Leaving the hall, Douglas walked slowly up the road. He had partly expected to find Ben waiting outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. Douglas had not gone far, however, ere an auto overtook him and went by at great speed. He knew very well who was the driver, though he could not tell how many were in the car. He smiled grimly to himself as he thought of Ben's anger, and he wondered in what way he would try to wreak a suitable revenge. He realised now that the Stubbles were his principal opponents in the place, and he felt quite sure that they had been the chief cause of the trouble in church affairs in the past. Why did the people allow them to rule in such an autocratic way? he asked himself. Surely there was some one strong enough to oppose their pride and impudence.

It was a beautiful evening, and Douglas was in no hurry to reach home. Several teams overtook him, and as they approached, the animated voices became stilled. All knew the silent man walking alone in the night, and they waited until they were well past before resuming their conversation.

At length he came to the brow of the hill where it dipped into the valley, and here a most glorious scene was presented to his view. Beyond, lay the river, without a ripple disturbing its surface. Above, shone the moon, and across the water a stream of light lay like a path of burnished silver, leading to a world of enchantment beyond. Douglas' heart was deeply stirred at the sight, and he sat down under a fir which stood on the edge of a clump of trees, and leaned back against the trunk. He feasted his soul upon the magnificent panorama before him. It was just what he needed to dispel the miasma which had been gathering around him owing to his recent contact with the Stubbles. The air, rich and fragrant with the scent of new-mown hay, stimulated him like a magic elixir. Mother Nature was in one of her most gentle moods, and with unseen fingers soothed both heart and brain of her ardent worshipper.

Ere long, the sound of voices fell upon his ears, causing him to listen attentively. Several people were walking slowly along the road discussing the incident at the hall.

"He's in for it now, all right." It was a man who spoke.

"What can Ben do?" It was a woman who asked the question. "He was given the chance to fight it out there and then, but he acted like a fool."

"Ha, ha, Ben was cornered for once to-night. It needed a stranger to bring him to his senses."

"Who is that man, anyway? I liked the way he behaved, and his playing was so nice."

Douglas could not hear what the man said in reply, though he longed to know. It gave him a degree of comfort, however, to feel that all did not blame him for the disturbance at the hall. He knew how necessary it was to win the good will of the people in general if he expected to work among them in the future.

For some time he sat there, and then continued on his way. He had just reached the foot of the hill when he saw some one coming toward him. Soon he was able to recognise the form of Joe Benton, the shoemaker.

"You are out late to-night," Douglas accosted. "You seem to be in a great hurry. Is anything wrong?"

Joe came up close and looked keenly into the young man's face.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he panted. "Have you seen anything of my lass?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"No?" There was something so pathetic about the way that single word was uttered, that Douglas' heart ached for the old man.

"When did she leave home?" he asked.

"Just after supper."

"Oh, she'll come back all right, never fear."

"Ah, but Jean's so changed," and Joe clutched Douglas by the arm. "She's not what she used to be. Before she went to the city I had no fear about her not coming home in proper time. But now it is different. There's something troubling the lass, and I believe her mind is affected. Oh, it is terrible!"

"Has she told you anything?"

"No, not a word. It's not like Jean. She used to tell us everything.
She was a child then; but now—Lord have mercy upon her!"

As Douglas stood there watching the heart-broken old man, a sudden idea flashed into his mind. Had he really seen Jean? Was it her face he had beheld at the hall door? Yes, he felt almost certain that it was she, the same woman he had rescued from the water of the harbour. But what should he do? Dare he tell Joe all about it, and how Ben Stubbles had tried to destroy her?

As he thought over these things, the shoemaker was standing looking out over the fields. Only by the light of the moon could Douglas see his face, and he noticed that it was very haggard. But he could not see the fire of anger which was kindling in his eyes. Only when the bent form straightened itself with a jerk, and a tense arm was thrust out, did he fully realise the greatness of his emotion.

"My Jean is not to blame," he cried. "She is as innocent as a child.
Some villain has injured her, and I must find him. And when I do——"

"You will forgive him," Douglas added, as Joe paused for lack of suitable words to express his wrath.

