astily.

'Oh yes; but I was alluding to the interior. And the church--St.
Eval's--is much older than our St. Agnes' here. I do duty in that and
this alternately, you know. The fact is, I ought to have some help;
riding across that park for two miles on a wet morning is not at all
the thing. If my constitution were not well seasoned, as thank God it
is,'--here Mr. Swancourt looked down his front, as if his constitution
were visible there,--'I should be coughing and barking all the year
round. And when the family goes away, there are only about three
servants to preach to when I get there. Well, that shall be the
arrangement, then. Elfride, you will like to go?'

Elfride assented; and the little breakfast-party separated. Stephen
rose to go and take a few final measurements at the church, the vicar
following him to the door with a mysterious expression of inquiry on his
face.

'You'll put up with our not having family prayer this morning, I hope?'
he whispered.

'Yes; quite so,' said Stephen.

'To tell you the truth,' he continued in the same undertone, 'we don't
make a regular thing of it; but when we have strangers visiting us, I am
strongly of opinion that it is the proper thing to do, and I always do
it. I am very strict on that point. But you, Smith, there is something
in your face which makes me feel quite at home; no nonsense about you,
in short. Ah, it reminds me of a splendid story I used to hear when I
was a helter-skelter young fellow--such a story! But'--here the vicar
shook his head self-forbiddingly, and grimly laughed.

'Was it a good story?' said young Smith, smiling too.

'Oh yes; but 'tis too bad--too bad! Couldn't tell it to you for the
world!'

Stephen went across the lawn, hearing the vicar chuckling privately at
the recollection as he withdrew.

They started at three o'clock. The gray morning had resolved itself
into an afternoon bright with a pale pervasive sunlight, without the
sun itself being visible. Lightly they trotted along--the wheels nearly
silent, the horse's hoofs clapping, almost ringing, upon the hard,
white, turnpike road as it followed the level ridge in a perfectly
straight line, seeming to be absorbed ultimately by the white of the
sky.

Targan Bay--which had the merit of being easily got at--was duly
visited. They then swept round by innumerable lanes, in which not twenty
consecutive yards were either straight or level, to the domain of Lord
Luxellian. A woman with