He seemed to be waiting eagerly for her answer.

“If I were you,” she said, “I should not worry.  Just make up your mind to do better when you get another chance.  One can’t do more than that.  That is what I shall think of:  that God will give each one of us another chance, and that each one of us will take it and do better—­I and you and every one.  So there is no need to fret over failure, when one hopes one may be allowed to redeem that failure later on.  Besides which, life is very hard.  Why, we ourselves recognize that.  If there be a God, some Intelligence greater than human intelligence, he will understand better than ourselves that life is very hard and difficult, and he will be astonished not because we are not better, but because we are not worse.  At least, that would be my notion of a God.  I should not worry, if I were you.  Just make up your mind to do better if you get the chance, and be content with that.”

“If that is what you think, Little Brick,” he answered, “it is quite good enough for me.  And it does not matter about prayers and the Bible, and all that sort of thing?”

“I don’t think it matters,” she said.  “I never have thought such things mattered.  What does matter, is to judge gently, and not to come down like a sledge-hammer on other people’s failings.  Who are we, any of us, that we should be hard on others?”

“And not come down like a sledge-hammer on other people’s failings,” he repeated slowly.  “I wonder if I have ever judged gently.”

“I believe you have,” she answered.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said; “I have been a paltry fellow.  I have been lying here, and elsewhere too, eating my heart away with bitterness, until you came.  Since then I have sometimes forgotten to feel bitter.  A little kindness does away with a great deal of bitterness.”

He turned wearily on his side.

“I think I could sleep, Little Brick,” he said, almost in a whisper.  “I want to dream about your sermon.  And I’m not to worry, am I?”

“No,” she answered, as she stepped noiselessly across the room; “you are not to worry.”

CHAPTER X.

THE DISAGREEABLE MAN IS SEEN IN A NEW LIGHT.

ONE specially fine morning a knock came at Bernardine’s door.  She opened it, and found Robert Allitsen standing there, trying to recover his breath.

“I am going to Loschwitz, a village about twelve miles off,” he said.  “And I have ordered a sledge.  Do you care to come too?”

“If I may pay my share,” she said.

“Of course,” he answered; “I did not suppose you would like to be paid for any better than I should like to pay for you.”

Bernardine laughed.

“When do we start?” she asked.

“Now,” he answered.  “Bring a rug, and also that shawl of yours which is always falling down, and come at once without any fuss.  We shall be out for the whole day.  What about Mrs. Grundy?  We could manage to take her if you wished, but she would not be comfortable sitting amongst the photographic apparatus, and I certainly should not give up my seat to her.”