e place where her sad,
monotonous duty lay.

She did not at once answer her husband; but she looked at him fixedly,
her hand smoothing nervously the skirt of her pretty gown.

Mrs. Nagle's dress also showed a care and research unusual in that of
the country lady of those days. This was partly no doubt owing to her
French blood--her grandparents had been _emigres_--and to the fact that
Charles liked to see her in light colours. The gown she was now wearing
on this mild November day was a French flowered silk, the spoil of a
smuggler who pursued his profitable calling on the coast hard by. The
short, high bodice and puffed sleeves were draped with a scarf of
Buckinghamshire lace which left, as was the fashion of those days, the
wearer's lovely shoulders bare.

"James Mottram," she said at last, and with a heightened colour,
"believes in progress, Charles. It is the one thing concerning which you
and your friend will never agree."

"Friend?" he repeated moodily. "Friend! James Mottram has shown himself
no friend of ours. And then I had rights in this matter--am I not his
heir-at-law? I could prevent my cousin from touching a stone, or felling
a tree, at the Eype. But 'tis his indifference to my feelings that
angers me so. Why, I trusted the fellow as if he had been my brother!"

"And James Mottram," said the old priest authoritatively, "has always
felt the same to you, Charles. Never forget that! In all but name you
are brothers. Were you not brought up together? Had I not the schooling
of you both as lads?" He spoke with a good deal of feeling; he had
noticed--and the fact disturbed him--that Charles Nagle spoke in the
past tense when referring to his affection for the absent man.

"But surely, sir, you cannot approve that this iron monster should
invade our quiet neighbourhood?" exclaimed Charles impatiently.

Mrs. Nagle looked at the priest entreatingly. Did she by any chance
suppose that he would be able to modify her husband's violent feeling?

"If I am to say the truth, Charles," said Mr. Dorriforth mildly, "and
you would not have me conceal my sentiments, then I believe the time
will come when even you will be reconciled to this marvellous invention.
Those who surely know declare that, thanks to these railroads, our
beloved country will soon be all cultivated as is a garden. Nay, perhaps
others of our Faith, strangers, will settle here----"

"Strangers?" repeated Charles Nagle sombrely, "I wish no strangers