wilderness, sitting there in the little circle of light, in the strange room in the strange town, almost as intimate as if they had known one another for years, or had been a week at sea together.

But Kate, having acknowledged by that pleasant outburst her sense of the oddity of the position, rose from the table; and the rector had to say good-night, explaining at the same time that he should not travel with them next morning, but intended to go on by a later train, as his friend wished to see more of him. Nevertheless, he said he should be up to breakfast with them and should see them off. And in this resolution he persisted, notwithstanding Kate's protest, which perhaps was not very violent.

Nevertheless, he was a little late next morning, and when he came down he found them already seated in the coffee-room. There were others breakfasting here and there in the room, chiefly upon toast-racks and newspapers, and he did not at once observe that the gentleman standing with his back set negligently against the mantelshelf was talking to Kate. Arrived at the table, however, he saw that it was so; and the cheery greeting on his lips faded into a commonplace 'Good morning, Miss Bonamy.' He took no apparent notice of the stranger as he added, 'I am afraid I am rather late.'

The intruder, a short dark-whiskered man between thirty and forty, seemed to the full as much surprised by the clergyman's appearance as Lindo was by his; and, moreover, to be as little able to hide the feeling as Kate herself to control the colour which rose in her cheeks. She gave Mr. Lindo his tea in silence, and then with an obvious effort introduced the two men. "This is Dr. Gregg of Claversham-Mr. Lindo,' she said.

Lindo rose and shook hands. Mr. Lindo the younger, I presume?' said the doctor, with a bow and a careless gesture intended to show that he was quite at his ease.

'The only one, I am afraid,' replied the rector, smiling. Though he by no means liked the look of his new friend.

'Did I rightly catch your name?' was the answer—““Mr. Lindo?""

'Yes,' said the rector again, opening his eyes in some surprise. 'But you are not-you do not mean to say that you are the new rector?' pronounced the dark man abruptly, and with a kind of aggressiveness which seemed his most striking quality- the rector of Claversham, I mean?'

'I believe so,' said Lindo quietly. You want some more

water, do you not, Miss Bonamy?' he continued. 'Let me ring the bell.' He rose and crossed the room to do so. The truth was, he hated the newcomer already. The man's first sentence had been enough. His manner was not the manner of the men with whom Lindo had mixed, and the rector felt almost angry with Kate for introducing Gregg-albeit his parishioner-to him, and quite angry with her for suffering the doctor to address her with the familiarity he seemed to affect.

And Kate, her eyes downcast, knew by instinct how it was with him, and what he was thinking. I have been telling Dr. Gregg,' she said hurriedly, when he returned, 'how we missed our train yesterday.'

Rather how I missed it for you,' Lindo answered gravely, devoting himself to his breakfast.

'Ah, yes, it was very funny!' the doctor fired off, watching each mouthful they ate. Daintry had finished, and was sitting back in her chair kicking the leg of the table monotonously; not in the best of tempers apparently. Very funny indeed!' the doctor continued. An accident, I hope?' with a little sniggling laugh.

6

'Yes!' said the rector, looking up at him with a black brow and steadfast eyes-it was an accident.'

Gregg was a little cowed by the look, and in a moment, with a muttered word or two, fidgeted himself away, cursing the general superciliousness of parsons and the quiet airs of this one in particular. He was a little dog-in-the-mangerish man, ill-bred, and, like most ill-bred men, resentful of breeding in others. The fact that he had a sneaking liking for Kate did not tend to lessen his disgustful wonder how the Bonamy girls and the new rector came to be travelling together-which, indeed, to any Claversham person would have seemed a portent. But, then, Lindo did not know that.

The objectionable item removed, and the temptation to remark upon him overcome, Lindo soon recovered his good temper, and rattled away so pleasantly that the train time seemed to all of them to come very quickly. There,' he said, as he handed the last of Kate's books into the railway carriage, now I have done something to make amends for my fault, I trust. One thing more I can do. When you get home you need not spare me. You can put it all on my shoulders, Miss Bonamy.'

'Thank you,' Kate answered demurely.

"You are going to do so, I see,' he said, laughing. I fear my character will reach Claversham before me.'

'I do not think we shall spread it very widely,' she answered in a peculiar tone, which he naturally misunderstood.

He had not time to weigh it, indeed, for the train was already in motion, and he shook hands with her as he walked beside it. 'Good-bye,' he said. And then he added in a lower tone-he was such a very young rector-'I hope to see very much of you in the future, Miss Bonamy.'

Kate sank back in her seat, her cheek a shade warmer. And in a moment he was alone upon the platform.

CHAPTER V.

'REGINALD LINDO, 1850.'

