During the night the clouds rolled away, and Sunday morning dawned warm and clear. It was good to be abroad, so Douglas thought, as he walked along the road with his violin under his arm. It would soon be time for the shoe-maker to begin his morning service, and he knew how Joe and his wife would enjoy a little music. He had not seen the former since Friday afternoon, and he was most anxious to learn the outcome of his struggle between right and wrong.

He found Mrs. Benton in the sitting-room, rocking herself to and fro in a splint-bottom chair. Her face was thin and care-worn, and her hair seemed whiter than the last time he had seen her, and he truthfully divined the cause.

Mrs. Benton's face brightened as her visitor entered the room, and she at once offered him a chair.

"It is good of you to come this morning, sir," she told him.

"I did not wish to miss the service," Douglas replied. "I thought you might like me to play a little," and he pointed to the violin which he had placed upon the table.

"I fear there will be no service this morning," and a troubled expression came into Mrs. Benton's eyes as she spoke. "Joe's been very strange of late, and has not been able to settle down to his work. He can't eat nor sleep, and I am greatly worried about him."

"He is grieving, I suppose."

"Yes, about poor Jean."

"Has he seen her lately?"

"Not since Friday. He may have gone to see her this morning, though, for he left here about half an hour ago, but he didn't tell me where he was going. He seems like a man in a dream."

"He didn't go down the road, Mrs. Benton, or I should have seen him. I was sitting in front of Jake's house reading for some time before I left to come here."

"Oh, he didn't go that way, sir. There is a shortcut across the hills, though it has not been used much of late. The path goes up just in front of our house to the top of the hill, and then turns to the left. Joe took that this morning, though I do not know why, as he has not travelled that way for years. Perhaps he wishes to be alone. I hope he is not going to do anything desperate. He is so down-hearted and strange that I feel terribly worried about him."

"I am going over to Mrs. Dempster's to-day," Douglas replied, "as she sent word for me to come and see her as soon as possible. I might as well go across the hills if you think I can find my way. Perhaps I shall meet your husband."

"That will be very good of you," and Mrs. Benton's face somewhat brightened. "You should have no trouble about finding the way, for as soon as you reach the top of the hill you will obtain a splendid view of the river and the surrounding country. Even if you cannot find any path up there, you ought to be able to see Mrs. Dempster's house off in the distance."

"I shall make out all right, I am sure," Douglas replied, as he rose to go. "I have never been out on the hills, so it will be nice to get the view from the top."

He found the climb a long and tiresome one. The hot sun seemed to strike the hillside with extra intensity, and there was not a breath of wind abroad. Once he sat down under the shade of an old fir tree and mopped his hot face with his handkerchief. Even from here the view of the river was magnificent, and what must it be from the summit?

When at length he gained the top, he stopped and looked around. Then an exclamation of surprise and awe burst from his lips at the entrancing panorama which was thus suddenly presented to his view. Miles and miles of the river, unruffled by a breath of wind, lay glittering in the sunshine. Acres of meadow land, dotted with houses, and broken by tracts of forest, stretched out before him. Peace was upon land and river. It was a magic world upon which he gazed with the ardent soul of a lover of things beautiful and grand.

Having thus rested and revelled in Nature's marvellous handiwork, he turned and looked across the hills toward Mrs. Dempster's house. As he did so his eyes caught sight of a lone figure sitting upon a rock some distance away. Peeling sure that it was the shoemaker, he hurried forward and in a few minutes was by his side. Joe did not seem at all surprised at the young man's presence, although his weary face brightened a little.

"It is a great view from here," Douglas began. "I have never seen anything like it."

"What do you see?" the old man asked.

"Why, the river, and that fine stretch of country to the right and left."

"Yes, I suppose you're right, though I have not noticed them this morning. I have been seeing other things."

"What things?" Douglas enquired, as he sat down upon the rock by Joe's side.

"Jean, of course. My Jean and all her troubles are ever before me. I can see nothing else. How can I?"

"But you should, Mr. Benton. Surely you have not forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"The strength which has been your stay for long years. You remember how sad and dreary was the world yesterday. How dismal everything appeared, with not a glimpse of the blue sky. But look now at all this," and Douglas threw out his hand in an eloquent gesture. "See what a change has taken place in a short time. The greyness is gone, and look how blue is the sky, and how bright and warm the sun. Surely He who is able to effect such a marvellous change in Nature in such a few hours, will not forsake His servant in the hour of need. Cheer up, sir, and do not be so down-hearted. Though things seem dark now, yet hope for the best, and trust that the clouds will scatter and the shadows will flee away."

"Your words are full of wisdom," Joe slowly replied, "and you speak like a man who has known trouble. But have you ever experienced a father's sorrow at the loss of a darling child? Can you look back through the years and see that child pure and beautiful, loving and true, making the home ring with her happy laughter and joyous ways? Then at last to see her degraded, half-demented, a total wreck, with all parental love crushed out of her heart like my Jean over there? Have you known any sorrow like that, young man?"

"No, indeed I have not," Douglas emphatically replied. "Your trouble is truly great. But why give up in despair? Jean is still alive, and she may yet return to her former ways. She is in the depths now, but this Valley of Achor may be to her a door of hope, as it was to the woman we read of in the Bible. Suppose we visit her now, and learn how she is getting along? She may have changed as much since you saw her last as Nature has changed since yesterday."

