s sure he must be eager to see
her again, and that he would not want to wait till they met at supper,
between Mr. Royall and Verena. She was wondering what his first words
would be, and trying to devise a way of getting rid of the Targatt girl
before he came, when she heard steps outside, and he walked up the path
with Mr. Miles.

The clergyman from Hepburn seldom came to North Dormer except when he
drove over to officiate at the old white church which, by an unusual
chance, happened to belong to the Episcopal communion. He was a brisk
affable man, eager to make the most of the fact that a little nucleus of
"church-people" had survived in the sectarian wilderness, and resolved
to undermine the influence of the ginger-bread-coloured Baptist chapel
at the other end of the village; but he was kept busy by parochial work
at Hepburn, where there were paper-mills and saloons, and it was not
often that he could spare time for North Dormer.

Charity, who went to the white church (like all the best people in North
Dormer), admired Mr. Miles, and had even, during the memorable trip to
Nettleton, imagined herself married to a man who had such a straight
nose and such a beautiful way of speaking, and who lived in a
brown-stone rectory covered with Virginia creeper. It had been a shock
to discover that the privilege was already enjoyed by a lady with
crimped hair and a large baby; but the arrival of Lucius Harney had long
since banished Mr. Miles from Charity's dreams, and as he walked up the
path at Harney's side she saw him as he really was: a fat middle-aged
man with a baldness showing under his clerical hat, and spectacles on
his Grecian nose. She wondered what had called him to North Dormer on a
weekday, and felt a little hurt that Harney should have brought him to
the library.

It presently appeared that his presence there was due to Miss Hatchard.
He had been spending a few days at Springfield, to fill a friend's
pulpit, and had been consulted by Miss Hatchard as to young Harney's
plan for ventilating the "Memorial." To lay hands on the Hatchard ark
was a grave matter, and Miss Hatchard, always full of scruples about her
scruples (it was Harney's phrase), wished to have Mr. Miles's opinion
before deciding.

"I couldn't," Mr. Miles explained, "quite make out from your cousin what
changes you wanted to make, and as the other trustees did not understand
either I thought I had better drive over and take a look--though I'm
su