IV.

Ralph had travelled thus far in the fixed determination of pushing on
to London, seeking audience of the King himself, and pleading for an
amnesty. But the resolution which had never failed him before began
now to waver. Surely there was more than his political offences
involved in the long series of disasters that had befallen his
household? He reflected that every link in that chain of evil seemed
to be coupled to the gyves that hung about his own wrists. Wilson's
life in Wythburn--his death--Sim's troubles--Rotha's sorrow--even his
father's fearful end, and the more fearful accident at the
funeral--then his mother's illness, nigh to death--how nigh to death
by this time God alone could tell him here--all, all, with this last
misery of his own banishment, seemed somehow to centre in himself.
Yes, yes, sin and its wages must be in this thing; but what sin, what
sin? What was the crime that cast its shadow over his life?

"As the waters run when the flood-gates are up," said the preacher,
"so doth the visitation of God's love pass away from thee."

Of what use, then, would be the amnesty of the King? Mockery of
mockeries! In a case like this only the Great King Himself could
proclaim a pardon. Ralph put his hands over his eyes as the vision
came back to him of a riderless horse flying with its dread burden
across the fells. No sepulture! It was the old Hebrew curse--the
punishment of the unpardonable sin.

He thought again of his stricken mother in the old home, and then of
the love which had gone from him like a dream of the night. Heaven had
willed it that where the heart of man yearned for love, somewhere in