner than fret thyself again, thou shalt
have Lois to be thy wife, though my heart was
set far differently for thee."

"No, Manasseh," said Lois. " I love you well
as a cousin, but wife of yours I can never be.
Aunt Hickson, it is not well to delude him so.
I say if ever I marry man I am troth-plight to
one in England."

"Tush, child! I am your guardian in my
dead husband's place. Thou thinkest thyself so
great a prize that I would clutch at thee whether
or no, I doubt not. I value thee not, save as a
medicine for Manasseh, if his mind get disturbed
again, as I have noted signs of late."

This, then, was the secret explanation of much
that had alarmed her in her cousin's manner;
and if Lois had been a physician of modern
times she might have traced somewhat of the
same temperament in his sisters as well—in
Prudence's lack of natural feeling and impish
delight in mischief, in Faith's vehemence of
unrequited love. But as yet Lois did not know,
any more than Faith, that the attachment of the
latter to Mr. Nolan was not merely
unreturned, but even unperceived, by the young
minister.

He came, it is true, came often to the house,
sat long with the family, and watched them
narrowly, but took no especial notice of Faith.
Lois perceived this, and grieved over it; Nattee
perceived it, and was indignant at it, long
before Faith slowly acknowledged it to herself,
and went to Nattee the Indian woman, rather
than to Lois her cousin, for sympathy and
counsel.

"He cares not for me," said Faith. " He
cares more for Lois's little finger than for my