onships, that it seemed almost to
obliterate the line which lies between the sublime and the ridiculous.
Then she moved forward again, saying, in her own old natural voice:

"Thank you, Vane. I have often wondered since what sort of circumstances
we should meet under again, but I never thought of anything like this.
Yes, I will come, and if there is anything I can do I will do it."

"I thought you would," he said quietly, as he strode along beside her
towards the farmhouse.

CHAPTER XIII.

After introducing Enid to the sorrow-stricken family, Vane took his
leave of her to go about his work. He met the pony-cart coming up the
hill, and told the footman to wait for his mistress outside the
farmhouse. Then he went on to the other hamlet, doing his work just as
well and conscientiously as ever, and yet all the while thinking many
thoughts which had very little connection with it.

He got back to the Retreat just in time for supper, and when the meal
was over he asked Father Philip for the favour of half an hour's
conversation. The request was, of course, immediately granted, and as
soon as he was alone with the old man, who was wise alike in the things
of the world and in those of the spirit, he told him, not as penitent to
confessor, but rather as pupil to teacher, the whole story of his
meeting and conversation with Enid, not omitting the slightest detail
that his memory held, from the first thrill of emotion that he had
experienced on seeing her to the last word he had spoken to her on
leaving the farmhouse.

Father Philip was silent for some time after he had finished his story,
then, leaning back in his deep armchair, he looked at Vane, who was
still walking slowly up and down the little room, and said in a quiet,
matter-of-fact voice:

"I'm very glad, Maxwell, that you've told me this. As I have told you
before, I have listened to a good many life-histories in this room, but
I must admit that yours is one of the strangest and most difficult of
them. The fact of Miss Raleigh having married the son of the lord of the
manor here, and having come down while you are here, naturally makes it
more difficult still. But then, you know, my dear fellow, the greater
the difficulty and the danger of the strife the greater the honour and
the reward of victory.

"For my own part I think that your meeting with her in the road down
yonder, if not ordered by Providence, may, with all reverence, be called
providential.