nlike as they were,
there was between him and Thornton Hastings one of those strong,
peculiar friendships which sometimes exist between two men, but rarely
between two women, of so widely different temperaments. They had
roomed together four years in college, and countless were the
difficulties from which the sober Arthur had extricated the luckless
Thorne, while many a time the rather slender means of Arthur had been
increased in a way so delicate that expostulation was next to
impossible.

Arthur was better off now in worldly goods, for, by the death of an
uncle, he had come in possession of a few thousand dollars, which
enabled him to travel in Europe for a year, and left a surplus, from
which he had fed the poor and needy with not sparing hand.

St. Mark's was his first parish, and, though he could have chosen one
nearer to New York, where the society was more congenial to his taste,
he had accepted what God offered to him, and been very happy there,
especially since Anna Ruthven came home from Troy and made such havoc
with his heart. He did not believe he should ever be quite so happy
again, but he would try to do his work, and take thankfully whatever
of good might come to him.

This was his final decision, and when at last he laid him down to
rest, the wound, though deep and sore, and bleeding yet, was not quite
as hard to bear as it had been earlier in the day, when it was fresh
and raw, and faith and hope seemed swept away.

CHAPTER V.

TUESDAY.

That open grassy spot in the dense shadow of the west woods was just
the place for a picnic, and it looked very bright and pleasant that
warm June afternoon, with the rustic table so fancifully arranged, the
camp stools scattered over the lawn, and the bouquets of flowers
depending from the trees.

Fanny Hetherton had given it her whole care, aided and abetted by Dr.
Bellamy, what time he could spare from Lucy, who, imbued with a mortal
fear of insects, seemed this day to gather scores of bugs and worms
upon her dress and hair, screaming with every worm and bringing the
doctor obediently to her aid.

"I'd stay at home, I think, if I was silly enough to be afraid of a
harmless caterpillar like that," Fanny had said, as with her own hands
she took from Lucy's curls and threw away a thousand-legged thing, the
very sight of which made poor Lucy shiver but did not send her to the
house.

She was too much interested and too eagerly expectant of what the