ht Service.

When he returned, Pierson wrapped himself in a rug and lay down on the
old sofa in his study. The maid, coming in next morning to "do" the
grate, found him still asleep. She stood contemplating him in awe; a
broad-faced, kindly, fresh-coloured girl. He lay with his face resting
on his hand, his dark, just grizzling hair unruffled, as if he had not
stirred all night; his other hand clutched the rug to his chest, and
his booted feet protruded beyond it. To her young eyes he looked rather
appallingly neglected. She gazed with interest at the hollows in his
cheeks, and the furrows in his brow, and the lips, dark-moustached and
bearded, so tightly compressed, even in sleep. Being holy didn't make
a man happy, it seemed! What fascinated her were the cindery eyelashes
resting on the cheeks, the faint movement of face and body as he
breathed, the gentle hiss of breath escaping through the twitching
nostrils. She moved nearer, bending down over him, with the childlike
notion of counting those lashes. Her lips parted in readiness to say:
"Oh!" if he waked. Something in his face, and the little twitches which
passed over it, made her feel "that sorry" for him. He was a gentleman,
had money, preached to her every Sunday, and was not so very old--what
more could a man want? And yet--he looked so tired, with those cheeks.

She pitied him; helpless and lonely he seemed to her, asleep there
instead of going to bed properly. And sighing, she tiptoed towards the
door.

"Is that you, Bessie?"

The girl turned: "Yes, sir. I'm sorry I woke you, sir. 'Appy New Year,
sir!"

"Ah, yes. A Happy New Year, Bessie."

She saw his usual smile, saw it die, and a fixed look come on his face;
it scared her, and she hurried away. Pierson had remembered. For full
five minutes he lay there staring at nothing. Then he rose, folded the
rug mechanically, and looked at the clock. Eight! He went upstairs,
knocked on Noel's door, and entered.

The blinds were drawn up, but she was still in bed. He stood looking
down at her. "A Happy New Year, my child!" he said; and he trembled
all over, shivering visibly. She looked so young and innocent, so
round-faced and fresh, after her night's sleep, that the thought sprang
up in him again: 'It must have been a dream!' She did not move, but a
slow flush came up in her cheeks. No dream--dream! He said tremulously:
"I can't realise. I--I hoped I had heard wrong. Didn't I, Nollie? Didn't
I?"

She just