LONG before the later train, by which the rector came on, arrived at the Claversham station, the Rev. Stephen Clode was waiting on the platform. The curate-we have seen him once beforewas a tall dark man, somewhat over thirty, with a strong rugged face and a bush of stiff black hair standing up from his forehead. He had been at Claversham three years, enjoying all the importance which old Mr. Williams's long illness would naturally give to his curate and locum tenens; and, though the town was agreed that his chagrin at having a new rector set over his head was great, it must be admitted that he concealed it with admirable skill. More than one letter had passed between him and the new incumbent, and, in securing for the latter Mr. Williams's good old-fashioned furniture, and in other ways, he had made himself very useful to Lindo. But the two had not met, and consequently the curate viewed the approaching train with lively, though secret, curiosity.

It came, the bell rang, the porter cried, Claversham! Claversham!' and the curate walked down it, past the carriage-windows, looking for the man he had come to meet. Half a dozen people stepped out, and for a moment there was a mimic tumult on the little platform; but nowhere amid it all could Clode see anyone like the new rector. He has missed another train!' he muttered to himself in contemptuous wonder; and he was already casting a last look round him before turning on his heel, when a tall fair

young man, in a clerical overcoat, who had been one of the first to alight, stepped up to him. Am I speaking to Mr. Clode?' said the stranger pleasantly. And he lifted his hat.

'Certainly,' the curate answered. I am Mr. Clode. But I fear I have not the'

6

'No, I know,' replied the other, smiling, and at the same time. holding out his hand. Though, indeed, I hoped that you might have been here on purpose to meet me. My name is Lindo.'

The curate uttered an exclamation of surprise; and, hastily returning the proffered grip, fixed his black eyes curiously on his new friend. 'Mr. Lindo did not mention that you were with him,' he answered in a tone of some embarrassment. But, there, let me see to your luggage. Is it all here ?'

'Yes, I think so,' Lindo answered, tapping one article after another with his umbrella, and giving the station master a pleasant "Good day!' 'Is there an omnibus or anything?'

6

'Yes,' Clode said; it will be all right. take it. You will walk up with me, perhaps. of a mile to the rectory.'

They know where to
It is about a quarter

The new-comer assented gladly, and the two passed out of the station together. Lindo let his eye travel up the wide steep street before him, until it rested on the noble tower which crowned the little hill and looked down now, as it had looked down for five centuries, on the red roofs clustering about it. His tower! His church! Even his companion did not remark, so slight was the action, that, as he passed out of the station and looked up, he lifted his hat for a second.

'And where is your father?' Clode asked. 'Was he delayed by business? Or perhaps,' he added, dubiously scanning him, 'you are Mr. Lindo's brother?'

'I am Mr. Lindo!' said our friend, turning in astonishment and looking at his companion.

"The rector?'

'Yes.'

It was the curate's turn to stare now, and he did so—his face flushing darkly and his eyes wide open for once. He even seemed for a moment to be stricken dumb with surprise and emotion. 'Indeed!' he said at last, in a half-stifled voice which he vainly strove to render natural. Indeed! • I beg your pardon. I had thought-I don't know why-I mean that I had expected to see an older man.'

'I am sorry you are disappointed,' the rector replied, smiling ruefully. I am beginning to think I am rather young, for you are not the first to-day who has made that mistake.'

The curate did not answer, and the two walked on in silence, feeling somewhat awkward. Clode, indeed, was raging inwardly. By one thing and another he had been led to expect a man past middle life, and the only Clergy List in the parish, being three years old and containing the name of Lindo's uncle only, had confirmed him in the error. He had never conceived the idea that the man set over his head would be a fledgeling scarcely a year in priest's orders, or he would have gone elsewhere. He would never have stayed to be at the beck and call of such a puppy as this! He felt that he had been entrapped, and he chafed inwardly to such an extent that he did not dare to speak. To have this young fellow, six or seven years his junior, set over him would humiliate him in the eyes of all those before whom he had long played a different part!

In a minor degree Lindo also was vexed-not only because he was sufficiently sensitive to enter into the other's feelings, but also because he foresaw trouble ahead. It was annoying, too, to be received at each new rencontre as a surprise-as the reverse of all that had been expected and all that had been, as he feared, hoped.

'You will find the rectory a very comfortable house,' said the curate at last, his mind fully made up now that he would leave at the earliest possible date. 'Warm and old-fashioned. Roughcast outside. Many of the rooms are panelled.'

'It looks out on the churchyard, I believe,' replied the rector, with the same laboured politeness.

'Yes, it stands high. The view from the windows at the back is pleasant. The front is perhaps a little gloomy-in winter at least.' Near the top of the street a quaint, narrow flight of steps conducted them to the churchyard-an airy, elevated place, surrounded on three sides by the church and houses, but open on the fourth, on which a terraced walk, running along the summit of the old town wall, admitted the southern sun and afforded a wide view of plain and hill. The two men crossed the churchyard, the new rector looking about him with curiosity and a little awe, his companion marching straight onwards, his strongly marked face set ominously. He would go! He would go at the earliest possible minute, he was thinking.

It did not affect him nor alter his resolution that in the wooden
VOL. XVII.-NO. 97, N.S.

2