se moments of irreverence; as, for instance, on one
occasion when he had spoken of Mr. Louis N. Parker's noble picture-play,
"Joseph and his Brethren," quite shortly as "Jos. Bros."

"I will carry you home," he said gently. "Tell me where you live, Little
Grey Woman."

She smiled up at him bravely. "The Manor House," she said.

His voice became yet more gentle. "And now tell me your income," he
whispered; and his whole being trembled with emotion as he waited for
her reply.

[_Mrs. Barclay. There! That's the end of the chapter. Now it's your
turn._

_Hall Caine_ (waking up). _I don't know if I told you that in my last
great work of the imagination, in which I collaborated with the Bishop
of London, I wrote throughout in the first person. Nearly a million
copies were sold, thus showing that the heart of the great public
approved of my method of telling my story through the mouth of a young
and innocent girl, exposed to great temptation. I should wish,
therefore, to repeat that method in this story, if you could so arrange
it._

_Mrs. Barclay. But that's easy. The Little Grey Woman shall tell Dr.
Dick the story of her first marriage. I did that in my last book, "The
Broken Halo," now in its two hundredth edition._

_Hall Caine_ (annoyed). _Tut!_]

CHAPTER II

UNDER THE CEDAR

(MRS. BARCLAY _continues_)

They were having tea in the garden--the Little Grey Woman and Dr. Dick.
More than six months had elapsed since the accident outside the church,
and Dr. Dick still remained on at the Manor House in charge of his
patient, wishing to be handy in case the old sprain came on again
suddenly. She was eighty-two and had twelve thousand a year. On the lawn
a thrush was singing.

"How fresh and green the world is to-day," sighed Dr. Dick, leaning back
and exhaling youth. "As the curate used to say to my Aunt Louisa, 'A
delightful shower after the rain.'" He laughed merrily, and threw a
crumb at the thrush with the perfect aim of a good cricketer throwing
the ball at the wickets.

"My dear boy," said the Little Grey Woman, "the world is always fresh
and green to youth like yours. But to an old woman like me----"

"Not old," said Dick, with an ardent glance; "only eighty-two. Mrs.
Beauchamp, will you marry me?"

She looked at him with a sad but tender smile.

"What _would_ my friends say?" she asked.

"Bother your friends."

"My dear boy, you would be considerably surprised if you could glance
through an ap