felt it would be a relief to tell him all. And he quickly did so, the curate listening and making no remark whatever, so that the rector presently looked at him in surprise. What do you think of it? ' It is unfortunate, is it

he said, some impatience in his tone. not?'

'Well, I don't know,' the curate answered, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees and his eyes cast down upon the hat which he was slowly revolving between his hands. 'I am not astonished, you know. What can you expect from a pig but a grunt?'

The rector got up, and, leaning his arm on the mantelshelf, felt, if the truth be told, rather uncomfortable. I do not understand you,' he said at length.

'It is what I should have expected from Bonamy. That is all.'

'Then you must think him a very ill-conditioned man!' Lindo retorted, scarcely knowing whether the annoyance he felt was a reminiscence of his late conflict or caused by his companion's manner.

'Well, again, what else can you expect?' Clode replied sagely, looking up and shrugging his shoulders. You know all about him, I suppose?'

'I know nothing,' said the rector, frowning slightly.

'He is not a gentleman, you know,' the curate answered, still looking up and speaking with languid indolence as if what he said must be known to everyone. You have heard his history?'

'No, I have not.'

'He was an office-boy with Adams and Rooke, the old solicitors here-swept out the office, and brought the coal, and so forth. He had his wits about him, and old Adams gave him his articles, and finally took him into partnership. Then the old men died off, and it all came to him. He is well off, and has power of a sort in the town; but, of course,' the curate added, getting up lazily and yawning-well, people like the Hammonds do not visit with

him.'

There was silence in the room for a full minute. The rector had left the fireplace and, with his back to the speaker, was raising the lamp-wick. Why did you not tell me this before?' he said at length, his voice hard.

'I did not see why I should prejudice you against the man

before you saw him,' replied the curate, with much reason. Besides, I really was not sure whether you knew his history or not. I am afraid I did not give much thought to the matter.' Fie, Mr. Clode, fie!

HOWEVER, the bloom was gone. The new top, the new book, the bride-the first joy in the possession of each one of these fades, not gradually, but at a leap, as day fades in the tropics. A chip in the wood, the turning of the last page, the first selfish word, and the thing is done; ecstasy becomes sober satisfaction. It was so with the rector. The first glamour of his good fortune, of his new toy, died abruptly with that evening-with the quarrel with his churchwarden, and the discovery of the cause of that constraint which he had remarked in Kate Bonamy's manner from the first.

He was a conscientious man, and the failure of his good resolutions, his aspirations to be the perfect parish priest, fretted him. Moreover, he had to think of the future. He soon learned that Mr. Bonamy might not be a gentleman, and was indeed reputed to be a stubborn, queer-tempered man; but he learned also that he had great influence in the town, though, except in the way of business, he associated with few, and that he, Reginald Lindo, would have to reckon with him on that footing. The certainty of this and of the bad beginning he had made naturally depressed the young man, his customary good opinion of himself not coming to his aid at once. And, besides, he carried about with him-sometimes it came between him and his book, sometimes he saw it framed by the autumn landscapethe picture of Kate's pure proud face. At such moments he felt himself humiliated by the slights cast upon her. The Hammonds did not think her fit company for them! The Hammonds!

Not that he knew the Hammonds yet, or many others, the days which intervened between his induction and the dinner at the Town House being somewhat lonely days, during which he was much thrown back upon himself, and only felt by slow degrees the soothing influence of the routine work of his position. Of his curate, and of him only, he naturally saw much, and found it small comfort to learn from the Reverend Stephen that the fracas

with Mr. Bonamy had not escaped the attention of the town, but was being made the subject of comment by many who were delighted to have so novel a subject as the new rector and his probable conduct.

He was sitting at breakfast a few days later-on the morning of the Hammonds' party-when Mrs. Baker announced an early visitor. 'No, he is not a gentleman, sir,' she said, though he has on a black coat. A stranger to the town, I think, but he will not say what he wants, except to see you.'

'I will come to him in the study,' her master answered.

The housekeeper, however, on going out, and taking a second glance at the caller, did not show him into the study, but, instead, gave him a seat in the hall on the farther side from the coatstand. There the rector, when he came out, found him—a pale, fat-faced, small-eyed man, dressed neatly and decorously, though his black clothes were threadbare. He took him into the study, and asked him his business. But first sit down,' the rector added pleasantly, desiring to set the man at his ease.

The stranger sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair. For a moment there was a pause of seeming embarrassment, and then, 'I am body-servant, sir,' he said abruptly, passing his tongue across his lips, and looking up furtively to learn the effect of hist announcement, 'to the Earl of Dynmore.'

