_How the Red Came Back to the Blood to be a Snare_ The watchful eyes of the Bishop had seen truly.

Not only was the red coming back to the blood of Martha, but the fair flesh to her meagre frame, the spring of youth to her step and living fire to her voice and the glance of her eyes.

Her husband was pleased.

He had made a new creature of the poor, worn wreck found by the wayside, weak, emaciated, reeling under her burden.

He rejoiced to know he had done a true service.