om the driver, whom he was about to pay. As for
Hodder, he was not only undergoing a certain shock through the
sudden contact, at such a moment, with Alison's brother: there was an
additional shock that this was Alison's brother and Eldon Parr's son.
Not that his appearance was shocking, although the well-clad, athletic
figure was growing a trifle heavy, and the light from the side lamps of
the car revealed dissipation in a still handsome face. The effect was
a subtler one, not to be analyzed, and due to a multitude of
preconceptions.

Alison came forward.

"This is Mr. Hodder, Preston," she said simply.

For a moment Preston continued to stare at the rector without speaking.
Suddenly he put out his hand.

"Mr. Hodder, of St. John's?" he demanded.

"Yes," answered Hodder. His surprise deepened to perplexity at the
warmth of the handclasp that followed.

A smile that brought back vividly to Hodder the sunny expression of the
schoolboy in the picture lightened the features of the man.

"I'm very glad to see you," he said, in a tone that left no doubt of its
genuine quality.

"Thank you," Hodder replied, meeting his eye with kindness, yet with
a scrutiny that sought to penetrate the secret of an unexpected
cordiality. "I, too, have hoped to see you."

Alison, who stood by wondering, felt a meaning behind the rector's
words. She pressed his hand as he bade her, once more, good night.

"Won't you take my taxicab?" asked Preston. "It is going down town
anyway."

"I think I'd better stick to the street cars," Hodder said. His refusal
was not ungraceful, but firm. Preston did not insist.

In spite of the events of that evening, which he went over again and
again as the midnight car carried him eastward, in spite of a new-born
happiness the actuality of which was still difficult to grasp, Hodder
was vaguely troubled when he thought of Preston Parr.

Volume 8.

CHAPTER XXVII. RETRIBUTION

I

The Bishop's House was a comfortable, double dwelling of a smooth,
bright red brick and large, plate-glass windows, situated in a plot at
the western end of Waverley Place. It had been bought by the Diocese
in the nineties, and was representative of that transitional period in
American architecture when the mansard roof had been repudiated, when
as yet no definite types had emerged to take its place. The house had
pointed gables, and a tiny and utterly useless porch that served only
to darken the front door