unds about it, as he loitered along. Every day since his return
from the woods he had given the fates this chance of bringing Celia
to meet him, without avail. He had hung about in the vicinity of the
Catholic church on several evenings as well, but to no purpose. The
organ inside was dumb, and he could detect no signs of Celia's presence
on the curtains of the pastorate next door. This day, too, there was
no one visible at the home of the Maddens, and he walked on, a little
sadly. It was weary work waiting for the signal that never came.

But there were compensations. His mind reverted doggedly to the flowers
in his garden, and to Alice's behavior toward him. They insisted upon
connecting themselves in his thoughts. Why should Levi Gorringe, a
money-lender, and therefore the last man in the world to incur reckless
expenditure, go and buy perhaps a hundred dollars, worth of flowers for
his wife's garden? It was time--high time--to face this question. And
his experiencing religion afterward, just when Alice did, and marching
down to the rail to kneel beside her--that was a thing to be thought of,
too.

Meditation, it is true, hardly threw fresh light upon the matter. It
was incredible, of course, that there should be anything wrong. To even
shape a thought of Alice in connection with gallantry would be wholly
impossible. Nor could it be said that Gorringe, in his new capacity as a
professing church-member, had disclosed any sign of ulterior motives,
or of insincerity. Yet there the facts were. While Theron pondered them,
their mystery, if they involved a mystery, baffled him altogether.
But when he had finished, he found himself all the same convinced that
neither Alice nor Gorringe would be free to blame him for anything
he might do. He had grounds for complaint against them. If he did not
himself know just what these grounds were, it was certain enough that
THEY knew. Very well, then, let them take the responsibility for what
happened.

It was indeed awkward that at the moment, as Theron chanced to emerge
temporarily from his brown-study, his eyes fell full upon the spare,
well-knit form of Levi Gorringe himself, standing only a few feet away,
in the staircase entrance to his law office. His lean face, browned by
the summer's exposure, had a more Arabian aspect than ever. His hands
were in his pockets, and he held an unlighted cigar between his teeth.
He looked the Rev. Mr. Ware over calmly, and nodded recognition.