But in Margaret's heart there was a great peace.
Her father had not cast her off; it was only she who had been faithless.
Oh! it was so much easier to cry, Mea culpa! than to allow that he had forgotten.
She had tried to offer God resignation, but He had given her joy. The level rays of the setting sun lit up her happy face, and made her short hair shine like a halo round her head. She put her hand before her eyes, and laughed a low, soft laugh like a contented child.
Mr. Sauls was not a very angelic messenger; but he had brought her peace and goodwill. With a radiant smile she watched him make his way over the shining, sun-tinged stubble. That smile, however, was not for him.
The preacher woke her from her golden reverie.
"What does he call himself?" he asked.
"My father?—oh, you mean Mr. Sauls?"
"Then he lies!" said Barnabas succinctly. "For his name's Cohen, and he's the man who ruined Lydia. His hand is not clean enough to touch you, Margaret. It were all I could do not to pull ye back; only," cried the preacher with sudden bitterness, "I minded he's a gentleman, who ye'd naturally trust, an' I might ha' scared ye."
"I am not scared by you," said Meg. "I never am now."