[[25]] Rev. i. 18.
[[26]] Prov. vi. 27.
XII.
TRAITORS—HUMAN AND CANINE.
"Thy way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be!
Lead me by Thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me."
—DR. BONAR.
The Naws-Letter had just come in, posted from London, and Squire Passmore sat down in the parlor to read it. It was a warm, but wet, autumn afternoon. The embroidery frame was covered with a wrapper, and Isabella and her mother were tying up preserves and labelling them. Two large trays of them stood on the parlor-table, and Cicely came slowly in with another.
"Well, sure, that's main heavy!" said she. "If you please, Sir, is there aught by the post from Master Harry?" she added, with a courtesy.
"Nothing, Cicely, nothing," said the Squire, looking up from his newspaper. "I don't know what has come to the lad. He did scribble one line to let us know that he was not killed, but not a word have we had from him since."
"Mayhap he's a-coming," suggested Cicely.
"I wish he were," sighed Madam Passmore.