of men and boys. But among them was one young girl in bright ribbons,
who was clearly an outcast of the streets. Despite her gay costume,
she had a wistful look in her dark eyes, as of one who was on the
point of breaking into tears.

The dance tunes suddenly came to an end, and were followed by the long
and solemn sweeps of a simple old hymn such as had been known in many
an English home for many an age. Gradually the music rose and fell,
and then gently, and before any were aware, a sweet, low, girlish
voice took up the burden and sang the words. It was the girl of the
streets who sang. Was it the memory of some village home that these
chords had awakened? Was it the vision of her younger and purer days
that came back to her amid the gayeties of this night--of the hamlet,
the church, the choir, and of herself singing there?

The hymn melted the hearts of many that stood around, and tears now
stood in the singer's downcast eyes.

* * * * *

At that hour of that night, in the solitary homestead far north, among
the hills, what was Rotha's travail of soul?

* * * * *

Ralph dropped his head, and felt something surging in his throat.

At the same instant a thick-lipped man with cruel eyes crushed through
the people to where the girl stood, and, taking her roughly by the
shoulder, pushed her away.