life with Elizabeth for my fellow worker and companion!' he thought. I can conceive no existence happier than that, if I could be satisfied with small things. But for a man who has set all his hopes on something higher, surely that would be a living death. I should be stifled in the languid sweetness of such an atmosphere.'

He thought of himself with a wife and children, his heart and mind filled with care for that dear household, all his desires, all his hopes, all his fears. converging to that one centre-only the remnant of his intellectual power left for the service of his God.

'A man cannot serve two masters,' he said to himself. 'Sweet fancy, sweet dream of wife and home, I renounce you! There are men enough in this world with the capacity for happiness. The men who are most needed are the men who can do without it.'

The Curate stood for some moments before the vicarage gate with a thoughtful air, but instead of opening it, walked slowly on along the waste borderland of unkempt turf that edged the high-road. Just at the last moment that new habit of indecision took hold of him again. He had hardly made up his mind what to say. He would find Mr. Luttrell with his daughters round him most likely. Elizabeth's clear eyes would peruse his face while he pronounced

his sentence of banishment. He was not quite prepared for this interview, and strolled on meditatively, in the cold gray twilight, wondering at his own unlikeness to himself.

'Will she be sorry?' he wondered, 'just a little grieved to see me depart out of her life for ever? I remember when I spoke of my missionary schemes, that day I told her the story of my life, there was a shocked look in her face, as if the idea were dreadful to her. And then she began to talk of missionaries, with the air of a schoolgirl, as a low sort of people. She is such an unanswerable enigma. At times deluding one into a belief in her soul's nobility—at other times showing herself frivolous, shallow, empty in brain and heart. Yet I think-after her own light fashion-she will be sorry for my going.'

Then arose before him the image of Lord Paulyn, and the memory of that Sunday luncheon at the Vicarage; the two faces turned towards each otherthe man's face ardent, enraptured-the girl's glowing with a conscious pride in its loveliness; two faces that were of the earth, earthy-a brief scene which seemed like the prelude of a drama wherein he, Malcolm Forde, could have no part.

He bethought himself of that mere fragment of conversation he had overheard unawares on the

threshold of the vestry, a gush of girlish confidence,

6

in which Elizabeth had boldly spoken of the Viscount as her slave.' He remembered that common talk in which the Hawleigh gossips had coupled Lord Paulyn's name with Elizabeth Luttrell's, and he thought, with a pang, that this was perhaps the future which awaited her. He thought of such a prospect with more than common pain, a pain in which selfish regret or jealousy had no part. He had heard enough of Lord Paulyn's career to know that the woman who married him would prepare for herself a doubtful future; in all likelihood a dark and stormy one.

'If I can get a minute's talk alone with her before I leave this place, I will warn her,' he said to himself; though Heaven knows, if her heart is set on this business, she is little likely to accept my warning.'

He wasted half-an-hour idling thus by the wayside, and in all that time had been thinking wholly of Elizabeth, instead of pondering on what he should say to her father. But about that there need be no difficulty. He had never yet found himself at a loss for words; and though Mr. Luttrell would doubtless be reluctant to lose so energetic a coadjutor, his affliction would hardly be overwhelming. There was always a fair supply of curates in the ecclesiastical

market, of various qualities; indeed, the supply of this article was apt to be in excess of the demand.

It was past seven when Mr. Forde entered the Vicarage. The six-o'clock dinner was fairly over, the lamp lighted in the long low-ceiled drawing-room, the four girls grouped round the fire in their favourite attitudes-Elizabeth on her knees before the blaze, gazing into the heart of the fire, like a prophetess intent on reading auguries in the coals. She started to her feet when the servant announced Mr. Forde, but did not leave the hearth to greet him, though her three sisters crowded eagerly about him to give him reproachful welcome.

'It is such an age since you have been near us,' said Gertrude, almost piteously. I cannot think what we have done to offend you.'

You must know that I have had no possible reason for being offended, dear Miss Luttrell,' he answered cordially, but with his glance wandering uneasily towards that other figure rooted to the hearth. Your house is only too pleasant, and I have had very little time for pleasure. I see your papa elsewhere; and to come here is only another name for giving myself a holiday.'

Gertrude cast up her eyes in a kind of ecstasy.

6

'What a saint you are!' she exclaimed; and

what a privilege to feel your blessed influence guiding and directing one's feeble efforts! I have felt myself almost miraculously assisted in my poor work since you have been with us, and I look back and remember my previous coldness with a shudder.'

'I have no consciousness of my saintship,' said Mr. Forde, with a little good-natured laugh, making very light of an elderly-young ladylike worship to which he was tolerably accustomed. On the contrary, I have a strong sense of being very human. But I am glad if I have been the source of enthusiasm in you, and trust that when I am no longer here to guide or inspire-quite unconsciously again—you will not be in any danger of falling away. But I do not fear that contingency'-this with a somewhat severe glance in the direction of that figure by the hearth— for I believe you are thoroughly in earnest. There is no such thing as earnestness without constancy.'

Elizabeth took up the challenge, and flashed defiance upon the challenger.

'O, Gertrude was born good!' she said. 'I wonder papa took the trouble to christen her. It is impossible that she could have been born in sin and a child of wrath, like the rest of us. She is never tired of church-going and district-visiting; she has no intermittent fever of wickedness, as I have.'