rouble or inconvenience in order to accommodate him. He had
learned more, when he lay down to sleep that night, in twelve hours than
in any previous twelve months of his life, since his infancy. The
lessons were of higher value, and they were not likely to be lost.

When supper was over, Mr Marshall repaired to the White Bear, and
Aubrey was left to Agnes as entertainer. She was sewing a long seam,
and her needle went in and out with unfailing regularity. For a few
minutes he watched her in silence, discovering a sunny gleam on her hair
that he had never before noticed. Then he suddenly spoke out one of his
thoughts.

"Don't you find that exceeding wearisome?"

Agnes looked up with amused surprise.

"Truly," she said, "I never thought about it."

"I am sure I could not work at it ten minutes," replied Aubrey.

Agnes laughed--a low, soft, musical laugh, which struck pleasantly on
the ear.

"My father would be ill off for shirts if I could not," she answered.
"You see, Mr Louvaine, things have to be done. 'Tis to no good purpose
to be impatient with them. It doth but weary more the worker, and
furthers not the work a whit."

"Would you not like to lead a different life?--such a life as other
young maids do--amid flowers, and sunshine, and jewels, and dancing, and
laughter, and all manner of jollity?"

He was curious to hear what she would say to the question.

Agnes answered by a rather wondering smile. Then her eyes went out of
the window, to the steeple of Saint Andrew's, and the blue sky beyond
it.

"I might well enjoy some of them," she said slowly, as if the different
ideas were passing in review before her. "I love sunshine, and flowers.
But there is one thing I love far better."

"And that is--?"

A light "that never was from sun nor moon" flooded the grave grey eyes
of Agnes Marshall. Her voice was very low and subdued as she answered.

"That is, to do the will of God. There is nothing upon earth that I
desire in comparison of Him."

"Is not that a gloomsome, dismal sort of thing?"

There was Divine compassion, mingled with human amusement, in the smile
which was on Agnes's lips as she looked up at him.

"Have you tried it, Mr Louvaine?"

Aubrey shook his head. "I have tried a good many things, but not
Puritan piety. It ever seemed to me a most weary and dreary matter,--an
eternal `Thou shalt not' carved o'er the gate of every garden of delight
that I would fain enter. They may