one of the most respectable
parts of that quarter, but being much given to dissent, was little
frequented by the clergy, who had too much immorality to contend with, to
have leisure to speak against schism.

When he rang at No. 8, the little maid ushered him down a narrow, dark
staircase, and announcing, 'Please, ma'am, here's the minister,' admitted
him into a small room, feeling like a cellar, the window opening into an
area. It was crowded with gay and substantial furniture, and contained
two women, one lying on a couch, partially hidden by a screen, the other
an elderly person, in a widow's cap, with an infant in her arms.

'Good morning, sir; we were sorry to trouble you, but I felt certain, as
I told my daughter, that a minister of the Gospel would not tarry in time
of need. Not that I put my trust in ordinances, sir; I have been blest
with the enlightenment of the new birth, but my daughter, sir, she
follows the Church. Yes, sir, the poor little lamb is a sad sufferer in
this vale of tears. So wasted away, you see; you would not think he was
nine weeks old. We would have brought him to church before, sir, only my
daughter's hillness, and her 'usband's habsence. It was always her wish,
sir, and I was not against it, for many true Christians have found grace
in the Church, sir.'

Robert considered whether to address himself to the young mother, whose
averted face and uneasy movements seemed to show that this stream of
words was distressing to her. He thought silence would be best procured
by his assumption of his office, and quietly made his preparations,
opened his book, and took his place.

The young woman, raising herself with difficulty, said in a low, sweet
voice, 'The gentleman is ready, mother.'

As there was no pressing danger, he read the previous collects, the elder
female responding with devout groans, the younger sinking on her knees,
her face hidden in her wasted hands. He took the little feeble being in
his arms, and demanded the name.

'Hoeing Charterhouse,' replied the grandmother.

He looked interrogative, and Hoeing Charterhouse was repeated.

'Owen Charteris,' said the low, sweet voice.

A thrill shot over his whole frame, as his look met a large, full, liquid
pair of dark eyes, such as once seen could never be forgotten, though
dropped again instantly, while a burning blush arose, instantly veiled by
the hands, which hid all up to the dark hair.

Recalling himself by an effor