'Indeed!' the rector replied, with a slight start. 'Has Lord Dyumore returned to England, then?'

Again the man looked up slyly. No, sir,' he answered with deliberation, 'I cannot say that he has, sir.'

"You have brought some letter or message from him, perhaps?' the clergyman hazarded. The stranger seemed to have a difficulty in telling his own story.

'No, sir, if you will pardon me, I have come about myself, sir,' the man explained, speaking a little more freely. 'I am in a little bit of trouble, and I think you would help me, sir, if you heard the story.'

'I am quite willing to hear the story,' said the rector gravely. Looking more closely at the man, he saw now that his neatness was only on the surface. His white cravat was creased, and his wrists displayed no linen. An air of seediness marked him, viewed in the full light of the windows, and, pale as his face was, it wore here and there a delicate flush. Perhaps the man's admission that he was in trouble helped the rector to see this.

'Well, sir, it was this way,' the servant began. 'I was not very well out there, sir, and his lordship-he is an independent kind of man-thought he would be better by himself. So he gave me my passage-money and board wages for three months, and told me to come home and take a holiday until he returned to England. So far it was all right, sir.'

"Yes?' said the rector.

'But on board the boat-I am not excusing what I did, sir; but there are others have done worse,' the man continued, with another of his sudden upward glances-'I was led to play cards with a set of sharpers, and—and the end of it was that I landed at Liverpool yesterday without a halfpenny.'

'That was bad.'

'Yes, it was, sir. I do not know that I ever felt so bad in my life,' replied the servant earnestly. And now you know my position, sir. There are several people in the town-but they have no means to help me—who can tell you I am his lordship's valet, and my name is Charles Felton.'

You want help, I suppose?'

'I have not a halfpenny, sir! I want something to live on until his lordship comes back.'

His tone seemed to change as he said this, growing hard and almost defiant. The rector noted the alteration, and did not like it. But why come to me?' he said, more coldly than he had yet spoken. Why do you not go to Lord Dynmore's steward, or agent, or his solicitor, my man?'

'They would tell of me,' was the curt answer. And likely enough I should lose my place.'

Still, why come to me?' Lindo persisted-chiefly to learn what was in the man's mind, for he had already determined what he would do.

'Because you are rector of Claversham, sir," the applicant retorted at last. And he rose and confronted the parson with an unpleasant smile on his pale face-' which is in my lord's gift, as you know, sir,' he continued, in a tone rude and almost savage-a tone which considerably puzzled his companion, who was not conscious of having said anything offensive to the man. "I came here, sir, expecting to meet an older gentleman—a gentleman of your name, a gentleman known to me-and I find you. I see you, do you see, where I expected to find him.'

'You mean my uncle, I suppose?' said Lindo.

'Well, sir, that is as may be. You know best,' was the odd reply, and the man's look was as odd as his words. But that is how the case stands; and, seeing it stands so, I hope you will help me, sir. I do hope, on every account, sir, that you will see your way to help me.'

The rector looked at the speaker with a slight frown, liking neither him nor his behaviour. But he had already made up his mind to help him, if only in gratitude to his patron, whose retainer he was; and this, though the earl would never know of the act, nor possibly approve of it. The man had at least had the frankness to own the folly which had brought him to these straits, and Lindo was inclined to set down the oddity cf his present manner to the fear and anxiety of a respectable servant on the verge of disgrace. 'Yes,' he said coldly, after a moment's thought, 'I am willing to help you. Of course I shall expect you to repay me if and when you are able, Felton.'

'I will do that,' replied the man rather cavalierly.

'You might have added, "and thank you, sir," the rector said, with a keen glance of reproof. He turned, as he spoke, to a small cupboard constructed between the bookshelves near the fireplace, and, opening it, took out a cash-box.

The man coloured under his reproach, and muttered some apology, resuming, as by habit, the tone of respect which seemed natural to him. All the same he watched the clergyman's movements with great closeness, and appraised, even before it was placed in his hand, the sum which Lindo took from a compartment set apart apparently for gold. 'I will allow you ten shillings a week-on loan, of course,' Lindo said after a moment's thought. You can keep yourself on that, I suppose? And, besides, I will advance you a sovereign to supply yourself with anything of which you have pressing need. That should be ample. There are three half-sovereigns.'

This time the man did thank him with an appearance of heartiness, though before he had said much the study door opened, and Stephen Clode came in, his hat in his hand. 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' the curate said, taking in at a glance the open cashbox and the stranger's outstretched hand, and preparing to withdraw. I thought you were alone.'

'Come in, come in!' said the rector, closing the money-box hastily, and with some embarrassment, for he was not altogether sure that he had not done a foolish and quixotic thing. Our