hardly remember my husband, can you, Miss Ethel? But I have the Book, sir, and good friends too."
A couple of days later Miss Custance came alone to the cottage. Her hand trembled as she knocked at the door.
"Is it done?" she asked, when the old woman appeared.
"Come in, miss," said Mrs. Wise, and she shut the door, and put up the wooden bolt. Then she crept to the hearth, and drew out something from a hiding-place in the stones.
"Look at that," she said, showing it to the young lady. "Isn't it a picture?"
Miss Custance took the object into her fine delicate hands, and glanced at it, and then flushed scarlet.
"How horrible!" she exclaimed. "What did you do that for? You never told me."
"It's the only way, miss, to get what you want."
"It's a loathsome thing. I wonder you're not ashamed of yourself."
"I be as much ashamed as you be, I think," said Mrs. Wise, and she leered at the pretty, shy-faced girl. Their eyes met and their eyes laughed at one another.
"Cover it up, please, Mrs. Wise; I needn't look at it now, at all events. But are you sure?"
"There's never been a mishap since old Mrs. Cradoc taught me, and she's been dead for sixty year and more. She used to tell of her grandmother's days when there were meetings in the wood over there."
"And you're quite sure?"
"You do as I tell you. You must take it like this"; and