Douglas rose to his feet and picked up his violin.

"Come," and he laid his hand affectionately upon the old man's shoulder, "let us go together. We may be able to cheer her up a bit."

Without a word Joe rose slowly to his feet and walked along by Douglas' side. Over the hill they moved and then down into the valley below. The path, now worn deep by the feet of cows, for this region was pasture land, wound through a swamp where they had to pick their way owing to the water which settled here. Up a steep bank they scrambled, and when they at last gained the top they came in sight of Mrs. Dempster's house but fifty yards beyond.

The widow was sitting under the shade of an apple tree near the front door, with Empty lying full length upon the ground by her side. They were both somewhat startled and surprised at the sudden appearance of the two men from such an unexpected quarter.

"Well, bless my stars!" Mrs. Dempster exclaimed, rising quickly and giving the shoe-maker her chair. "Ye look fagged out, poor man, an' no wonder fer comin' over the hills. It's not often any one travels that way now, though John always took that short-cut to the store when he was alive. He was a great man fer short-cuts, was John. I wish Empty here was more like his pa."

"I don't like short-cuts," her son replied. "Ye don't see nuthin', an' ye don't hear nuthin'."

"An' ye can't tell nuthin'," his mother retorted. "That's why ye don't like short-cuts."

"I believe you sent for me, Mrs. Dempster," Douglas remarked. "I was sorry I could not come sooner."

"Oh, there was no special hurry. A day or two doesn't make much difference. But I thought if ye brought ye'r fiddle an' played a little it might cheer the poor lassie up a bit."

"How is she?" Joe eagerly asked, leaning forward so as not to miss a word.

"Doin' as well as kin be expected. She's alone now," and the widow's voice became low. "But I guess it's all fer the best. I wasn't in the least surprised, considerin' what she's gone through. It'll be as much as she kin do to make her own way in life, an' I told her so jist as soon as she was willin' to listen to reason."

"Is she much depressed?" Douglas asked.

"All the time, sir, an' that's what worries me. She broods an' broods, an' sighs an' sighs, poor thing, till my heart aches fer her."

"And nothing will cheer her up?"

"Nuthin' that me an' Empty kin do an' say, so that's the reason why I sent fer you. I thought mebbe a little music might have some effect. I've heard read from the Bible in church that when old King Saul was down in the dumps, an' dear knows he deserved to be, the cloud passed from his mind when David, the shepherd lad, brought his harp an' played before him. Now, 'sez I to meself, sez I, 'if that old feller with all his cussedness could be cured in that way, why can't a poor, dear, troubled lassie like Jean Benton?' An' so sez I to Empty, 'Go an' see if that wrestler won't come,' sez I. We've always called ye 'the wrestler,' sir, since ye put Jake Jukes on his back. 'Mebbe he'll bring his fiddle an' play a few old-fashioned tunes to chase the shadder from the poor thing's brain. I hope ye won't mind."

"Not at all," Douglas replied. "I shall be only too pleased to do anything I can. Shall I go into the house?"

"I've been thinkin' that mebbe it would be better to play out of doors. Her winder is open, so if ye'd jist go under the shade of that tree there, she'd hear ye quite plain, but won't be able to see ye. I don't want her to think that the music is fer her special benefit."

Following Mrs. Dempster's directions, Douglas went to the tree and leaning his back against the bole began to play a number of old familiar hymns. It was a peculiar situation in which he thus found himself, and he wondered what the result would be. He had entered enthusiastically into the widow's little plan, and he never played so effectively as he did this morning. He felt that a great deal was at stake, and he must do his best. He recalled how a certain woman had taken him to task when she learned that he played the violin, which she called the "devil's snare" for luring people to destruction. He had tried to reason with the woman, but to no avail. He believed if she knew what a blessing his playing had been to so many people she would really change her mind.

Douglas had been playing for some time when his attention was attracted by the shoe-maker, who had risen from the chair and was walking toward the house. No sooner had he entered by the back door than Mrs. Dempster followed. Douglas went on with his music, at the same time wondering what was in their minds.

He had not long to wait, however, for presently the widow came to the door and beckoned him to come. He at once obeyed, and crossed over to where she was standing.

"Don't make any noise," she warned, "but foller me. I want to show ye something."

Tiptoeing across the floor, Mrs. Dempster led him to the door of the little room where the invalid was lying. Pausing just at the entrance and looking in, the sight which met his eyes was most impressive. Bending over the bed was Joe with his face close to Jean's, whose arms were clasped about her father's neck. They were both sobbing, though neither uttered a word. Douglas grasped the whole situation in an instant, and turning, he quietly retreated through the kitchen and out of doors. He was at once joined by Mrs. Dempster. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Douglas' own eyes were moist.

"What d'ye think of that, now?" the good woman questioned.

"We have no business to be there," was the solemn reply. "That is too sacred a scene for inquisitive eyes. We must leave them alone."

"It was the music which done it, sir; I knew it would."

"Not altogether, Mrs. Dempster. Not altogether."

"Ye think the Good Lord had a hand in it, too?"

"Yes, I have no doubt about it."