Molly winced.  “The worse reproach to all of us, that her only champion was the weakling whom you all scorn!  You do not understand weakness, Jack.  As for my knowing that you had not visited her, Johnny Whitelamb took his holiday a fortnight ago and trudged to Lincoln to see her.  She is living behind a dingy little shop with her husband, and his horrible old father, who drinks whatever he can filch from the till.  They wink at it so long as he does not go too far; but William is trying to find him lodgings at Louth, which was his old home, and hopes to sell up the business and move to London with Hetty, to try his fortune.  Uncle Matthew has written to her, and will help them to move, I believe.  And there was a baby coming, but mercifully something went wrong, poor mite!  All this news she sent by Johnny, who reports that she is brave and cheerful and as beautiful as ever—­more beautiful than ever, he said—­but she talked long of you and Charles, and is said to have seen neither of you.”

“So Whitelamb is in the conspiracy?  Since you have so much of his confidence, you might warn him to be careful.  Doubts of our father’s wisdom must unsettle him woefully.  I do not ask to join the alliance, but it may please you to know that in my belief Hetty has been treated too fiercely for her deserts, and in my sermon I intend to hint at this pretty plainly.”

Molly stared.  “Dear Jack, it—­it is good to have you on our side.  But what good can a sermon do?”

“Not much, I fear.  Still a testimony is a testimony.”

“But the folks will know you are speaking of her.”

“I mean them to.”

“But—­but—­” Molly cast about, bewildered.

“I am venturing something,” John interrupted coldly, “by testifying against my father.  It is not over-pleasant to stand up and admit that in our own family we have sinned against Christ’s injunction to judge not.”

“I should think not, indeed!”

“Then you might reasonably show a little more pleasure at finding me prepared, to that extent, to take your side.”

Molly gasped.  His misunderstanding seemed to her too colossal to be coped with.  “It will be a public reproach to father,” she managed to say.

“I fear he may consider it so; and that is just my difficulty.”

“But what good can it do to Hetty?”

“I was not, in the first instance, thinking of Hetty, but rather using her case as an example which would be fresh in the minds of all in the building.  Nevertheless, since you put the question, I will answer, that my argument should induce our mother and sisters, as well as the parish, to judge her more leniently.”

“The parish!” murmured Molly.  “I was not thinking of its judgment, And I doubt if Hetty does.”

“You are right.  The particular case—­though unhappily we cannot help dwelling on it—­is merely an illustration.  We, who have duties under Christ to all souls in our care, must neglect no means of showing them the light, though it involve mortifying our own private feelings.”