est and most careful cultivation. It was such a scene as is only to
be found in an old country town; the walls jealous of intrusion, yet
thrusting tall plumes of lilac and stray branches of apple-blossom, like
friendly salutations to the world without; within, the blossoms drooping
over the light bright head of Lucy Wodehouse underneath the apple-trees,
and impertinently flecking the Rev. Frank Wentworth's Anglican coat.
These two last were young people, with that indefinable harmony in
their looks which prompts the suggestion of "a handsome couple" to the
bystander. It had not even occurred to them to be in love with each
other, so far as anybody knew, yet few were the undiscerning persons who
saw them together without instinctively placing the young curate of St
Roque's in permanence by Lucy's side. She was twenty, pretty, blue-eyed,
and full of dimples, with a broad Leghorn hat thrown carelessly on her
head, untied, with broad strings of blue ribbon falling among her fair
curls--a blue which was "repeated," according to painter jargon, in
ribbons at her throat and waist. She had great gardening gloves on,
and a basket and huge pair of scissors on the grass at her feet, which
grass, besides, was strewed with a profusion of all the sweetest spring
blossoms--the sweet narcissus, most exquisite of flowers, lilies of the
valley, white and blue hyacinths, golden ranunculus globes--worlds of
sober, deep-breathing wallflower. If Lucy had been doing what her kind
elder sister called her "duty," she would have been at this moment
arranging her flowers in the drawing-room; but the times were rare when
Lucy did her duty according to Miss Wodehouse's estimate; so instead of
arranging those clusters of narcissus, she clubbed them together in her
hands into a fragrant dazzling sheaf, and discussed the new Rector--not
unaware, perhaps, in her secret heart, that the sweet morning, the
sunshine and flowers, and exhilarating air, were somehow secretly
enhanced by the presence of that black Anglican figure under the
apple-trees.

"But I suppose," said Lucy, with a sigh, "we must wait till we see him;
and if I must be very respectful of Mr Bury because he christened me, I
am heartily glad the new Rector has no claim upon my reverence. I have
been christened, I have been confirmed----"

"But, Lucy, my dear, the chances are he will marry you," said Miss
Wodehouse, calmly; "indeed, there can be no doubt that it is only
natural he should, f