hing."

"It is not necessary," Holderness had answered. "It is a matter of the
intelligence. As an artist, if I might dare to call myself one, I say
that the Christian life, if honestly lived, is the most beautiful thing
of all the ages."

Macheson walked down to the village with the memory of those words still
in his brain. The bell was ringing for service from the queer,
ivy-covered church, the villagers were coming down the lane in little
groups. Macheson found himself one of a small knot of people, who stood
reverently on one side, with doffed hats, just by the wooden porch. He
looked up, suddenly realizing the cause.

A small vehicle, something between a bath-chair and a miniature
carriage, drawn by a fat, sleek pony, was turning into the lane from one
of the splendid avenues which led to the house. A boy led the pony, a
footman marched behind. Wilhelmina, in a plain white muslin dress and a
black hat, was slowly preparing to descend. She smiled languidly, but
pleasantly enough, at the line of curtseying women and men with doffed
hats. The note of feudalism which their almost reverential attitudes
suggested appealed irresistibly to Macheson's sense of humour. He, too,
formed one of them; he, too, doffed his hat. His greeting, however, was
different. Her eyes swept by him unseeing, his pleasant "Good morning"
was unheeded. She even touched her skirt with her fingers, as though
afraid lest it might brush against him in passing. With tired, graceful
footsteps, she passed into the cool church, leaving him to admire
against his will the slim perfection of her figure, the wonderful
carriage of her small but perfect head.

He followed with the others presently, and found a single seat close to
the door. The service began almost at once, a very beautiful service in
its way, for the organ, a present from the lady of the manor, was
perfectly played, and the preacher's voice was clear and as sweet as a
boy's. Macheson, however, was nervous and ill at ease. From the open
door he heard the soft whispering of the west wind--for the first time
in his life he found the simple but dignified ritual unconvincing. He
was haunted by the sense of some impending disaster. When the prayers
came, he fell on his knees and remained there! Even then he could not
collect himself! He was praying to an unknown God for protection against
some nameless evil! He knew quite well that the words he muttered were
vain words. Through the stained gla