way the question could not be answered by any other. She was absorbed in
her book again. The print must indeed have been large and clear, for the
twilight was fading fast.

She looked up and met his glance with direct and steady eyes of a clear
grey. A severe critic of that which none can satisfactorily define--a
woman's beauty--would have objected that her face was too wide, and
her chin too square. Her hair, which was of a bright brown, grew with
a singular strength and crispness round a brow which was serene and
square. In her eyes there shone the light of tenacity, and a steady
purpose. A student of human nature must have regretted that the soul
looking out of such eyes should have been vouchsafed to a woman. For
strength and purpose in a man are usually exercised for the good of
mankind, while in a woman such qualities must, it would seem, benefit no
more than one man of her own generation, and a few who may follow her in
the next.

"There is nothing," she said, turning to her book again, "for a man to
do in Farlingford."

"And for a woman--?" inquired Barebone, without looking at her.

"There is always something--everywhere."

And Septimus Marvin's reflective "Yes--yes," as he paused in his walk
and looked seaward, came in appropriately as a grave confirmation of
Miriam's jesting statement.

"Yes--yes," he repeated, turning toward Barebone, who stood listening to
the boy's chatter. "You find us as you left us, Loo. Was it six months
ago? Ah! How time flies when one remains stationary. For you, I dare
say, it seems more."

"For me--oh yes, it seems more," replied Barebone, with his gay laugh,
and a glance toward Miriam.

"A little older," continued the rector. "The church a little mouldier.
Farlingford a little emptier. Old Godbold is gone--the last of the
Godbolds of Farlingford, which means another empty cottage in the
street."

"I saw it as I came down," answered Barebone. "They look like last
year's nests--those empty cottages. But you have been all well, here at
the rectory, since we sailed? The cottages--well, they are only cottages
after all."

Miriam's eyes were raised for a moment from her book.

"Is it like that they talk in France?" she asked. "Are those the
sentiments of the great republic?"

Barebone laughed aloud.

"I thought I could make you look up from your book," he answered.
"One has merely to cast a slur upon the poor--your dear poor of
Farlingford--and you are up in arms in