te friendship he at once taxed her with
it. "Colonel Godfrey is well, and you are quite well," he said
pointedly, "and yet something seems troubling you?"

"You are quite right," she returned with a sigh. "You know I am rather
a sympathetic person, Mr. Herrick, and I have been very much upset this
morning by a letter from Elizabeth Templeton. Mr. Carlyon has been up
to town to consult Dr. Broderick. His father took him; and from what
she says there is nothing to be done--the poor fellow is in a rapid
decline," and as she said this Mrs. Godfrey's eyes were full of tears.

CHAPTER XXXV

VIA DOLOROSA

Bleed on beneath the rod,
Weep on until thou see;
Turn fear and hope to love of God,
Who loveth thee.

Turn all to love, poor soul;
Be love thy starting-point, thy goal,
Be love thy watch and ward;
And thy reward.
--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

It was the Feast of the Epiphany, and morning service was just over in
Rotherwood church, when Elizabeth Templeton came out of the porch and
walked slowly towards the gate, as though she expected some one to
overtake her.

At the sound of short, hurrying footsteps behind her she turned round
and welcomed the new-comer with a faint smile, and they went on
together. The Rev. Rupert Carlyon had been taking the service at his
son's request, and now, as he walked beside Elizabeth and tried vainly
to adapt his brisk, rapid step to hers, he looked more than ever like a
gray-haired, shabby David Carlyon. The resemblance between father and
son had always been striking, and even the mannerisms and tricks of
speech were absurdly similar. "A dry, chippy little man," Cedric had
once called him, and now, in his worn Inverness cape and slouched
clerical hat, he seemed smaller and more shrunken than ever.

It was a lovely winter's day, and the hoar-frost on the hedges
glittered in the sunshine; the air was crisp and buoyant in spite of
the cold; but Elizabeth, who so revelled in the beauty of Nature, and
thought every season good and perfect, now only glanced round her with
the indifferent air of one whose thoughts were elsewhere.

"You are going to the vicarage?" she remarked at last; "I must not take
you out of your way."

"Oh, I will walk as far as the White Cottage with you," returned Mr.
Carlyon briskly. "You have promised to spend my last day with my boy
and me, so I shall be sure to turn up at tea. Charringto