Mark was still standing under the yew trees, thinking over this suspicious affair, when he heard a step and a whistle, and Miles himself appeared, lounging along with his hands in his pockets. He started, and flushed crimson, when he recognized the old friend and master who had not only taught him all that he knew of book-learning in his many migratory visits, but who had earnestly endeavored to counteract the faults of his character by instilling good, sound Bible principles. The younger man's face was a strikingly fine one as to outline and feature; but there was a look of uncertainty and hesitation, a wandering, restless expression about the eye, which gave the impression that principles were beginning to give way to mere impulses, healthy feeling to heartless selfishness; a critical moment in a young man's history.
"Well Miles, dear old fellow, I'm glad you are come home. There's a storm abroad, and we shall have a rare time for the books. I have brought a history of England, and a book about the stars."
Miles held out his hand; but it was not with his old eager cordiality: no hearty welcome to the old Yews was given or felt; and after an awkward silence, he turned round and said in a constrained voice, "I am sorry I shall not be at home for awhile. I have business that takes me away."
Mark Wilson turned the full power of his piercing eye upon his face, and was grieved to see that his friend's eye fell under the searching survey. "I am sorry too, I am sure. I thought we should have had some capital times of reading and talk in the long evenings, when the mother has got her knitting and her Bible, and Mat is learning to write, and Alice is listening with her eyes as much as her ears. I confess I am very sorry, Miles, unless you have some object in hand on which you can ask God's blessing, and your mother's prayers, just as freely as if you were sitting in your father's own seat in his own old place."
The young man winced painfully at this, and then, recovering himself with a bluster, (the usual recourse of a bad cause), exclaimed, "I declare, I am treated like a child. I am watched and questioned, and doubted, as if I was not old enough to take care of myself: and mind, I am not a little fool of a schoolboy any longer, Mark Wilson, I say."
Mark's powerful eyes were still fastened on his old friend, so that the voice, which began boldly enough, died off into a pitiful shake before the sentence was finished. He saw his advantage and quietly said, "You know he is the fool who says in his heart, 'There is no God:' and it is really and practically to say this, if we act as if we had not his all-seeing eye constantly upon us. You never need tell me what you are about, if you go to God and tell him. You know I don't want your confidence, Miles, if you can give it to God in prayer, and to your widowed mother in grateful love. But a man is known by the company he keeps." This was said in so significant a tone that it was Miles' turn now a look of searching inquiry; and he read something in Mark's face which evidently startled and troubled him.
"What do you know about my friends? What do you mean by the company I keep?"
Mark lifted up his heart in silent prayer and then replied, "I will just leave this little word with you, my brother, 'If sinners entice thee, consent thou not.'"
"Well," said Miles, after musing for a long season, in which, strong symptoms of the inward conflict between the two principles of good and of evil were visible on his changing countenance; "well, I do believe you are my true friend, Mark, after all; and I wish I had never sought others."
The poor fellow wrung the hand of his old master, while a rushing tide of feeling rose within him until it left a moisture even in his softened eyes. Mark pressed his hand in return, in wise silence; and the two reconciled friends entered the farm kitchen together. Neither knew that during this painful conversation, one, feeble in body but strong in faith, had been earnestly wrestling for a blessing; and that even young Alice had stolen into the old oak parlor, and slipping down on her knees, in a dark corner, had offered up the clear, pure gems of a sister's tears. The mother looked up through her misty spectacles, and saw, as the young men crossed the threshold, that the prayer of faith had gained the victory, at least for this time.