e, even during this short interval in his years of adventure,
and in this stay-at-home English company whose thoughts were mostly
bound up in the few acres around them.

Cicely stole glances at him. Was he acting a carefully thought out plan,
or had he really forgotten her very existence for the moment, while his
thoughts winged their way to cruel, dark places, whose secrets he would
wrest from them, the only places in which his bold, eager spirit could
find its home? He radiated power. She was drawn to him, more than half
against her will. He had called to her to share his life and his
enterprise. Should she answer the call? It was in her mind that she
might do so.

He made no attempt to claim her after tea; but when the church bells
began to ring from across the park, and she had to go to play for the
evening service, he joined the little party of women--the Clinton men
went to church once on Sundays, but liked their women to go twice--and
sat opposite to her in the chancel pew, sometimes fixing her with a
penetrating look, sometimes with his head lowered on his broad chest,
thinking inscrutable thoughts, while the dusk crept from raftered roof
to stone floor, and the cheap oil lamps and the glass-protected candles
in the pulpit and reading-desk plucked up yellow courage to keep off the
darkness.

The congregation sang a tuneful, rather sentimental evening hymn in the
twilight. They sang fervently, especially the maids and men in the
chancel pews. Their minds were stirred to soothing and vaguely aspiring
thoughts. Such hymns as this at the close of an evening service were the
pleasantest part of the day's occupations.

The villagers went home to their cottages, talking a little more
effusively than usual. The next morning their work would begin again.
The party from the great house hurried home across the park. The sermon
had been a little longer than usual. They would barely have time to
dress for dinner.

Jim Graham's dog-cart came round at half-past ten. The Squire, who had
been agreeably aroused from his contented but rather monotonous
existence by his unusual guest, pressed them to send it back to the
stable for an hour. "The women are going to bed," he said--they were
always expected to go upstairs punctually at half-past ten--"we'll go
into my room."

But Mackenzie refused without giving Jim the opportunity. "I have a lot
of work to do to-night," he said. "Don't suppose I shall be in bed much
before fou