"Forgive him! Why should I forgive a man who has ruined my lass?"

"Because you are so bidden by the Great Master."

Joe looked quickly up into his companion's face, and his body somewhat relaxed.

"But did he ever suffer like this?" he questioned.

"Surely you know what he endured."

"Ay, ay, I have read it all. But look, I could bear all that easier than this. I could stand to have my body torn to pieces bit by bit rather than see my darling child, my baby, injured. Was His suffering anything like mine?"

"'God so loved the world that he gave his only Begotten Son,'" Douglas quoted. "Have you forgotten what He said?"

Joe made no reply. A great struggle was going on in his heart between right and wrong, and Douglas pitied him. Just then the sound of some one hurrying across the field diverted their attention. In a moment Empty had leaped the fence and stopped suddenly before them. He was startled to see the two men standing there, and peered intently into their faces.

"Gee!" he exclaimed. "Ye nearly jolted me to slivers."

"Empty, have you seen my Jean?" Joe eagerly enquired.

"Sure. She's out on the hills. I was jist hustlin' to tell ye."

"On the hills!" Joe repeated. "What is she doing but there?"

"Search me! I don't know what she's doin' there, an' I guess she doesn't."

"W-what do you mean?" There was an anxious note in the old man's voice.

"Well, she's been wanderin' round there fer some time now, talkin' to herself strange like, an' singin'. She gives me the shivers, that's what she does. It ain't nat'ral fer Jean to be actin' that way. Ye'd better come an' see fer yerself."

Silently the two men followed Empty across the field, and up the side of a hill. At the top was a fence, and as they came to this, Empty paused and peered cautiously through the rails, and held up a warning finger.

"S-s-h," he whispered. "There she is now. Ye kin jist see her. She's comin' this way. Listen; she's singin'!"

This hill had been used as a sheep pasture for many years. It was a desolate place, devoid of trees, and full of stones. Looking across this barren waste, Douglas was soon able to detect the form of a woman silhouetted against the sky. Yes, she was singing, and he was able to recognise the words:

"Truer love can never be;
Will ye no come back to me?"

Joe could now restrain himself no longer. With the cry of "Jean! Jean!" he scrambled over the fence, and made straight for the advancing woman. Empty was about to follow, when Douglas laid a firm hand upon his arm and drew him back.

"Don't go yet," he ordered. "It's better for us to keep out of sight for a while. Her father can do more than we can, and our presence might frighten her."

Joe's cry had startled Jean and she stopped singing. Seeing him coming toward her, she stood for a few seconds watching him. Then she turned and fled along the path she had recently travelled, and disappeared among the rocks.

Then it was that Douglas leaped over the fence and hastened forward, with Empty close at his heels. For a few minutes he was guided by Joe's voice as he called to his daughter. Then all was silent, and though he and Empty searched long and patiently, they could not find the missing ones.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" Empty ejaculated, as he sat down upon a rock to rest. "I can't make out what has happened to 'em. Guess it's not much use huntin' any more. We'd better go home now an' git somethin' to eat. I'm most starved."

Douglas realised that it would be useless to search any longer just then. He would go with Empty, wait at his place until daybreak, and then return if Joe did not reappear.

The house to which Empty led him was a humble one. A woman was standing at the door as they approached.

"Where's Jean?" she enquired.

"Don't know," Empty replied. "She's out on the hills somewheres."

"What, ye didn't leave the poor girl there all alone, did ye?"

"Oh, her dad's with her, an' I guess he'll round her up all right. I'm most starved, ma. Got anything good?"

Mrs. Dempster was a bright, active, talkative little body, and she bade
Douglas a hearty welcome.

"So ye'r the great wrestler, are ye?" she asked, as she offered her visitor a chair, and then hustled about to get some food. "Empty has told me all about ye, an' how ye defended him aginst Jake. It was mighty good of ye, an' sez I to Empty, sez I, 'bring that man home with ye some time, so I kin thank him fer his kindness to a poor fatherless boy.'"

