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in the chapel, poor fellow, when he fainted and struck his headand it was at that moment that poor little Thekla saw him first; though, as you say, he did not see her.'

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'In the chapel,' Edith repeated.

Aye, she came in from the sacristy with fresh flowers for the altar,' he said, 'and saw him. My dear, you don't need an old man to tell you that there is such a thing as love at first sight. The child described to me his upturned face, and the sorrow and the longing on it, and she did not dream how her own betrayed her, as I listened to her poor little pitiful broken words. She was off her guard, thinking me a dull old man who had forgotten what love and youth mean.' He laughed. 'How should she suppose that an unshorn old ruffian in a red flannel shirt would be likely to observe that she is never happy nor interested unless we talk of one subject, and that, if we stray from the discussing of Michael Ferrys for a moment, she brings the conversation back to him by artless methods of her own, amazing in the cunning of their simplicity? Poor child; with that bright rose colour that comes and goes and makes me tremble for her when it leaves her, at last, so pale and transparent. She was not made for heart-ache or suffering. And what did he love in that little dead saint that he would not find in her living sister? All, all, and a thousand times more,' he said, urgently. He would love her if he saw her. He must. She is the same, but lovelier, with more depth in her character, more variety in her moods. At the time, of course, there was nothing to be said. But now that time has passed byhe is young-he will love again. And she is the living image of her dead sister. Her little hand would lead him as surely as Winefride's towards all things good. Even more surely, for she has the will of the Gryffydds and a power of persuasion all her own. You are his friend; you must recognise as I did the weakness of his character. You know I hold no brief for the Church of Rome. I love the little English church down there in the valley, if I love any church at all. But I am only a poor recluse, filled with my own thoughts and dreams. Yet this I know-if ever a man needed a religion to guide him—a faith to sustain him, Michael Ferrys is that man. If he falls into the wrong hands-and how many of the wrong hands will be stretched out to grasp that colossal wealth-well-well! He is a chameleon, and will take the colour of his surroundings. It must have been the atmosphere of the monastery which converted him, for I do not think arguments would have done so readily

from the reasoning bout I had with him. But of course I don't know.'

But Edith knew.

As he spoke she was oppressed by that familiar curious sensation that sometimes supplants surprise, the conviction that she was taking part in a scene she had played in long ago; the certainty that she had heard the hermit say the same words before, amid the same surroundings and in the same circumstances; that she had always known the explanation of Michael's vision in the chapel. A little dazed, she looked round the hut; at the curtained alcove; the glue-pot on the slow-combustion stove; the shelves of books high above the solid carpenter's table, with its homely litter of tools and shavings.

The suspicion of quavering age in the hermit's low-toned voice made his pleading pathetic in her ears.

'If they could but meet when he comes back! But I am quite powerless-my fear is that he will never come near the place again. It is only a woman who could help-a woman who knew them both-'

Edith looked at him, and the wistfulness of his gaze touched her, but she was troubled and uncertain in her own mind.

'It is not so easy as you think,' she faltered; there is—a—a complication which I can't explain.' To herself she said—' If he comes here if he sees her he will lose his faith.' These words she repeated to herself several times as though in excuse; and also thought of what Mr. Edyvean had said: 'If ever a man needed a religion to guide him-'

Aloud she said mechanically again: There is a complication.' 'Another woman?' He spoke under his breath in dismay, and as it seemed involuntarily.

'Not that.' Then she stopped and the colour rushed into her face; but she went on bravely. I was not thinking of that.' His confusion was manifested by the disconcerted way in which he rose and pushed back his chair.

'I daresay I am a blundering officious fool,' he said. 'I have very likely been betrayed into a monstrous indiscretion by my very love for the child-and my interest in the lad. I lie there,' he pointed to the alcove,' wakeful for long, long hours in the long nights, thinking and thinking; and all this tragedy of youth cut short has probably helped to turn my old brain. You must forgive me. But I-I trusted you at sight.'

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'Yet I may not be able to help you, in this matter,' she said, in a low voice, as she rose also.

He took her hand and pressed it hastily, and said without looking at her :

'Whatever you do, I could not mistrust your motives. You have not my Elizabeth's eyes for nothing.'

Thekla returned with a quantity of violets that scented the whole cottage as she entered. She made up a small bouquet, and fastened it beneath Edith's chin; and bestowed a buttonhole on her host, and remarked simply, like a child, that she would take the rest to her Winnie. The old man touched her fair hair lightly and said no word.

It was not, after all, of her, but of Edith, that he thought, as the two went away, side by side, down the steep path which led through the leafless woods.

CHAPTER XXV.

