t of his call, and Somerset
lingered at the doorway, and cast his eyes around. It was a house which
typified the drearier tenets of its occupier with great exactness.
It stood upon its spot of earth without any natural union with it: no
mosses disguised the stiff straight line where wall met earth; not
a creeper softened the aspect of the bare front. The garden walk was
strewn with loose clinkers from the neighbouring foundry, which rolled
under the pedestrian's foot and jolted his soul out of him before he
reached the porchless door. But all was clean, and clear, and dry.

Whether Mr. Woodwell was personally responsible for this condition of
things there was not time to closely consider, for Somerset perceived
the minister coming up the walk towards him. Mr. Woodwell welcomed
him heartily; and yet with the mien of a man whose mind has scarcely
dismissed some scene which has preceded the one that confronts him. What
that scene was soon transpired.

'I have had a busy afternoon,' said the minister, as they walked
indoors; 'or rather an exciting afternoon. Your client at Stancy Castle,
whose uncle, as I imagine you know, has so unexpectedly returned, has
left with him to-day for the south of France; and I wished to ask her
before her departure some questions as to how a charity organized by
her father was to be administered in her absence. But I have been very
unfortunate. She could not find time to see me at her own house, and I
awaited her at the station, all to no purpose, owing to the presence of
her friends. Well, well, I must see if a letter will find her.'

Somerset asked if anybody of the neighbourhood was there to see them
off.

'Yes, that was the trouble of it. Captain De Stancy was there, and quite
monopolized her. I don't know what 'tis coming to, and perhaps I have no
business to inquire, since she is scarcely a member of our church now.
Who could have anticipated the daughter of my old friend John Power
developing into the ordinary gay woman of the world as she has done? Who
could have expected her to associate with people who show contempt for
their Maker's intentions by flippantly assuming other characters than
those in which He created them?'

'You mistake her,' murmured Somerset, in a voice which he vainly
endeavoured to attune to philosophy. 'Miss Power has some very rare and
beautiful qualities in her nature, though I confess I tremble--fear lest
the De Stancy influence should be too strong.'

'