"I didn't do much, I assure you," Douglas replied. "I don't believe
Jake would have hurt him."

"No, Jake wouldn't really mean to hurt him, that's true. But ye see, he's so big an' strong that what he might think was a little love tap alongside of the head would knock an ox down. He doesn't intend to hurt. But when Si Stubbles hits, he means it, an' so does Ben. My, I'm mighty glad ye did up that skunk to-night. He deserved it all right."

"So you've heard about that already?" Douglas asked in surprise.

Mrs. Dempster poured a cup of hot tea, brought forth a plate of frosted doughnuts, and bade Douglas "draw up an' have a bite." When her visitor had been served, she sat down on a chair by the side of the table.

"Ye seem surprised that I know about that racket at the hall," she began. "Empty was watchin' at the door, an' saw it all. He was hustlin' home by the short-cut across the hills to tell me the news when he heard Jean singin'. Say, I admire ye'r pluck. But ye must be keerful, sir."

"Why?"

"It's always necessary to be keerful when ye'r dealin' with skunks. Ye jist never know what they're goin' to do next."

"But why do the people put up with such creatures?" Douglas laughingly enquired.

"Because they can't get rid of 'em, that's why. Me an' Empty have always stood on our indignity, an' it's a mighty good stool to stand on. We don't have to depend on the Stubbles fer a livin'. We have our little farm, our cow, pig, an' hens. Empty ketches enough fish to do us, an' he always gits a deer or two in the fall, an' that is all the meat we want. We pick an' sell a good many berries, an' what eggs an' butter we kin spare. Mark my words, there's somethin' wrong with a place when all the people have to bow down to any one man, 'specially when it's a critter like Si Stubbles. I git terribly irritated when I think of the way that man is allowed to rule this parish."

"He rules in Church matters, too, I understand," Douglas remarked.

"Ye've hit the nail right on the head, sir. It was him that druv our last two parsons out of the parish an' almost out of their minds, too."

"Did all side with Mr. Stubbles?"

"Oh, no, not all. There were a few who stood at his back, sich as the Bentons, an' me an' Empty. Nellie Strong, God bless her, an' Nan, her sister, didn't go agin 'em, but they were in a difficult persition with that cranky father of theirs."

"Would Church matters have gone on smoothly but for the Stubbles?"
Douglas asked.

"They always did before Si an' his brood came to this place. Even supposin' the parsons weren't up to the mark, we would have got along all right. Country people, as a rule, are not hard to please, an' will put up with most anythin'."

There were many questions Douglas wished to ask this entertaining woman, but just then a noise was heard outside, and at once the door was pushed open and the shoe-maker entered. His hat was gone, his clothes were torn, and his hands and face were bleeding. He stood near the door trembling in every limb, and looking appealingly into the faces of those before him.

"Fer the love of heavens, Joe! what's the matter with ye?" Mrs. Dempster exclaimed, as she rose to her feet and gave the old man her chair. "Have ye been fightin'?"

Joe's lips moved, but a groan was the only sound he uttered, as he crouched there, the picture of abject misery.

"Where's Jean?" Mrs. Dempster demanded, laying her right hand kindly upon his shoulder.

"Gone! Gone!" was the low despairing reply.

"Couldn't ye find her?"

"See," and the old man pointed to his torn clothes and bleeding hands. "I followed her over the rocks and through the bushes. I was too slow and fell so often that she got away. Oh, my Jean, my little lass! She doesn't know her father any more; she wouldn't listen to his voice calling to her."

"You poor man," and Mrs. Dempster wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "You are tired out, and must have a cup of tea an' somethin' to eat. Then you must go right home an' git some rest. Me an' Empty will find Jean as soon as it gits light. The dear child, she used to come here so often, an' her an' Empty were great playmates."

The rest and the food strengthened the weary man, and Mrs. Dempster's hearty manner cheered him. When he at length arose to go, Douglas offered to accompany him, and together the two passed out into the morning air.