' A GOVERNMENT college of cookery with an army of French chefs as instructors; that is what is wanted,' said Colonel Bertwald. Where in the world, except England, is one poisoned when one goes out to dinner? Last night I dined out, contrary to my usual practice, but the host was the son of an old friend who married a stupid nobody for her money: a poor soul who can't understand why his title doesn't carry her beyond the outside edge of society. So it might if she were honest and vulgar, instead of being artificial and genteel. And she gave a dinner to match. Give you my word I believe the whole thing came straight from a pastrycook. Tinned and bottled horrors. Stale truffles, and cockscombs preserved in spirits, from their unwholesome museum of edible mummies. Petrified morsels of carrots and turnips chipped into shapes, and preserved peas tinted with arsenic-and this is June! June, when in Covent Garden market you can buy sweet juicy country vegetables. But the mistress of the house was saved all trouble, at the expense of her guests' digestions, by paying so much a head.'

'We got sick of tinned things in South Africa,' said Michael. 'Of course you did, but campaigning is one thing, and a civilised dinner-party is another. At least it ought to be,' said the old

gentleman, fuming.

Never mind. It's given me an idea, and I'll hunt it to the bitter end. But now for yourself, my boy. Congratulations and welcome. You've done well, eh? Come through it all from beginning to end safe and sound like our own boys. Captain in the army, eh, and a D.S.O.'

Michael shook hands again with the little withered gentleman, whose feebleness and pallor had increased so greatly during the years of his visitor's absence that his burning eyes alone seemed alive, as he lay back, exhausted after his tirade, in the armchair by the study fire.

'It was nice of you to ask for me. I appreciate it, I appreciate it. Most of Edith's visitors do nothing of the kind.’

'How is she, sir?'

'She's all right,' said Colonel Bertwald, carelessly. Went back to her hospital work, you know. But comes in most days to have a look at me, and leaves London very rarely. All on my account. I'm not so young as I was. Always been devoted to me ever since she was a pretty little romp of a child, with twice the wit her brothers ever had between them. Not that they haven't given a good account of themselves when they had the chance. So poor Tom has his heart's desire and has got into the army at last! But it's Edith I care for. She'll get every halfpenny I've got in the world,' said the old man, wistfully. 'Well-well— you heard of her mother's marriage? Took us all by surprise.'

Mrs. Roath's marriage had not taken Michael by surprise, but he expressed only his interest and sympathy.

'Between ourselves,' said Colonel Bertwald, lowering his voice, Erconwald is far better suited to my niece than ever poor Roath was. Taken a new lease of life as an ambassadress, I hear, and climate seems to suit her. I can't read his poems, but I dare say she can, which is all that matters. And after all he's been more than a mere poet. Distinguished man. Lost both his boys, poor fellow, while all her three came safely through. Fortune of war.'

'Lady Erconwald wrote to me,' said Michael,' and Miss Roath also wrote to me. She seemed very pleased about the marriage.'

'Pleased! It's an enormous relief. One never could be sure what poor Elspeth would be up to. Now she's in safe hands, you know. I only wish Edith would go and do likewise. Far too pretty and far too good to be slaving away in a hospital,' said Edith's great-uncle, and his eyes watered.

'I agree with you, sir,' said Michael.

Colonel Bertwald eyed him for a moment thoughtfully and demanded :

'Going to stand for Parliament ?'

'I'm thinking of going back to South Africa.'

'Why the war's over.'

'I've friends there who knew my father, and it's not a strange country to me. I should find plenty to do there, and opportunities.'

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Oh, aye. You speak their lingo ?'

'I hope so. I was born there, you know,' said Michael, smiling. Colonel Bertwald only stayed for a moment to greet his niece and receive her apologies for being late, and then, with a nod to his visitor, shuffled out of the library and banged the door after him, according to his invariable custom.

Michael and Edith faced each other.

The interval of years had dealt more hardly with him than with her. He was leaner and browner, and in harder condition than he had ever been, but there were deep lines cut in his face, that had been so smooth and boyish. The brown curly hair was perceptibly thinned, slightly grey on the temples. He looked more than thirty years old.

Edith, on the other hand, looked less. Her pure-complexioned face showed no lines; if the youthful bloom had paled, the grave dark eyes were still beautiful and striking. She had been away from London for some weeks, nursing a case through a long convalescence. The change had rested her no less than the patient, an overworked judge and a delightful companion.

The tired expression of the professional nurse who has known too many sleepless nights had been charmed from her eyes and mouth. She was in good spirits, fresh and charming.

As she looked at Michael she smiled, and in response the twinkle leapt to his eyes, and the deprecating smile to his lips, and restored momentarily the boyishness of his face.

'That is more like yourself. I was afraid you had grown serious.' 'So I have,' he laughed.

Am I to say Captain Ferrys now?'

Please not. I'm a civilian again. All very well for the Roaths. You should see what an important man old Humphrey is out there.'

'I wish he 'd come home.'

'You could go out and see him,' suggested Michael, and he VOL. XXXIV.-NO. 204, N.S.

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