“Get you gone,” continued the farmer, “for a hypocrite and a rogue; you need try none of your canting on me. Not one hour longer shall you remain in my employ; you’re on the high road to the gallows.”
Mark turned away in silence, with an almost bursting heart, and feelings that bordered on despair. With what an account of himself was he to return to his home, to meet the scoffs and jests which he had too well deserved? What discredit would his conduct bring on his religion! How his profane companions would triumph in his fall! The kind and pitying clergyman would regard him as a hypocrite—would feel disappointed in him. Bitter was the thought. All his firm resolves had snapped like thread in the flame, and his hopes of winning heaven had vanished.
CHAPTER IV.
GOD’S GIFT OF GRACE.
“Ye cannot be justified by the works of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his burden.”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
“What ails you my young friend?—has anything painful happened?” said a kindly voice, and a hand was gently laid upon the shoulder of Mark, who was lying on the grass amidst the ruins of the old Abbey, his face leaning on his arms, and turned towards the earth, while short convulsive sobs shook his frame.
“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Mark, as a momentary glance enabled him to recognize Mr. Ewart.
“Let me know the cause of your sorrow,” said the clergyman, seating himself on a large stone beside him. “Rise, and speak to me with freedom.”