"No, no; not that. It was unfortunate that you came the way you did, or unfortunate that you went, perhaps; but it is not that. It was most providential that Barton was with you, but so unfortunate that he said to you what he did."
"Is it a misfortune to be loved, mother?"
"Let us not talk of this to-night, my darling," stooping and kissing her still pale cheek. "God only knows of these things. It may not be a misfortune, but it may bring unhappiness, dear, to somebody."
"Perhaps, mother, if he had not had such feelings he would not have come with me."
"My child! my child! don't say what might have happened. I am glad and grateful—so grateful that he was with you—that he was generous enough to come, after what you said to him; but now, how can we express our gratitude to him?"
"Oh, mamma! I am sure it is no matter. He won't care now what we think."
"You are too much agitated, my daughter, to-night; let us not talk it over now. But what became of Barton? did he come in?"
"No, I left him at the back gate, without a word, only waiting for me to run in. Of course he went back to the woods and wild beasts. What other place was there for him?"
"Don't, don't, Julia! don't say such words. Harm will not come to him."
"I know it won't," said the young girl; "for when the whole world turns against a brave, true heart, God watches over it with the more care."